. ..;.j V ‘ +7.2: Z2: i‘‘thzezfiyi; 7.. h . x3“: .5 .2.
k' I I .Z :: uvfinniw' ‘.. Irv; ._V V. c 1.2%.: ‘xiv ..
,1! W‘ . x
 ' 
“W M .fivh.

Q
a mm


J. SFLETCHBR







‘ ’ ‘.'.’.'..
)l ‘ V
. i‘, _ ‘
v I
. 4
"iL.'lmv
1-4



‘‘ ' 1 _,’ ‘ o
‘ ‘ ‘I ’
‘ .,1 ’ , ‘ » ’~ . 1i
' ' ‘
. 1 l " x _. ’1 i ‘ __
| ‘ ‘
I‘ . ' 'u .
._ ' ’ Q
~ I
.  .
’ . I \
\ 1 Q
I. ‘ l . ‘
‘ 1
I ‘ I
v . I l . ' . ‘ a. ‘ m
I ‘I ‘ I I, ' , n
. ’ ‘ v 4 ‘.’ ' V > . ‘
'1"; . _
\ ' . ,‘ . Q ‘' . ’ ‘\
‘ ‘ , . ’ . .
‘ . “ ‘. ,, V ’ ._ I
‘ ‘ ’ ’ ‘ ‘ ‘Q , ‘
w . " . ' ‘
‘ ‘. , 4 I . , J
. , .d‘ ‘t ‘. , ', ‘ ‘
‘ I‘ ; ‘ ‘ an “
' ’ " u a ‘
. p w
. , .
‘ 0 ‘5h
0 ¢ .- ’ Q ‘
‘ r .
‘ , ‘
'1 R ’ A
in n 1.
' .
“J . ‘. ‘
’.' ’ 1r











PARADISE COURT
"i‘w . x
\
.v
‘Q
Q
‘F2 ’ "x
V . \ ‘;
s .


By the Same Author
Crown 8vo, cloth, 6/-
THE THRESHING-FLOOR.
GRAND RELATIONS.
THE QUEEN OF A DAY.
LONDON : T. FISHER UNWIN.


PARADISE COURT
By
J. S. FLETCHER
London
T, FISHER UNWIN
1 Adelphi Terrace
MCMVIII



[A ll Rights Reserved]


PART THE FIRST
CHAI‘. PAGI
I. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER . , . 3
:1. WHERE IS MISS DE sT EvREUxP . . 17
111. THE LIGHT IN THE TURRET w1NDow . . 3:
w. PARADISE coURT . . . . 45
v. MADAME DE MARLE . . . . 59
v1. NEWS . . . . . . 73
PART THE SECOND
1. THE TELEGRAM . . . . . 91
11. THE WRONG YOUNG WOMAN . . . 105
III. THE THREE VEHICLES . . . . n9
xv. REFUSED! . . . . . 133
v. THE LADY OF THE CAMERA . . . 147
v1. AT THE CHAT JAUNE . . . . I61
PART THE THIRD
I. ANOTHER CURTAIN R1sEs . . . 179
n. MOLE’s WORK . . . . . 193
III. THE OPERA—AND AFTER . . . 208
IV. THE SPELL IS BROKEN . . . . 237
vii


CONTENTS
PART THE FOURTH
CHAP.
I.
II.
III.
V.
ACCORDING TO THE DOCTORS
BENEATH A BUNCH OF ROSES
WARNING TO QUIT
PART THE FIFTH
THE LONG ARM .
. THE TRIBUNAL .
. VOICES FROM THE DEAD
. SENTENCED !
THE GLEAM OF STEEL
PAGE
255
269
283
3o I
3I4
327
34o
355


PART THE FIRST
IN LONDON





PARADISE COURT
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER
ABOUT eleven o’clock on the night of the
twenty-seventh day of May in the year of grace
one thousand nine hundred and six, two very
dear friends, one, Mr John Aubrey Rivington,
the other, Mr Richard Grenville Wells, united
again that afternoon after a separation of three
years—necessitated by Mr Wells’s absence, on
foreign service, in the Pacific Ocean—came
out of the Criterion Theatre into Piccadilly
Circus, and, after lighting cigarettes, strolled
slowly away, arm-in-arm, in the direction of
the Albany, where Mr Rivington had recently
begun to keep house after the fashion of
wealthy young gentlemen who, for a time at
least, are disposed to lead bachelor lives. It
was a beautiful night, and there were many
people about, and there were laughter and jest
3


4 PARADISE COURT
and the sounds of the voices of many nations
in the air, together with much to notice and
many scenes to see, which only Piccadilly
Circus in the hours immediately preceding
and immediately following midnight can show,
and both Mr Wells and Mr Rivington were
quite happy. Neither had the slightest notion
—would not have believed an angel from
heaven had he warned them of it—that their
feet were on the threshold of a new experience,
that within a few minutes they were about to
hear the curtain rung up on a strange, a
startling drama in which they themselves were
destined to play no inconsiderable parts.
Let us look at these two young gentlemen
as they pause in the full glare of a powerful
lamp, waiting, as leisured folk will wait, for an
opportunity of crossing Piccadilly without
haste or trouble. Beyond the fact that each
is youthful there is no similarity between them.
Mr Rivington is tall; Mr Wells is—somewhat
stumpy. Mr Rivington is slender and willowy ;
Mr Wells is stoutly built and looks as if nothing
could break him. Indeed, the two, seen
together, form a notable contrast. Mr


THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER 5
Rivington is one of those fortunate indi-
viduals upon whom Nature lavishes all that
she can give, and lavishes it royally. He has
a beautiful figure, a beautiful face, beautiful
eyes, beautiful hair. The oval face, lighted by
the deep dark eyes, in which there is some-
thing of sadness, or at least of pensiveness,
causes even the ribald street boys to look at it
a second time, and the flower-girls to sigh
involuntarily. If Mr Rivington had had the
chiselling of his own features he could not
have chiselled them more perfectly, had he
been as great a master as Praxiteles himself.
If Mr Rivington had had the colouring of him-
self he could not have coloured himself more
delightfully — the perfect olive of his com-
plexion, the faint suspicion of pomegranate
colour breaking through it, the dark line of his
level brows, the darker aureole of his blue-
black hair on which there was a sheen like
that on a raven's wing—these things were
the admiration of many. To see him as he
stands now in the full light of the lamp, toying
with his jewelled cane, smiling indulgently with
those beautifully-curved lips of his at some


6 PARADISE COURT

joke of his companion's, is to see a young
Greek god, ambrosial, gracious—clad, it is true,
in the conventional garb which gentlemen
wear of an evening in civilised lands-and
yet god-like.
There is nothing of the Antinous in his
friend, Mr Richard Grenville Wells. Mr
Wells’s complexion is sandy and his homely
face is liberally sown with freckles. His nose
is a snub, and his mouth is much too wide. If
he took off his hat you would see that his hair
is decidedly carroty in hue. His eyes are
small and the eyebrows and eyelashes are of a
pale straw-colour. All about his mouth, on
either side, are innumerable little wrinkles and
lines which seem to denote that Mr Wells is
fond of laughter. Indeed, as he stands by Mr
Rivington’s side at the edge of the curb, he is
perpetually smiling or laughing. If you were
close enough to hear it you would find that his
tongue is as restless as his mobile mouth, and
that everything he says is in the nature of a
jest. For of late Mr Wells’s shrewd eyes
have been looking at vastly different things—
on long vistas of solitude, 0n vast stretches of


L THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER 7
i

the things-which-never-seem-to-cease, and his
ears have heard silences that you could lay
hands on—and to him, philosophic in a dry-
humoured fashion, because of these influences,
the kaleidoscope of London seems infinitely
amusing.
These two young gentlemen, presently leav-
ing Piccadilly and traversing the courtyard of
the Albany, passed under the clock at its
northern side and, following the covered way
which leads to the Burlington Gardens end of
that select preserve, turned into one of the
entrances on the right-hand side. There Mr
Rivington producing a latch-key, they sud-
denly passed from bare walls and a rather bad
light into a paradise of bachelor comfort. It
was only necessary to give one glance at Mr
Rivington's entrance-hall to know that you
were in the chambers of a person of taste.
Here was no hat-rack, umbrella-stand, hall-
table, no worm-eaten fox’s mask or dilapidated
stag’s head ornamenting walls covered with
paper manufactured in imitation of stained oak
—here, rather, were delicately-tinted walls
whereon were charmingly-framed old prints,


8 PARADISE COURT
delicate china, a case or two of rare glass,
a hanging-lamp which had illumined some
Florentine chamber in long-dead days—here
was the scent of flowers mingling with the
indescribable atmosphere of warmth, luxury,
wealth. Mr Wells sniffed at this combination
of aromas and compared it with the scent of
the sea.
As Mr Rivington and his guest walked into
this refined and artistic entrance-hall by one
door there came into it by another a person
whose face, figure and general air proclaimed
him that most wonderful product of these later
ages—the perfect manservant. He was a
man of presumably forty years of age, of
medium height, slim and wiry, adroit and
subtle in his movements, the sort of man who
never seems to be looking at anything, but
who sees everything; who never seems to be
engaged, but is always busy. Everything
about him, the neatness and correctness of his
attire, the scrupulous cleanliness of his soft
white hands, the mathematical accuracy of the
almost imperceptible triangle of whisker on
each cheek, denoted care and attention to


THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER 9

detail; the softness of his footfall on the thick
carpet promised well for the nerves of whoever
might be fortunate enough to employ him.
“ Any letters, Etheredge P ” inquired Riving-
ton, as the man took his master’s cloak and
Wells’s overcoat.
“None, sir, with the exception of those to
which I drew your attention this evening,”
replied Etheredge, in a soft, even voice.
“Oh, to be sure. Well, now, it’s getting
late and I don’t think we shall want you any
more. I suppose everything is all right in Mr
Wells’s room ? i”
“ Everything is perfectly in order in Mr
Wells’s room, sir.”
“All right, good-night, Etheredge.”
“ Good-night, sir.”
The man, carrying the coats, hats and sticks,
disappeared through the door from whence he
had emerged—Rivington and Wells passed
through an open doorway on the right of the
hall.
“ Invaluable chap, Etheredge,” said Riving-
ton, carelessly, as they entered a brilliantly-
lighted room. “ If doing whatever you can do


IO PARADISE COURT
really well is a mark of greatness, Etheredge
is a great man. Now, Dickie, my dear, dear
boy, here we are at home and we’ll have a
good talk. But first just let me glance through
these letters—look here, get yourself a drink
and find a cigar, there’s everything there,
Etheredge always sees to that.”
“ All right, Jack,” said Wells. “ Read your
letters.”
He went over to a side-table whereon the
capable Etheredge had set out such small
creature comforts as young men who have
already dined very well earlier in the evening
are in need of somewhere about midnight,
sandwiches of various sorts, whisky, mineral
waters, cigars, cigarettes. He selected a cigar,
mixed himself a peg of whisky-and-soda, and
stared around him as he raised the glass to his
lips. He was contrasting his ship’s quarters
with his friend Rivington’s rooms. If the
entrance-hall without had been an approach to
paradise the room in which he stood was para-
dise itself. Here were the things that most
appealed to Rivington, as Wells knew—rare
prints, rare china, rare glass, rare books, all


THE MYSTERIOUS ’LETTER 11
things delicate, beautiful, instinct with art.
The room breathed art. There was not an
object in it that did not represent some triumph
of the artistic mind, not even a chair that was
not without some peculiar beauty of its own.
But to Wells, who knew next to nothing about
either pictures or books, the objects which
most appealed were two Japanese spaniels
lazily reclining in a square basket in the centre
of the hearth, their green-jade eyes blinking at
the soft flames.
Holding his glass in his hand Wells began
to examine some prints on the wall behind the
little supper-table. He was wondering vaguely
how fellows like Rivington managed to spot
the beauties of these things, how they-
“ My God! "
He turned sharply. Rivington, who had
been standing at an escritoire, turning over
some letters, was now turned from it as if
some sudden shock had spun him round. He
grasped a sheet of notepaper in one hand;
the other hand was running its long fingers
through his hair. He looked the incarnation of
astonishment, of perplexity, almost of horror.


I2 PARADISE COURT
Wells crossed the room at two strides.
“What's the matter, Jack?” he said
sharply, laying his hand on his friend's arm.
Rivington shook the hand off. He stared
wildly about him.
“No—wait—wait!” he said. “I’ll–Ether-
edge—Etheredge l"
He struck a bell twice as he shouted the
man's name—before its silvery sound had died
the servant was in the room, cool, self-
possessed.
“You rang, sir?”
“Etheredge l—you see this letter—look, it
was posted in the West Central District this
morning — look at the office-mark — before
eleven o'clock. When did it come P—How is
it I have only just received it?”
The man looked at the envelope which
Rivington held out to him. He handed it
back politely.
“Yes, sir-—that letter was delivered here at
two o'clock this afternoon,” he said quietly.
“You will remember, sir, that you lunched
out, and that when you returned you had very
little time to get down to Victoria in time to


14 PARADISE COURT

sleepiness ere it settled down again. Wells
waited, watching.
“ Look here, Dogger! ”—
Wells knew that something big was coming.
In the old schooldays he, from a certain bull-
dog-like pertinacity, had always been known as
Dogger Wells; just as Rivington, because he
was always painting—himself much more than
his canvases—was popularly styled “Daubs.”
Rivington, in this moment of evident trouble,
had gone straight back to the old sobriquet.
Wells argued from that that the trouble must
be serious. He followed the unconscious lead.
“All right, Daubs, old boy—out with it,” he
said.
Rivington tapped the letter which he still
grasped.
“ Dogger, I’m in a hole! Look here—I
must tell you—there’s no one else—at least no
man. Listen carefully—sometimes during the
past year or so I have gone to a sort of salon,
a reception you know, at Madame de Marlé’s,
a very accomplished F renchwoman, who likes
to get round her clever young people, artists
of all sorts—authors, musicians, painters-you


THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER I5

know. There, some months since, I met a
girl—Yvette de St Evreux.”
Rivington paused and drew his finger slowly
across the line of his lips.
“ Go on, Daubs,” said Wells.
“I—well—I fell in love with her. Never
mind how or why—I am in love with her. I
want to make her my wife—will, must make
her my wife! I found out that she was a
governess in some City man’s family in
Regent’s Park-and once or twice I have met
her alone. To-morrow I was going to meet
her again and ask her to marry me. I meant
you to be best man, Dogger, for I swear she
loves me ! And to-night comes this note from
her. Listen ”—
"I am obliged to leave England at once, never to
return. Since we shall most probably—no, certainly
—never meet again, I wish to tell you that while life
lasts in me I shall never cease to think of you and to
pray for your happiness and your prosperity. Since
it must be so-good-bye. YVETTE.”
“ Do you hear, Dogger? ‘ Never to return’
—‘ never meet again’ ! What does it "-
The sharp ringing of a bell in the entrance-


I6 PARADISE COURT
hall interrupted Rivington’s eager inquiry.
The bell rang again and yet again. Then
they heard the outer door open and Ether-
edge’s voice mingling with first one then two
strange voices in seeming altercation.
Rivington, still grasping the letter, strode
towards the door. Before he had taken two
steps across the room the door was flung open
from without.


CHAPTER II
wHERE IS MISS DE ST EVREUx?
IF Wells had not known that this was an affair
of serious importance to his old schoolmate he
would have burst into hearty laughter at the
scene which revealed itself when the door was
thrown wide open. Framed by the white and
gold of the doorway stood an elderly gentle-
man, who was not only somewhat full of habit
but very red of face, and, at the moment of his
entrance, in an obviously choleric state of
temper. He was a shortish, stout man with a
bald head, a hanging under-lip, and a double
chin; there was a distinct stain of wine on the
front of his highly-glazed shirt, and he had
evidently come away from whatever place he
had left in such a desperate hurry that the
light overcoat which he had shuffled on over
his evening clothes was all on one side, and
gave him a dishevelled and even a dissolute
appearance. But all this was lost in the fierce-
ness of the gaze which he directed upon Riving-
B 17


I8 PARADISE COURT

ton. On him the new arrival’s eyes fastened
as tigers set their regard on a quarry implacably
pursued and at last run to close quarters. But
this gentleman was not alone. A little in his
rear, and a little to the right, hovering uncer-
tainly, as small boys move on the edge of a
crowd, seeking a favourable opportunity for
dodging into place and prominence, was a lady,
middle-aged, matronly, determined-looking.
She, too, gave the impression of having risen
somewhat hastily from dinner, and of having
been too much concerned with the business in
hand to do more than throw a very light shawl
around her plump shoulders in a careless
fashion. In her face, as in the stoutish gentle-
man’s in the doorway, there were written all
the laws and conventions—together with a
certain titillating delight at being mixed up in
even an outside fashion with something unusual
and wicked.
Behind these two persons stood Etheredge,
very quiet and composed, but secretly foaming
with rage. These late visitors had beaten
down his suave words, his expostulations,
finally, his point-blank denials, and had forced


MISS DE ST EVREUX 19

an entrance. He, Etheredge, felt himself
disgraced.
Rivington drew a step nearer the door. He
gazed inquisitively at the rotund figure before
him, and quite unconsciously to himself his face
assumed the smile of polite, tender interest
which won him a welcome anywhere.
“ I think I have not the pleasure—” he began.
The stoutish gentleman glared as a lion
might glare at soft words spoken to it at the
wrong time. He spoke—firmly and pointedly.
“Sir, I believe I have the honour of address-
ing Mr John Aubrey Rivington ?” Rivington
bowed and smiled. The irate gentleman went
on-
“Sir, I shall not stand upon ceremony ;
we crave no pardon for an intrusion which is
warranted. Sir, I am Mr Wisden Willoughby
of Cumberland Terrace, Regent’s Park, and
of Willoughby, Crampson & Porterway, of
Leadenhall Street. Sir, allow me to introduce
my wife—Mrs Wisden Willoughby ! ”
Rivington bowed and smiled once more-
the tender, sympathetic smile of one who says,
“Yes, I am trying hard to understand you,


2o PARADISE COURT
but take your own time—take your own time.”
He handed a chair in Mr Willoughby’s direc-
tion. Mr Willoughby stretched forth a fat
white hand whereon a fine diamond sparkled.
His full voice rose again.
“ Sir, no ceremony, I beg. Sir, Mrs Wisden
Willoughby and myself are here on a matter
of the gravest importance. You see before
you, sir, the employers of Mamzel Yvette de
St Evreux.”
Rivington uttered a sharp exclamation. He
turned instinctively to Wells. Wells, who had
been keeping a keen eye on him, gave him a
look that acted upon him like a douche of cold
water, and sent him round again to his visitors,
pulled together.
“The employers of Miss de St Evreux?”
he said. “ I am glad to see you, Mr
and Mrs Willoughby. Will you not be
seated? ”
Once more the thrusting forth of the virtuous
hand—once more the action suggestive of
keeping apart from questionable things.
“ I beg, sir—no ceremony. Sir, Mrs Wisden
Willoughby and myself are here to discharge


MISS DE ST EVREUX 2I
a painful duty. In the discharge of that duty,
sir, I ask you to tell me—where is Mamzel de
St Evreux P”
Rivington lifted his hand to his forehead and
drew his fingers wearily across it from temple
to temple. He sighed.
“I do not know !” he answered. “I wish–
I wish I did l”
“Buck up, you damned old ass!” whispered
Wells, hovering in his rear. “Chuck the
sentimental, quick!”
Mr Willoughby glared more fiercely than
eVer.
“You do not know, sir? You—you dare to
stand there—you, a young man, a young gentle-
man of—of quality, of—of position—and tell me
that you do not know what has become of Mam-
zel de St Evreux P Sir, I demand to know what
has become of Mamzel de St Evreux. I will
know what has become of Mamzel de St Evreux!
Mamzel de St Evreux, sir, is the instructress,
the guide, the—the friend and philosopher of
my—my progeny, sir, and I stand to her, sir,
in the light of guardian and protector, stand to
her, sir, in loco parentis. Mamzel de St Evreux,


22 PARADISE COURT
sir, has quitted my roof, and I have every
reason to believe—founded, sir, upon the most
convincing evidence—that she has done so at
your instigation 1"
In the silence that followed Wells found
himself swearing hard under his breath. What
was the matter with Rivington? Why, instead
of speaking it right out, did he stand there,
propping his willowy figure up on the back of
a chair, making faces at the ceiling, the walls,
at the Willoughbys, at him, even at Etheredge,
who stood a picture of dismay and blank
amazement in the doorway? He looked like
a man who is suddenly floored, suddenly con-
fronted with a question which he cannot
answer. And why did he, at intervals, laugh
so strangely ?
“I demand, sir, an answer to my question,”
thundered Mr Willoughby. “Sir, I will have
an answer to my question 1"
Rivington suddenly pulled himself up. He
was trying to steady himself, but his face
twitched a little.
“Yes—yes,” he said hesitatingly. “I–I
—am sorry, Mr Willoughby, that I have


MISS DE ST EVREUX 23
been so—so long in answering your question,
but the truth is I am—upset. The truth is
also, Mr and Mrs Willoughby, I do not know
where Miss de St Evreux is—would to God I
did!”
“ Buck up, you damned idiot!” whispered
Wells in the rear. Then, taking matters
into his own hands he bustled forward and
said, “I say, look here, don't you know-
Rivington’s a bit bowled over, don’t you
see? Won't you sit down and have a drink
and just hear what he’s got to say,
quietly ?—Etheredge ! ”
“Sir?"
“Give your master a brandy-and-soda.
Won’t you have a drink yourself, sir?”
Mr Willoughby lifted the fat white hand
once more.
“Nothing of the sort for me, I beg," he
replied stiffly. “My business here ”—
“ Mr Willoughby,” said Rivington, recover-
ing himself, “I will settle your business
quickly. I know nothing of the present
whereabouts of Miss de St Evreux; it was
not until this evening—not until a few minutes


24 PARADISE COURT

ago—that I heard of her departure from
England.”
Mr and Mrs Willoughby spoke in chorus.
“Departure from England!"
“Of her departure from England—on her
own confession. Here, Mr and Mrs Wil—
loughby, is a letter which I received from
Miss de St Evreux to-night—it is the only
letter I have ever had from her, and you will
see that she speaks in it of a final farewell to
England—and to me.”
The two faces which were turned upon
Rivington when the letter had been perused
were full of surprise, astonishment, incredulity.
Rivington growing more and more in com-
mand of himself, went on—
“Now that I know who you are, I will tell
you all. It is now some months since I first met
Miss de St Evreux at the salon of Madame de
Marlé, of whom you have no doubt heard her
speak. I was at once attracted to her—and
grew to love her. I used to see her there
constantly. It was by pure accident that I
discovered that she was employed as
governess in a family in Regent’s Park. I


MISS DE ST EVREUX 25
happened to be walking through the Park
one day and met her, I believe, with one of
your children? "
“ My eldest daughter, Georgina Alberta,
sir,” said Mrs Willoughby, rapping out the
words like a postman’s double knock.
“I will not deny,” continued Rivington,
“ that I have twice seen Miss de St Evreux—
alone. I—I invited her to inspect the col-
lection of the Zoological Society in my
company. We spent, perhaps, two hours in
the Gardens on each occasion. Nor will I
deny that I had arranged to meet her there
again—to-morrow. And now, Mr and Mrs
Willoughby, I will tell you the last that I
can tell. It was my intention, when I met
Miss de St Evreux to-morrow, to ask her to
become my wife. For I can tell you, what I
may, perhaps, never be able to tell her, that I
love and honour her with my whole heart!
If I seemed strange to-night when you entered
it was because I had just received the news of
her—what shall we call it ?—flight? abduc-
tion? disappearance? and that my heart was
bleeding and my brain whirling, because I


26 PARADISE COURT
had lost the woman I love with such de-
votion.”
Mr Willoughby, who during this speech had
sat with inflexible mouth and wide - opened
eyes staring at the speaker, now suddenly shot
out his arms, flapped them vigorously against
his sides and making a sudden dart at
Rivington seized his right hand and shook
it vigorously. Then pulling a large bandana
handkerchief from his overcoat pocket he blew
his nose very vigorously and fell to polishing
his spectacles.
“God bless my soul, sir!” said Mr Wil-
loughby. “God—bless—my—soul | Sir, I
beg your pardon. Sir, I beg your pardon
most humbly for Mrs Wisden Willoughby
and self. Sir, you will understand how easily
one may be deceived. The unthinking re-
marks of a child, the suspicious sayings of a
servant, the finding of a few words on a scrap
of paper—one thing, sir, leads on to another,
until innocent parties are suspected. Sir, I
believe you are an honourable gentleman.
Marriage, do you hear, Maria, do you hear?
It was this young gentleman's earnest desire


MISS DE ST EVREUX 27
to marry Mamzel ! Do you hear that, ma’am,
do you? "
“And here,” said Rivington, smiling at
Wells, “is an old school friend of mine-
Lieutenant Wells, of the Royal Navy——~whom
I had designed for the office of best man,
and ”—
“ I say, old chap,” said Wells, when he and
Mr and Mrs Willoughby had shaken hands,
“if you’d tell Etheredge to give us something
to drink and to hand cigars to Mr Willoughby,
don’t you think we might employ our time to
better advantage by talking over what’s to be
done about Miss de St Evreux? Ifshe’s to
be found, you know ”—
“ She must be found,” muttered Rivington,
as he helped Etheredge to provide his un-
looked-for visitors with refreshment. “She
shall be f0und—I will move heaven and earth
to find her ! "
“ Well, but you know, dear old man, you’ll
have to have something to go on,” urged
Wells. “This world’s a big place after all.
Why not get at the bottom of the mystery of
her disappearance if you can? Where’s she


28 PARADISE COURT
gone, and what’s she gone for? People don’t
go off in that sudden fashion without some
cause, you know.”
“ Sir,” said Mr Willoughby, “you are quite
right. Sir, your discernment and penetration
do you great credit. Mr Rivington, this
infern—this deplorable business must be in-
quired into. We loved Mamzel de St Evreux
as if she had been our own, and that she
should disappear in this fashion from the roof
which had so gladly sheltered her—but I am a
tender-hearted man, gentlemen, and shall say
no more. Maria, my dear, tell Mr Rivington
what you know.”
“But I know so little, Wisden, my love,”
said Mrs Willoughby. “Everything was all
right this morning until half'past nine o’clock
when Ma’a’mselle came to me and asked if she
might go out for an hour or two on particular
business. I did not notice anything unusual
in her manner, she seemed quite calm and
collected. But she did not return at noon, nor
during the afternoon, and we had heard
nothing of her by the time Mr Willoughby
came home from the City. Then came a tele-


MISS DE ST EVREUX 29
gram—here it is—saying that she had left
England for ever ”—
“ Had left?” exclaimed Rivington. “ Had
left?”
“Had left," repeated Mrs Willoughby.
“ Had left England for ever and thanking us
most warmly for all our goodness to her, and
sending her sincere love to all ”—
“And therefore, sir,” broke in Mr Wil-
loughby, “we began the inquiries which led us
to your door, where, I am glad to say, we have
been received frankly and honestly and in a
manly fashion. Sir, my daughter had seen
you speak to Mamzel—a parlour-maid had seen
you with Mamzel at the Zoo—finally, Miss
Latouche, a friend of Mamzel’s, told us who
you were and where you lived. We came-
we are satisfied. And now, sir, what is the
next thing to be done?”
Rivington was studying the telegram which
Mr Willoughby had put into his hand. His
brows were working and his eyes moody.
“She says, ‘I have left England,’ " he
muttered. “And yet this was not despatched
from the West Central Head Office until half-


30 PARADISE COURT
past five. Strange | Well, Mr Willoughby,
it is just possible I may be able to give some
news of Miss de St Evreux to-night. I am
going to see Madame de Marlé, under whose
roof I first met her. To-morrow I may have
something to tell you. Till then"—
Rivington went with his visitors to the outer
door. Coming back he took Wells by the arm.
“Dogger !” he said, “are you going in with
me in this—right through?”
“Right through, Daubs,” answered Wells.
“As far as ever it goes.”
“Then come on 1” said Rivington. “We're
for Paradise Court. Etheredge—a hansom 1"


CHAPTER III
THE LIGHT IN THE TURRET WINDOW
As they got into the cab which Etheredge
had in readiness for them at the Burlington
Gardens end of the entrance to the Albany,
Rivington turned to his man and spoke in a
low voice—
"It’s quite possible, Etheredge,” he said,
“ that I shall leave for the Continent to-morrow
morning, so you had better get things ready.
If I go, I shall want you to go with me.
Until I return from Madame de Marlé’s I
can’t say anything definite, but as we may go
and may be pressed for time ”—
“I understand perfectly, sir,” answered
Etheredge. He closed the door of the hansom
upon Rivington and his companion and turned
to the driver. “Go up Tottenham Court
Road until you are told to stop,” he said.
As the horse fell into the peculiar jog-trot
so characteristic of London cab-horses, Riv-
ington drew out a cigarette-case.
31


32 PARADISE COURT

“Smoke, Dogger, smoke!” he said.
“There’s nothing like tobacco for helping
one to think. And we’ve got to think—to
think pretty hard I”
“There are things I should like to know,”
said Wells, slowly, after he had lighted a
cigarette. “ You must remember, Daubs, I’m
all in the dark. Except for the fact that I
know now that there is a Miss Yvette de St
Evreux, that you’re madly in love with her
and want to marry her, that she has been a
governess in the family of Mr and Mrs
Willoughby, whom we have just seen, and
that she has disappeared suddenly, and in a
most unaccountable manner, I am as much at
sea as if I’d been cast adrift in the Pacific!
Tell something more as we trot along. For
example—has Miss de St Evreux no friends,
no relations, no family? Must have, you
know, old chap—somewhere. And who's this
Madame de Marlé that we’re bowling off to
see? Bit late at night to call, isn't it ?—it’s
close on twelve now.”
Rivington laughed.
“ Not too late for Madame de Marlé,” he


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 33

said. “ I’ve often wondered whether Madame
ever goes to bed. She’s a woman of tireless
energy and usually most brilliant about two
o’clock in the morning. Madame is—but you
want explanations, Dogger, don't you? Well,
suppose I begin at the beginning—there’s a
good deal of personal history mixed up in
this. And to be sure I haven’t had much
time to tell you anything—we were going to
have a good talk, weren’t we, when this came.
And yet I mustn’t weary you with detail,
and I’m so bothered and troubled that it is
difficult to think clearly about anything,
but"—
“Spin us a short yarn full of main points,”
counselled Wells. “Just the outlines of the
thing.”
Rivington drummed his fingers on the door
of the hansom. It was not so easy for him to
compress a story into a few words as Wells
seemed to think it might be. His way was to
tell a story if anything from its very begin-
ning, to start it out from origins which,
absolutely uninteresting to the bearer, were
yet so full of keen interest to him that to leave
C


34 PARADISE COURT
them out was to emasculate the thing, to rob
it of most of its charm, of its vigour, its vital
importance. Now, as he sat by Wells’s side,
half smiling, he was seeing the possibilities of
the story which he had to tell, seeing the
latent activity in it, realising how, were it
only fiction, a subtle hand could weave things
into it and evolve things out of it, and throw
all over it a glamour, an atmosphere. A
short yarn full of main points? That might
be the method of legal folk, or of what were
commonly called hard-headed, common-sense
folk, but so far they had not been his who had
trained himself all his life to wrap up even
ordinary things in a gauze-like veil of romance,
and could always see at least half a dozen
ways in which any fact or truth might be
understood, even as there are a hundred
points of view from which one may gaze upon
and realise such a fact as, say, the Venus of
the Capitol.
I’ “Let’s have the hang of it, Daubs,” re-
peated Wells.
“I should have to go back a long way,"
began Rivington, dreamily. “You remember,


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 35
Dogger, that it was my ambition to become a
great painter?”
“ I remember that you used to make a most
awful mess with your painting things,” said
Wells, ungallantly. “ But what’s that got to
do with ”—
“ I get muddled if I don't tell things in my
own way,” said Rivington. “ Besides, this is
apropos of what I am going to tell you. After
I came down from Oxford I did try to do
something in painting—and worked very hard.
And then I realised, perhaps a little slowly,
that after all I was not cut out for the life and
course I had dreamed of—that it wasn’t in
me to achieve it. I had all the desire, the
wish, the ambition, but I hadn’t the inborn
power, without which the other things were
valueless. It was just about that time that
Uncle Gervase died and left me a hundred
and fifty thousand pounds.”
Wells groaned deeply and said something
under his breath.
“ Yes, I know I was lucky,” continued
Rivington. “And yet I believe I’d rather
have been a great painter. However, I said


36 PARADISE COURT

to ‘myself, ‘ IfI can’t be a master in Art, I can
enjoy Art—if I can’t create great things
myself I can derive infinite pleasure from the
work of those who can, and what’s more I can
help people who can do what I can't do, and
who are not so well off in this world’s goods
as I fortunately am.’ Do you understand,
Dogger?"
“Perfectly — sort of Maacenas business,
eh?” answered Wells.
“Scarcely anything so important," said
Rivington. “ However, all this leads on.
There was a man-mo, little more than a boy—
whom I was able to help a good deal some
eighteen months ago. He is a young
Neapolitan, Carlo Marini, full of genius and
promise, but, when I met him, desperately
poor. I bought some of his work—you shall
see it—and got others to buy it. He has a
studio now, Master Carlo, and is doing well
and will do better. It was through him that
I became acquainted with Madame de
Marlé.”
Wells lighted a fresh cigarette with a feeling
of relief. Now they were getting to something


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 37

like business. The name of Madame de Marlé
was by this time quite familiar.
“ Carlo Marini,” resumed Rivington, “knows
a good deal of the under-world of art, music,
letters. One day, some nine months ago, he
asked me ifI knew Madame de Marlé. I
answered that I had never even heard of
Madame de Marlé. Then he told me that
this lady was one of great accomplishments;
that she herself was a professor of the art of
pianoforte-playing, but cherished a vast regard
for Art in all its forms, that she was immensely
fond of the society of clever young people, and
had a salon every Sunday, whereat she was
always pleased to see her friends. There was
good talk there, said Master Carlo, of music
and books and paintings—would I like to go?
Of course I replied that I would, and a few
days afterwards I received a card from
Madame de Marlé. On the following Sunday
I went—to find myself one of a crowd of young
people about my own age.”
“ Lots of chaps with long hair and girls in
green-and-yellow gowns, I suppose?” inter-
' jected Wells. “I know, old chap !—once went


38 PARADISE COURT

to one of those sort of does with a cousin.
Awful business! Never mind—awfully sorry
—go on, Daubs—full speed ahead.”
“ Well, I suppose there were some men
Whose hair was a bit long,” said Rivington,
“ but I never met any young women there who
were dressed in any exceptional style. In fact,
my dear Dogger, it was a very ordinary sort of
business, so far as outward appearances went.
Everybody was clothed, and in his or her right
mind. There were tea and coffee and cakes and
things, and conversation—very good—and
music, and Madame de Marlé impressed me as
being a remarkably kind, clever, shrewd woman
of the world, who liked to see talented young
folk”—
“Were they all talented—eh P” asked Wells.
“ By Gad !—what a crush ! ”
“ Oh, well, we won’t quibble about words!
What I mean,” said Rivington, “is that here
was a painter and there a poet ; here a promis-
ing young actress and there a coming violinist
—you know what I mean—all young folk who
had done something or were going to do
something.”


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 39
“Awful mistake,” said Wells. “Far apart
as sheep from goats, I should think, those two
lots. Didn't the Have-Done-Somethings turn
up their noses at the Going-to-Be-s?”
“Well, well!” laughed Rivington. “Never
mind—we can't all be admirals straight off,
you know. But let me get on with my story.
It was at Madame de Marlè's that I met Miss
de St Evreux. I had been there twice then,
for I found the place and people interesting.
Miss de St Evreux had not been there on the
occasion of my previous visits, but I soon
found that she was a habituée—had been so for
some time. There were a great many people
—perhaps twenty-five or thirty—in Madame
de Marlé's room that evening, and my atten-
tion was first attracted to Miss de St Evreux
by her voice. Madame de Marlé and I were
in conversation, discussing some point in con-
nection with our joint protégé, Carlo Marini,
when a girl's voice—a beautiful, clear, true
soprano—suddenly broke in upon us. I was
entranced, and showed it. “Ah, that!" said
Madame, ‘that is Yvette de St Evreux. She
has not been to see me for three Sundays. She


4o PARADISE COURT
is singing her best to atone to me for her
naughtiness.’ And later I was presented to
Miss de St Evreux—and I fell in love with
her.”
“Look here, Daubs, old chap,” said Wells.
“You’re an awfully clever chap at slinging
words together, even if you can’t paint pictures.
Just describe Miss de St Evreux, won’t you?
Pen-portrait—word-portrait—what do you call
it? You know.”
Rivington laughed gently.
“You ask much, dear, dear boy!” he said.
“ Well—she is—no, she is not tall—she is
nearly—very nearly tall. She is slender—and
yet I do not like the term willowy—it reminds
me of the blades of cricket-bats rather than
of something supple and graceful. Her figure
is as near perfection as a woman’s can be.
She is dark as—no, I shall not say as dark as
night—I shall content myself by saying that
her hair and her eyes are mystifyingly dark-—-
ah, I have it !—the darkness of a clear night in
spring. She is full of grace—her features are
regular—she is pretty, beautiful and handsome
all at once. Moreover she has wit, spirit and a


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 41
most enviable quality of frank candour. In
everything that I have seen of her she is sweet,
modest, womanly.”
“A prize not to be lost sight of," said Wells,
laconically.
“Exactly. I do not intend to lose her,”
agreed Rivington. “I shall never be happy
again if I do. But I won’t lose her, Dogger!
However, I was telling you—I fell in love with
Miss de St Evreux at first sight. Every
Sunday after that I attended Madame de
Marlé’s receptions regularly—I never missed
one. I endeavoured, without, of course,
attracting undue attention, to cultivate the
society of Miss de St Evreux as much as I
could. I knew little of her : it is tacitly under-
stood at Madame de Marlé’s that private affairs
are not talked of. There one meets other
people, not to talk of oneself, but of things
outside oneself—but I gathered from a
chance word which she uttered in my presence
one day that she was a governess. I wondered
a little at that, because of all the women there
she was always the most perfectly, the most
daintily gowned, and governesses are not



THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 43
Wells dismount, saying that Madame de
Marlé's place was only a few minutes' walk
away, and that they could reach it while the
cab was getting free of the thing. He presently
drew his companion out of the main road into
a side-street, from which they turned into
another—a quiet street, ill-lighted, the houses
on one side of which appeared to be in course
of demolition.
“They are pulling everything down here-
about and building huge barracks of flats,”
murmured Rivington, as they strode along.
“It is in one of those said barracks of flats that
Madame de Marlé has her abode—Paradise
Court, as she calls it.”
“Why Paradise Court of all names?” in-
quired Wells.
“Either a mere whim on the part of
Madame, or because it is the last thing between
earth and heaven—a sort of courtyard to
Paradise,” answered Rivington. “Madame's
flat is ‘way up, as our American friends would
say—it is on the very top of the building. She
would have it so for the fresh air.”
At the head of the street they crossed another,


44 PARADISE COURT

at the end of which, bulking vast and massive
against the midnight sky, rose a huge building
in the myriad windows of which were many
lights. Rivington suddenly paused and laying
his hand on Wells’s arm pointed upward.
“You see that light, right at the top,
Dogger?” he said. “ That curiously-coloured
light, something like the glittering of an opal,
yet deeper and fuller in tint—there ?"
“I see it," answered Wells.
“That is Madame de Marlé’s signal light.
50 long as it burns in the turret Madame is
accessible. When Madame retires, out goes
the light. The light is in—Madame is at
home. Come!”


CHAPTER IV
PARADISE COURT
LEADING the way, and closely followed by
Wells, who was by this time sure that he was
already in the first stages of a rapidly-develop-
ing mystery, wherein there might be succeed-
ing stages still more productive of interest,
Rivington advanced to the principal entrance
of the vast block of buildings which he had
indicated from the end of the street. Now
that this block was reached Wells perceived
that it had a name, the name stood out in bold
letters over the door—Minobar Mansions.
Although it was already midnight there was
plenty of evidence of life about this principal
entrance to Minobar Mansions. As Rivington
and Wells came up, two motor cars were setting
down people who had evidently been to the
theatre—men and women in evening dress; the
men handsome, well-groomed, well-to-do, the
women smart, pretty, elegant in their finery.
' 4s


46 PARADISE COURT
From a coupé brougham, which had drawn up
a yard or two behind the motors, descended a
woman whom Wells immediately connected
with the stage. This, he said to himself, is some
actress home from her evening's engagement.
There were hansoms, too, crowding up to the
entrance. It seemed as if the inhabitants of
Minobar Mansions had been to the theatre or
to supper en masse, and were now flitting home
like rooks to a rookery.
“There are a thousand souls living under
this roof,” said Rivington as they walked along
a thickly-carpeted corridor. “The old English
notions of privacy are fast dying out, Dogger,
and yet you can keep yourself to yourself very
well indeed within these flats. Madame de
Marlé's flat, for example, is a castle.”
“Shouldn't care very much about living
barrack-fashion, myself,” said Wells. “Must
meet such an awful lot of people you don't
know on the stairs, I should think.”
“I don’t think these people trouble the stairs
much,” said Rivington. “Lifts are more in
their line. I shouldn't like to climb the stairs
to Paradise Court anyway. One might as well


PARADISE COURT 47

climb the Monument just for exercise. Here’s
the lift.”
The man in charge of the lift was having
a busy time, as was usual with him about mid-
night, and some minutes elapsed before
Rivington and Wells could find a place in the
moving pen which continually rose with
cargoes of humanity and fell empty to swallow
up more. It seemed to Wells that they
climbed as high as the top of a ship’s mast
before the lift stopped and the attendant flung
open the gate with a metallic clang. “Top
floor,” he said and shut them, and sped noise-
lessly away into the depths below.
“ This way, Dogger,” said Rivington.
“Follow me; we have a little way to go yet
ere we reach Paradise Court.”
He led the way along a corridor, whereupon
opened many doors; then along another,
whereupon opened still more; and finally,
turning to a third, pointed to a door which
closed it in at the end.
“ Beyond that door,” he said, “lies Madame
de Marlé’s castle. You will see how she shuts
herself off from the world.”


48 PARADISE COURT
“ She’s high enough above it, anyway,” said
Wells, who was a little out of breath because of
Rivington’s hurrying pace. “ Glad we’re
there, anyway.”
Rivington opened the door at the end of the
corridor. It admitted to a square space, plain,
unornamented, which had evidently been taken
off the corridor and painted to resemble a lobby
of plain dressed stone. At the further side of
this, instead of a wall, however, was a grille of
wrought iron-work of very substantial quality,
which stretched from floor to ceiling and
effectually shut off anything that lay behind.
In the midst of this grille was an ornamental
iron gate, solid and practical, and secured by
a business-like looking lock. And over the
gate, in quaintly-designed letters was the
legend “ Paradise Court,” and beneath them in
smaller letters the word “ Salve.”
Rivington, with his finger on the button of
an electric bell, motioned Wells to look through
the grille at the scene beyond. But Wells
had already noticed that beyond the grille lay
something of an unusual nature. He drew
nearer to the gate and looked through the


PARADISE COURT 49

open spaces in the wrought iron-work. The
grille shut him and Rivington off from a
garden—a small garden, it was true, but still
a garden—bright and gay with flowers, the
scents and perfumes of which came refresh-
ingly to their nostrils. There was some-
thing mysterious and almost uncanny in the
presence of this garden in such an unlikely
spot, and Wells was suddenly struck with the
extraordinary quietude which hung over it.
That it was open to the sky he could see-
there was the faint glimmer of stars in the
half blue of the springtide midnight, and yet
the roar of London came to his ears so faintly,
so vaguely as to resolve itself into no more
than a drowsy murmur. Above that drowsy
murmur sounded the musical tinkle of a foun-
tain; its very sound suggested soft mosses
glistening with diamond-like drops falling from
lichened rocks. This gentle singing of water
seemed to be the voice of the siren in whose
honour the roof-garden had been made. The
siren herself stood in full view—a superb
female figure, nude, perfect in conception and
outline, standing with outstretched and invit-
D


5o PARADISE COURT
ing arms on a pedestal that rose from a
circular stretch of vivid green turf immediately
before the entrance gate.
“ By Gad! I say, Daubs!” exclaimed Wells.
“What a remarkable place! You’re sure your
Madame isn't a witch or anything of that
sort ? ”
“Why should she be? " laughed Rivington.
“Madame is, as I told you, a lady of vast
taste. She loves beauty. Pretty notion this,
isn't it? To turn the leads of a place like this
into a perfect gem of a garden as an entrance
to your rooms—that was a stroke of genius.
But—the bell.”
He pressed the button as he spoke. Some-
where across the garden a silvery peal of
sound answered his summons.
“ It’s a bit mystifying, though,” said Wells,
as they waited. “The situation, and the
scent of the flowers, and the ripple of that
fountain, and the figure there. What’s the lady
signify, Daubs. Something classical—eh ?”
“That,” replied Rivington, “is the Spirit of
Art holding out hands of welcome to all who
worship her. That was Madame’s own con-


PARADISE COURT 5!

ception, and the sculptor is a very clever
young Italian who comes here much of a
Sunday. But here is Madame’s manservant
Fritz, and as perfect a genius in his way as
my man Etheredge is in his.”
There was a curiously-tinted light over the
garden, and by its aid Wells saw advancing
towards them a tall, well-built young man in
the conventional garb of the male servant, who
walked with a solid, smart tread and carried
himself in a singularly erect, soldierly
fashion. “That chap’s been drilled,” said
Wells to himself, and he watched Fritz
narrowly as he came up to the gate. “German
army, for a pony!” he said, again to himself,
and he looked still more narrowly at the man’s
flaxen moustache, which was very fierce and
aggressive, at his square chin, steel-blue eyes,
and expression of stolid resolution. “Um!”
he thought, “this grows still more interesting.
What shall I see next?”
“It is I, Fritz--Mr Rivington," said the
leader in this midnight expedition, as the man
came up to the gate and inspected the two
companions. “I am anxious to see Madame


52 PARADISE COURT
de Marlé on important business for a few
minutes. Is Madame engaged?”
At the sight of Rivington's face and the
sound of Rivington’s voice Fritz had immedi-
ately opened the gate, opened it so swiftly and
noiselessly that Wells found himself wonder-
ing how it was done, and he now drew back,
waving his right hand towards the garden and
bowing in most polite fashion.
“ No, I do not think Madame is particularly
engaged, sir,” he said. “That is to say,
Madame has a friend or two conversing with
her, but I do not think she will have any
objections to seeing you. I shall take your
name to Madame, sir, at once. If you will
please to follow me, gentlemen?”
He had closed the gate behind him as he
spoke and now marched away towards the
house, head and shoulders stiffly erect. Wells,
turning, saw that the gate was closed-had
been closed as it had been opened—swiftly,
noiselessly. He was wondering what the open-
ing and closing process was as he followed the
manservant and Rivington around a neatly-
gravelled path to a door which was so arranged


PARADISE COURT 53
as to be in keeping with the garden—a door
enamelled in pure white, and set under a
classical porch around the pillars of which
roses, clematis and honeysuckle were twined.
From this point, glancing around him, Wells
saw that the three sides of the garden other
than that fenced in by the grille were covered
with foliage, and that there was not even a
chimney-stack to be seen from it. It struck
him that the mind which‘could accomplish
these things on a London roof was capable of
a vast amount of ingenuity.
On the manservant opening the white door
Wells found himself gazing around a trim
little hall, all white and red. There was a
white wainscotting half way up the walls, and a
soft red paper from the wainscotting to the
ceiling; the floor was laid in red and white
tiles. A few old prints in dull black frames
hung here and there; a couple of quaint, high-
backed Flemish chairs served for furniture.
But Wells had only time to glance at this in
passing through. He found himself following
Rivington into a small apartment which opened
off a corridor leading from the hall—an apart-


54 PARADISE COURT
ment tastefully and snugly furnished, and with
a certain air of homeliness about it.
“If you will please to be seated, gentlemen,”
said Fritz, bowing right and left to easy chairs,
“I shall inform Madame that Mr Rivington is
here.”
“Stay, Fritz,” said Rivington, detaining the
man. “ Tell Madame,” he continued, “that
Mr Rivington and a very dear friend of his
would like to see her alone for a little time on
a very important matter. Tell Madame that I
crave a thousand pardons for intruding upon
her at this hour, but I will give her the best of
reasons.”
“I shall deliver your message, sir,” said
Fritz, and bowed himself out.
“ Madame appears to keep up an establish-
ment,” remarked Wells.
“A man, two maids and a companion, who,
I think, plays the part of housekeeper,” replied
Rivington. “ I am anxious to see what effect
Madame has upon a practical young Briton
like you, Dogger, old boy. I think you will
see things in her that will interest—and per-
haps surprise you.”


PARADISE COURT 55

Wells was about to say that he had already
seen a good deal that had both surprised and
interested him, but he kept his thoughts to
himself. In reality he was wondering how it
was that a fine, strapping, well-set-up fellow
like the manservant Fritz, who, without a
doubt, had undergone a thorough military
training, should be found doing menial tasks
in a place like this, where there could surely
be little more than nominal work to perform.
Besides, he did not look the sort of man who
turns to such work as valeting, footmaning or
anything of that sort. That he was a German,
in spite of his excellent English, Wells was as
certain as he was of his own nationality.
Thinking these thoughts he glanced round
at Rivington who had become absorbed in an
engraving at the other side of the room. He
knew that Rivington from boyhood had been a
dreamer, a dilettante, that with all his good-
nature, his kindliness of heart, his excellent
qualities, he was not too well fitted to cope
with the practical affairs of this world, and that
in many things a child might cheat him with
impunity. And he began to wonder, piecing


56 PARADISE COURT

together bit by bit the things he had heard
and seen within the last hour and a half, if
Rivington was not being deceived at the
present time, if he might not be the victim of
some strange conspiracy. For what impres-
sion, he asked himself, his shrewd brain working
rapidly, would any practical man form of what
he, Wells, had already heard and seen. This
Yvette de St Evreux—what, on his own con-
fession, did Rivington know of her? And this
Madame de Marlé, whom they were, he sup-
posed, about to see ? Certainly to him, Wells,
the outer walls of her castle suggested a good
many thoughts. It was true, of course, that
an Englishman’s house was his castle, but did
the ordinary Englishman, if he took a flat in
the common-place neighbourhood of Blooms-
bury, fence himself and it with an iron palisad-
ing and a gate which certainly locked itself in
some curious fashion ? Did he set up a janitor
who might have been a drill-sergeant? Did he—
The fiercely-moustachioed Fritz returned
with more bows. Madame would be delighted
to see Mr Rivington and his friend. Would the
gentlemen follow him?


PARADISE COURT 57
Rivington followed the man with the air of
one who treads a well-known path; Wells,
following him, took sharp observations of all
he saw. It was evident to him that Paradise
Court was a flat of some considerable size.
From the little entrance-hall to the door to
which Fritz led them, a door at the extreme
end of the corridor and facing it, the distance
was quite twenty-five yards. There were four
doors opening out of the corridor on each side
—each was closed. Everything along the
corridor was in keeping with what Wells had
already seen. Madame de Marlé was certainly
a person of taste, and apparently of sufficient
wealth to enable her to make her taste evident
in her surroundings.
Opening the door at the end of the corridor
Fritz ushered the two friends into an apartment
of considerable size—a drawing-room which
Wells at once fixed upon as the scene of
Madame de Marlé's Sunday receptions. It
was empty of life when they entered, and Wells
examined it with some curiosity. He did not
know what he had expected to see. In point of
fact, he saw nothing more than a large, com-


58 PARADISE COURT
fortable, tastefully-arranged room. There was
a grand piano, there were numberless lounges,
sofas, easy-chairs, conversation-chairs, cosy
nooks and corners, there were pictures, there
were flowers, there were books, magazines,
newspapers—it was a bright, tasteful, pretty,
but eminently home-like room. And yet,
some thirty yards away that curiously-locked
gate.
A sudden rustle of drawn curtains, the scene
of a new presence. '
Wells turned sharply and found himself
looking at the most remarkable woman he had
ever seen in his life!


CHAPTER V
MADAME DE MARLÉ
THE most remarkable woman he had ever
seen in his life This dominant idea beat
itself in upon Wells's consciousness with sledge-
hammer-like blows during the moments which
immediately succeeded Madame de Marlé's
entrance. Something seemed to confuse him.
He was vaguely aware that Rivington pre-
sented him to Madame with all due formality;
that Madame smiled graciously and spoke
graciously; that they were all presently seated
and that Rivington was apologising for the
lateness of his visit. He was much more aware,
however, that he was staring with all his eyes,
and in spite of himself, at the mistress of
Paradise Court. And deep down, far under
this mere surface inspection, he was realising
that it was not just Madame's exterior present-
ment of herself which made her remarkable,
but something which could neither be seen
nor touched, but felt.
59


6o PARADISE COURT

Madame de Marlé was neither a handsome
nor a beautiful woman in the strict meaning
of these terms. She was tall, of an excellent
and well-preserved figure; she had much
dignity and grace, and was gowned in perfect,
if quiet, taste. It was difficult to make an
accurate calculation of her age. Her com-
plexion, obviously natural, was pink and fresh
as a girl’s, but her hair, of which she had great
masses piled high above a well-shaped, well-
carried head, was snow white. The clearness
of her complexion, the snowy whiteness of her
hair, served to accentuate the blackness of her
large eyes. It was these eyes, so large, so
dark—black with the blackness of pure jet—so
penetrating, so quick, so subtle, and withal so
commanding, that enchained Wells’s faculties
of observation. He had a direct fashion of
staring straight at people when he spoke to
them, and for the second or two he and Madame
had looked into each other’s eyes as they were
introduced, it seemed to him that hers were
the sort that could see into the niches and
crannies of the human brain, or even wither a
less mentally endowed being with one swift


MADAME DE MARLE 6I

look. Those black eyes under those level,
unruffled brows and that mass of snow-white
hair ! Certainly he had never seen so remark-
able a woman in his life.
“. . . for indeed, Madame de Marlé, I can-
not think of anyone but you who can give me
any help or information,” Rivington was saying
when Wells came out of his abstraction and
found that they were all three sitting in close
proximity — the lady on a lounge near the
hearth and her visitors in chairs opposite her.
“ If you can tell me nothing, I do not know
where I shall go!”
“ But what is it that you wish my help in-
what information do you seek, my friend?”
inquired Madame de Marlé. “Ah! I begin
to know you, Mr Rivington. You have a story
to tell and must tell it in your own way.”
She possessed a remarkably sweet, telling
voice—a voice which sounded more like that
of a young woman than of a presumably
middle-aged one. It was clear, silvery, with a
liquid note in it, but it was also full and com-
manding and imperative.
“What story I have to tell, Madame,” re-


62 PARADISE COURT

plied Rivington, “ can be left until afterwards.
I came here to-night to ask you if you can tell
me anything—if you know anything of Miss
de St Evreux.”
“Of Yvette de St Evreux? But in what
way, Mr Rivington? Your question is too
vague.”
“Then I will try to make matters plain,
Madame de Marlé. Miss de St Evreux has
quite suddenly left London—left England.
She quitted her employer’s house early this—
no, I mean yesterday—morning, making the
excuse that she wished to go out on business
for an hour or two. She never returned.
Late in the evening Mr and Mrs Willoughby
received a telegram which informed them that
Miss de St Evreux had left England. Still
later I received a letter from her to the same
effect.”
“ You received a letter? ”
“ I, Madame. Here it is.”
“But why should you receive a letter from
Yvette de St Evreux? You had, I think, only
met her—here—a few times?”
“A great many times, Madame de Marlé,


MADAME DE MARLE' 63
during the past few months—thanks to your
kindness and hospitality. And ”—
“ Ah, you have been meeting her elsewhere!
Well, well, it cannot of course be helped, but
do you know, Mr Rivington, the last thing I
wish is that love affairs should spring out
of my little Sunday evening parties. They are
so embarrassing and discomposing, those love
affairs, and give so much trouble to more than
the people most closely connected with them."
“ Did I say anything of a love affair,
Madame ? ”
“A great deal, my friend, though\ not in
words. Do you think I have no eyes? And
so you are really in love with Yvette de St
Evreux? How romantic, and how very
English! Do you know anything of her, Mr
Rivington ? ”
“ Madame de Marlé, I know little of Miss de
St Evreux. How should I?”
“ Exactly."
“All that I know is ”—
“ That you love her,{eh ? A good capital to
begin working upon, Mr Rivington, of course,
but I always understood that here, in your cold


64 PARADISE COURT

England, where respectability and convention
govern things so largely, it is a recognised
thing that young gentlemen do not fall in love
until the object of their passion has established
her right to be considered—what shall we say?
I leave you to find the word, for indeed I don’t
know of one.”
Rivington's brows drew themselves together.
He glanced uneasily from Madame de Marlé
to Wells. That ingenuous young gentleman,
with a vacuous face and innocent eyes, was
steadily regarding a plaster cast of Psyche
which stood on a pedestal at his elbow.
“Madame,” said Rivington, “ you will per-
haps understand better what I mean, and
what I feel, when I tell you, on my honour
as a gentleman, that I love Miss de St Evreux
with all my heart and soul, and that it was my
intention to ask her, this very day, to become
my wife.” \
In the silence which immediately followed
this confession Wells, looking slowly round,
saw that Madame de Marlé was genuinely
astonished. She was gazing at Rivington as
if she could scarcely comprehend what he had


MADAME DE MARLE 65

said, and for a moment a certain hardness
which was in the bright black eyes went out
of them.
“I am very sorry for you, Mr Rivington,”
she said. “But—you say that Yvette de St
Evreux has suddenly left England? ”
“Here is her letter, Madame de Marlé,”
answered Rivington. “If you will do me the
kindness to read it”—
Madame de Marlé took the letter from
Rivington’s hand and bent over it. Within a
moment she handed it back.
“Yes,” she said. “That is quite clear.
But how can I help you, Mr Rivington? I
am not in Miss de St Evreux’s confidence.H
“Can you tell me nothing, Madame?”
“ Little more than you already know. You
must remember, Mr Rivington, that a great
many young people come to my Sunday re-
ceptions of whom I really know very, very
little indeed. I can tell you how Miss de St
Evreux first came. As you are aware I am a
teacher of the pianoforte with a most excellent
connection. Because of that I meet a great
many members of my own profession and the
E


66 PARADISE COURT
kindred professions. I chanced to hear Miss
de St Evreux sing one afternoon at a friend’s
house, and hearing that she was governess in
an English family, and knowing what a very
trz’ste life that is in most cases, I invited her to
come to me on Sundays whenever she liked.
She came—she was charming—she sang de-
lightfully—that is all. Who she is I do not
know. She might be a Russian princess for
aught I could tell you to the contrary. Why,
so little do I care about the private affairs of
my guests—my general guests—that I was not
even aware that Miss de St Evreux was
domiciled with the respectable Willoughbys
whom you have just mentioned. No, I cannot
tell you anything, Mr Rivington.”
“Madame,” said Rivington, “why should
she leave England so suddenly—with such
short notice to me? For I am sure she knew
what was in my mind.”
Madame de Marlé turned an astonished face
upon her questioner. Then she laughed—a
peal of silvery laughter which voiced in-
credulous surprise.
“My friend,” she exclaimed, “you must


MADAME DE MARLE’ 67

be truly idyllic in your simplicity if you do not
see that you yourself have just supplied an
excellent reason for Miss de St Evreux’s
sudden departure. You say that you are sure
she knew what was in your mind—well,
perhaps she ran away to avoid a declaration.”
“Why should she do that?” asked Riving-
ton, frowning.
Madame spread out her delicate hands.
“Who can tell what is in a woman's mind?”
she said. “It may have been that it would
have proved inconvenient. It may have been
that she did not choose to hear it. It may
have been that”-
“ No!” interrupted Rivington, stoutly.
“ Forgive me, Madame de Marlé, but it could
not have been any of these things. As you
inferred just now, I have met Miss de St
Evreux—though only twice—and I am certain
that the reason of her sudden departure from
England is not to be found in anything that I
have said or was about to say. I would stake
my life that Miss de St Evreux had no idea
until yesterday morning that she was about to
leave London so suddenly. But that there is


68 PARADISE COURT

someone in London who is aware of her de-
parture and could give some reason for it I am
certain.”
Madame de Marlé showed renewed interest.
“Yes? Why, Mr Rivington?”
“Because in the telegram received by the
Willoughbys she uses the words, ‘I have left
London,’ and yet that telegram was not de-
spatched from the West Central Head Office
until very late in the afternoon. She must
have handed the form to some friend with a
request that it should be wired at some speci-
fied time.”
“I do not follow,” said Madame de Marlé.
“ Indeed, you have shown me no proof as yet
that Miss de St Evreux has left England.
For anythingl know to the contrary—and I
only know what you tell me, Mr Rivington-
Miss de St Evreux is as much in London as
we three are.”
“ But her letter—her letter to me, Madame ! "
Madame de Marlé rose, smiling.
“Never attach too much importance to a
woman’s letter, my friend,” she said. “I
should attach none to that, nor to the telegram


MADAME DE MARLE 69

received by the respectable Willoughbys. It
is possible that for reasons of her own, with
which no one else—no, not even an impetuous
lover like yourself!—has anything to do, Miss de
St Evreux desires to remain perdu for a time.
Just now, while we are agitating ourselves
about her, she is probably enjoying her beauty
sleep within a mile of me. Who can tell?”
“But this is a matter of the most serious
moment to me, Madame de Marlé,” said
Rivington, with some show of impatience.
“Oh, I am not jesting, I assure you, my
dear friend,” answered Madame de Marlé, re-
assuringly. “I am merely endeavouring to
keep a cool head. As things are, I say there
is no proof that Miss de St Evreux has left
the shores of this country, or even left London,
though it is quite evident she has quitted her
employer’s house.”
stubbornly.
Madame de Marlé sighed.
“Precisely,” she answered. “You were
“I believe her letter,” said Rivington,
certain to do that. Well, then, what do you
propose to do, my friend?”


7o PARADISE COURT

“ I had hoped that you would have been able
to give me some information about Miss de St
Evreux,” said Rivington. “She must have
friends, relations ”—
Madame de Marlé laid a hand on his arm.
“ My dear friend,” she said, “if you had seen
so much of life as I have, you would know
that in great capitals we come across a vast
number of young people who appear to have
neither relations nor friends. I myself, when I
was much younger, have mixed largely with
young people in more than one great city,
without even becoming intimate with them.
If I were to put all the' young men and young
women who attend my Sunday receptions
through a form of examination such as : Who
are your parents ?—what is your father ?—where
do they live ?—how much money have you
got?—I should ruin everything—especially
my own serenity of mind. Now, for example,
how much do I know of you? Little more
than that you are a most amiable young English-
man, well-disposed towards art and artists,
and wealthy enough to patronise promising
men like Carlo Marini—who, my friend, will do


MADAME DE MARLE 71

your penetration justice, for he will be a great
man. But apart from that, I don’t know you.
I certainly do not know whether your father
was a wine-merchant or a man of quality, a
pork-butcher or a peer. I take my Sunday
guests as I find them—of their private affairs
I know nothing. Therefore, I know nothing
of the private affairs of Yvette de St Evreux.”
Rivington rose. Wells rose with him.
Madame de Marlé rose too. She stood look-
ing at Rivington with a slight smile.
“I am sorry that I am powerless to help
you, Mr Rivington,” she said. “But—you
see ? ”
Rivington bowed.
“I am sorry, too, Madame de Marlé,” he
said gently, “because I must find her. And
I shall find her. You will forgive me for this
intrusion, knowing what I feel?”
She smiled and gave him her hand—turned
from him and gave her hand to Wells. It
seemed to Wells that she searched his face
narrowly for a brief instant—then, with an
inclination of the hand to both, she was gone.
Fritz appeared at the door.


CHAPTER VI
NEWS
WELLs recognised very clearly that Rivington
was in a mood which would brook no denial
and no delay, and he followed him into the first
hansom that hove in sight without so much as
a question or a protest. After all, it was best,
he said to himself, to let Rivington have his
own way entirely at that juncture. Baulked
of it he would fret and fume all night.
“ This chap will run us round to Cumberland
Terrace in under ten minutes," said Rivington,
as the hansom crossed Tottenham Court Road
and sped along Howland Street in the direc-
tion of Fitzroy Square. “ It’s only round the
corner. I must have some information from
old Willoughby and his wife. I thought I
should have got at least something to go upon
from Madame de Marlé.”
“Are you sure you didn't, Daubs!” asked
Wells, drawing out a cigar-case and offering it
73


74 PARADISE COURT

to Rivington. “Have a cigar—it’ll do you
good.”
Rivington took a cigar and turned an
astonished face upon his friend.
“Am I sure that I didn’t, Dogger ? ” he said.
“Why, what did I get out of_ Madame but
positive negations. It was ‘ No’ all along.”
“Not so sure of that either,” answered
Wells. “If you want my honest opinion, I
don’t trust Madame de Marlé.”
Rivington laughed.
“You—don’t—-trust--Madame de Marlé! ”
he exclaimed. “ Why, what”—
“I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw
her with one hand,” answered Wells. “ Which
is about a foot.”
Rivington gasped. ‘
“ Dear me, Dogger!" he said. “You sur-
prise me. Now, Madame has always struck
me as being one of the .most candid, outspoken
persons that one could possibly meet. You
saw to-night how plainly she answered my
questions. I am convinced that had she been
able to give me any information concerning
Miss de St Evreux she would have done so.


NEWS 75

But, as she implied, it would be preposterous
to expect her to know all the private affairs of
the people who attend her Sunday receptions.
Why do you not trust Madame de Marlé?”
“ Because I don't—that’s why!” replied
Wells. “ State of natural antipathy, I suppose.
Never mind that. What are you going to do
at the old City Johnny’s ?-—more questions?"
“I want to know what they know of Miss
de St Evreux," answered Rivington, slowly
and thoughtfully. “I want to know where
she came from to them—what references she
gave—what her habits were. There must be
some clue that one can lay hold of. For I
shall find her, Dogger, I shall find her!”
“ You don’t think, old chap, that considering
you have no—no right—eh—you know, to—to
act on Miss de St Evreux’s behalf, that she
wouldn’t perhaps resent this—eh—interference
with her affairs, if she came to know of it?"
inquired Wells.
"When a man is as much in love as I am,”
answered Rivington, “he’s not very likely to
stick at small things like that. I want to know
where she is, and I will know, and if there’s


76 PARADISE COURT
any explaining to be done, I’ll do it later on.
How do I know that she isn’t in danger?
And if a woman’s in danger, and the man who
loves her knows it, and moves heaven and
earth to free her of the danger, do you think
she’s going to say much about it in the wrong
way? ”
“ I can’t gainsay that,” answered Wells.
“ It’s a queer business. I wish there was a bit
of straight work in it—something you could
get your hands up to, you know—no hole-and-
corner work. You know, Daubs, you’re not a
bit the better for going to the lady who fastens
herself behind iron bars; it would take a good
deal to get anything out of her, even if she did
know anything. By the bye, what does she
want to barricade herself in like that for? And
again, why does she employ a man who has
obviously gone through his training in the
German Army as a footman?”
“Oh, as to the grille and the gate and the
garden, mere whim, mere caprice ! ” said
Rivington. “ And really, you can't deny that
the garden is a beautiful thought made into an
equally charming fact. As for Fritz—well,


NEWS 77

there are said to be thirty thousand men, who
have gone through their training in the German
Army, here in London following various
avocations. Fritz is a quiet, peaceful, well-
behaved fellow. Why should he not earn his
living as Madame’s footman? Since she must
have one, why not he ? ”
“I should have thought a boy in buttons
or a neat parlour-maid would have done,”
answered Wells. “But I’ll agree with you,
Daubs, old chap: Madame is a woman of
whim and caprice. I wonder what the secret
of that lock is ? ”
He uttered the last sentence in a very low
aside, and Rivington did not catch it. Before
he had time to ask Wells what he was talking
about the cab turned into Cumberland Terrace
from the Outer Circle and stopped in front of
Mr Wisden Willoughby’s mansion.
Mr Wisden Willoughby had presumably
not yet retired to rest. There were lights in
his windows upstairs and downstairs, and
when a very sleepy-looking young footman
opened the door in surprise to Rivington's
urgent knock the master of the house himself


78 PARADISE COURT
was seen hovering in his rear, habited, it is
true, in a much be-flowered dressing-gown,
but evidently quite wide awake. At the sound
of Rivington’s voice he came forward with
outstretched hand.
“Come in, my dear sir, come in ! ” he said
in grave, hushed accents. “ And you also, my
dear young gentleman. To tell you the truth,
Mr Rivington, I am not at all surprised to
see you. I said to Mrs Wisden Willoughby
just now, ‘Maria,’ I said, ‘I shall not be at
all surprised if Mr Rivington should call to-
night. If he has momentous news, Maria,’
I said, ‘I am sure that he will not sleep until
he has communicated it to us.’ This way,
this way, gentlemen.”
Having requested the sleepy-looking young
footman to tell the cabman to wait, Rivington,
followed by Wells, trod upon Mr Willoughby’s
tracks into a heavily-furnished dining-room,
from the walls of which several generations
of Willoughbys looked down upon solid
mahogany, thick carpets, and a massive side-
board. At a sign and a word from his master
the footman—who had poked his nose into


NEWS 79
the room out of sheer curiosity, something
within him strongly insisting that these two
young swells were in reality detectives from
Scotland Yard—placed a solid-looking spirit-
case on the table and flanked it with tumblers
and syphons. Mr Willoughby waved a hospit-
able hand.
“ Not a word, my dear sir, not a word until
you have partaken of refreshment,” he said
solemnly. “I am aware, gentlemen, of the
terribly harassing nature of these inquiries-
l have not been so upset for years as I have
to—day—you may go, Bassett—never, indeed,
gentlemen, so upset since a certain crisis in
the City years ago. But that, of course—help
yourselves, help yourselves, gentlemen,I beg.”
More to please this worthy gentleman than
because they particularly desired it, Rivington
and Wells helped themselves to a drink. Mr
Willoughby—who, it appeared, had just helped
himself at the time of their arrival—looking
solemnly on until they had raised their glasses
to their lips and set them down again. Then,
and not till then, and then with a hushed voice,
he asked—


8o PARADISE COURT

“And what news have we, sir, of our un-
fortunate afl'air? It is, I trust, good—I
earnestly trust it is good, Mr Rivington.
Feeling as I do that I stand in loco parentz's to
Mamzel de St Evreux”-
“I am sorry to say that I have no news at
all, Mr Willoughby,” said Rivington, inter-
rupting his host’s eloquence. “Madame de
Marlé, from whom I have just come, can tell
us nothing that we do not know. She only
knows Miss de St Evreux as an acquaintance
—nothing more. Of her private affairs she is
in total ignorance. And so I drove round
here to ask you and Mrs Willoughby to give
me some further information. You, at any-
rate, can tell me when and under what circum-
stances Miss de St Evreux came to you—
with what references—perhaps you may know
other things. Tell me, I beg you, what you
can I ”
Mr Willoughby, who had listened to this
with his head on one side and his thumbs
twirling one over the other like the sails of
windmills, now sat up erect and assumed the
air'of a righteous man who goes into a


NEWS 81

witness - box well content to speak the
truth.
“ Sir," he said, “whatever information it is
in my power to give I shall not withhold.
Sir, I regret that Mrs Wisden Willoughby
has now retired to much-needed rest, but I
believe that whatever information Mrs Wisden
Willoughby could have given you, I can give.
Sir, I shall begin from the beginning. I beg
you be seated, gentlemen. Sir, it is now some
eighteen months ago that my wife and myself,
after due consideration of the matter, decided
that it was our duty to our progeny, which
consists, I may say, of two daughters and one
son, aged respectively eleven, nine and seven,
to afford them the advantages which must
necessarily spring from the care and tuition of
a first-class French governess. Following the
advice of friends we advertised for such a
young lady in the Morning Post of London
and in the Tawmps of Parry. Our advertise-
ment in the T awmps produced various com-
munications. I need only refer to one. It
was from Mamzel Yvette de St Evreux. It
was accompanied by the very highest testi-
F


82 PARADISE COURT
. monials—one from the Reverend Mother of
the Convent of Notre Dame at Courbevoie,
just outside Paris, where Mamzel had been
educated; another from the Dowager Lady
Firmdene, whose daughter Mamzel had per-
fected in the French language during their
two years’ residence in Paris, where their lady
mother has an appartymong in the district of
Passy, and one from the Abbé Gournay, a
well-known clergyman of that famous city.
On the strength of these testimonials we
engaged Mamzel de St Evreux-and we have
never regretted it.”
Rivington, who had made a note of these
names and places, breathed a sigh of relief.
“ You do not know anything of Miss de St
Evreux’s friends?” he asked. “ Did she ever
speak of her relations, her family?”
“Sir,” replied Mr Willoughby, “I have
always understood, in company with Mrs
Wisden Willoughby, that Mamzel de St
Evreux was an orphan, and had been brought
up at the convent in Beauvais as such. The
Reverend Mother Jupuin, sir, at that highly-
respectable religious establishment, would no


NEWS 83

doubt be able to afford information on this
point.”
“I shall see the Reverend Mother to-
morrow,” said Rivington, quietly. “ One more
question, Mr Willoughby. We all know that
Miss de St Evreux used to spend her Sunday
evenings at Madame de Marlé’s. Did she go
out at any other time—as a regular thing?”
“Sir,” replied Mr Willoughby, “every
Wednesday evening from four o’clock until
eleven, or when she, in her discretion chose to
return, was at Mamzel de St Evreux’s entire
disposal. She usually went out in the evenings
at six and returned at ten. She always went
forth on foot, but returned in a hansom: I
believe she was fond of the play. You will
understand, gentlemen, that Mamzel was not
short of money. Mamzel’s stipend in this house,
gentlemen, was one hundred pounds per
annum. In addition to which, sir, there were
little gifts on such occasions as Christmas, her
birthday, and so forth.”
“I am sure you have been most good and
kind to Miss de St Evreux,” said Rivington.
Mr Willoughby inclined his head.


84 PARADISE COURT
“ Sir," he said, “ we had come to look upon
Mamzel de St Evreux as one of the Wisden
Willoughbys ! ”
A few minutes later Rivington and Wells
left the Cumberland Terrace mansion and
drove away.
“Well, we’ve hit upon something at last!"
said Rivington, with a sigh of relief. “ I shall
go across to Normandy to-morrow, Dogger.
I’ll begin at the beginning, the sisters at
the convent will be able to tell me more, and
perhaps I can build up something gradually.
Will you come, dear old boy? Normandy
will look well just now.”
“I’ll come, Daubs,” answered Wells. “I
said I’d see you through.”
“ Let’s get out and walk,” said Rivington, as
they rattled down Portland Place into Regent
Street. “ Now that I know something I want
to think, and I can't think in a hansom.
Tumble out, Dogger, and stretch your legs.”
Walking arm-in-arm along the now almost
deserted thoroughfare the two friends paced
smartly along until they came to the corner of
Vigo Street. And there, underneath a lamp-


86 PARADISE COURT
Wells winced under the grip which Riving-
ton fixed upon his arm. But Rivington's voice
was cool enough when he spoke. '
“I have no doubt Miss de St Evreux
would sit for you, Carlo mio,” he said, kindly.
“ You saw her to-night, you say. Where was
that?"
“Oh, at Victoria Station, signor, all hustle
and push, and hurry about. Me, I could not
explain to a young lady what I did want, eh?
Besides she was in a great hurry herself to
catch the boat-train for Paris. My friend and I,
we were seeing a compatriot off by the same
train, the Signorina de St Evreux, she pass us
close by. Ah, what grace, what a shape! when
she returns I shall crave my humblest, my
most persuadingest, that she honour me with
but just one, two, three little sittings. I have
an idea, grand, magnificent!”
“Well, I’ve no doubt she will, Carlo amico.
But come to see me soon, then we shall talk.
Till we meet again, Carlo !”
Once round the corner of Vigo Street
Rivington uttered a sharp cry and broke into
a run. He dashed along the street, startled


NEWS 87

the astonished porter at the entrance to the
Albany, and once through the lodge door,
darted madly for his rooms, where he woke
Etheredge out of a sweet sleep in his own
particular sanctum.
“Quick, Etheredge, quick, there’s news,
news, news! ” he cried. “We leave for New-
haven and Dieppe in the morning at ten. Set
to work, get everything in readiness, never
mind sleep, we’ll sleep to-morrow." Then
catching Wells by the hands he almost swung
him off his feet as he shouted, “I told you I
should find her, Dogger, old chap! I told you
I should find her!”





PART THE SECOND
IN ROUEN





CHAPTER I
THE TELEGRAM
WHEN the day-service boat ran out of New-
haven next day shortly before noon, Riving-
ton heaved a mighty sigh of satisfaction and
relief.
“The sooner the white cliffs drop behind
and the grey ones rise in front, the better I
shall be pleased!” he said to Wells, with whom
he had begun a perambulation of the upper
deck. “ We’re getting nearer with every turn
of the screws anyway.”
“ Ay, but nearer to what?” asked Wells.
Rivington faced round upon his companion
with uplifted eyebrows.
“ To what?” he exclaimed. “ Why, to her,
of course, man! What are we going across
for?”
Wells, who was smoking a formidable-look-
ing briar pipe, which he had carefully filled
immediately upon leaving the train for the
boat, remained silent for a few minutes, during
9I


92 PARADISE COURT
which his brows were gathered together in
what was apparently a severe effort of thought.
“You’re quite sure we’re not off on a wild-
goose chase, Daubs, old chap?” he said at
length. “ I don’t want to throw cold water on
the scheme, but you know you’re one of those
awfully impulsive, go-ahead sort of fellows who
are rather inclined—eh ? ”
“ No doubt—no doubt, dear old boy!” said
Rivington, laughing. “But I am something
ofa fatalist and a good deal of a believer in
luck, and I feel confident that I shall be
successful—something tells me that I shall be
successful.”
“ Very reassuring and comfortable feeling to
have,” said Wells, “but look here, Daubs,
what’s your plan of campaign? Here we are
bound for Paris simply because that chap
Marini tells you that he saw Miss de St
Evreux leave Victoria last night on the boat-
train by this very route. Well, granted that
he did, Paris is a pretty big place, and people
who want to lose themselves there needn't
have much difficulty in doing it. How do you
propose to come across Miss de St Evreux ? ”


THE TELEGRAM 93
“My dear Dogger,” replied Rivington,
“although I am a dreamer and a visionary
and a most unpractical person in the eyes of
most people, Iam in reality one of the most
mathematically-minded individuals in the
world. I like to go on systems and to arrive
at results by logical processes. Now, as we
are in possession of certain facts relating to
Miss de St Evreux, which show that she was
educated at a certain religious establishment in
Paris, and that at least two persons of some
standing in Paris are acquainted with her, we
are in the position of being able to build up
from the foundation. We will go first to the
authorities of this convent and find out all they
can tell us, and I shall be very much surprised
indeed if we do not instantly gain some news.
For I have invariably noticed, my dear Dogger,
that young women who have been bred in
convent-schools never lose a chance of visiting
their old preceptresses when occasion offers-
it is, I think, due as much to a womanly
vanity to show off their pretty dresses to the
soberly-clad nuns as to affection for the haunts
of their younger days, and I am quite sure


94 PARADISE COURT

that if Miss de St Evreux has gone to Paris
she will sooner or later visit the Convent of
Notre Dame."
“ And supposing she hasn’t gone to Paris?”
said Wells.
“That," said Rivington, “seems quite im-
possible. Of course she has gone to Paris.
Where else should she go?”
“I suppose there are places between this
and Paris," remarked Wells. “There is
Dieppe, for example-—only place I can think
ofjust now.”
“No," said Rivington, after a moment’s
thought, “it must be Paris—I have a pre-
sentiment that it is Paris.”
“Well, and when she is found in Paris—
what then?" asked Wells.
“ Then I shall ask her to marry me," replied
Rivington. “That is obvious. And whether
she will or not I shall at anyrate find out why
she left England in such a mysterious and
sudden fashion.”
“ I’m not so sure about that,” said Wells.
“Perhaps you think I’m in a carping mood,
Daubs, but I can’t help feeling there’s more in


THE TELEGRAM 95

this than you think. I’m a bit muddled by
last night. I haven’t got over Madame de
Marlé and Paradise Court yet.”
Rivington laughed. ’
“Oh, there’s nothing mysterious about
Madame de Marlé and Paradise Court!” he
said. “You don't think surely that Madame
has anything to do with the disappearance of
Miss de St Evreux?”
“I don't trust Madame," replied Wells, as
he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “ How-
ever, that’s neither here nor there. You want
to find Miss de St Evreux, and I’ll help you
as much as ever I can. Look here, Daubs,
let’s go down and get some lunch—I’m con-
foundedly hungry.”
There were very few passengers lunching
when the two friends got downstairs. There
was something more than a fresh breeze that
morning, and the minds of the greater number
of the people who were crossing seemed to
incline rather to the shelter of private cabins
and berths than to meat and drink. But at
the table next to that whereat Rivington and
Wells seated themselves sat a young lady


96 PARADISE COURT

upon whom Wells’s attention was very quickly
fixed—first of all, because she was satisfying a
very healthy appetite in generous fashion, and
secondly, because something in her air and ap-
pearance made a strong, instant appeal to him.
This young lady was of a type which appears
to have sprung into existence during the last
twenty-five or thirty years. She was the sort
of young woman who can ride a horse, drive a
long ball at golf, walk twenty miles in wind
and rain, dance all night without fatigue, and
in all respects and purposes show herself the
equal of man so far as endurance and strength
are concerned. She was above the medium
height, sturdily yet gracefully fashioned, her
face was pleasant, cheerful, frank, her eyes
were bright, her cheeks rosy with good health
and a sound constitution. Her thick brown
hair was piled up in a business-like but
essentially becoming knot under her smart
cloth toque, and she herself was attired, as all
young ladies of her type always seem to be,
save in the eventide, in a tailor-made coat and
skirt which was not a little mannish. When
you see such a young woman as this you look


THE TELEGRAM 97
round instinctively for a boy full of golf clubs,
or a hockey stick, or a gun, or at least a tennis
bat. This young woman, however, appeared
to have none of these things, but she certainly
possessed a huge camera, which, with a golf
cloak, manufactured out of some rough material
of a rather sporting pattern, lay on a chair at
her side.
It did Wells good to see this healthy,
vigorous-looking young woman eat and drink.
She appeared to have as great a partiality for
cold roast beef as a Yorkshire farmer has. She
twice despatched the steward for more, and it
was more than evident that she enjoyed it.
Moreover, she demanded whisky-and-soda and
drank it with a zest. She, it was plain, was
none of your namby-pamby misses who peck
at their food and sip, bird-like, at their drink.
It seemed to Wells that the fitting climax to
this rosy-cheeked young woman’s repast would
have been a big cigar. He felt sure, at anyrate,
that she had a cigarette-case somewhere about
her.
“If you will pardon my absence for a little
time, dear old boy,” said Rivington, bending
G


9s PARADISE COURT
over to Wells with one of his most engaging
smiles, when they had finished lunch, “I will
go forward and see how Etheredge is. I
perceive now that we are getting well out into
the Channel, that the boat is beginning to roll
somewhat, and poor Etheredge is a very bad
sailor. If I go and say a few words to him he
will perhaps pull himself together. In the face
of domestic difficulties, Etheredge is a lion, but
once at sea, even in a Channel crossing, he
becomes lamb-like.”
“ Make him eat some food and give him a
good stiff drink," counselled Wells. He
remained in his place when Rivington had
gone, staring from time to time at the young
woman opposite who, having eaten and drunk
to her heart’s desire, was now performing some
mysterious rites with her camera. “Ripping-
looking girl!" he said to himself. “I wonder
who she is and where she’s going?”
It presently appeared that the young lady’s
immediate intention was to go on deck, but
the boat was just then performing various
movements and evolutions of a somewhat
discomposing nature, and when she rose to her


THE TELEGRAM 99

feet, clutching her camera under one arm and
the large patterned cloak under the other, it
was speedily evident that to reach the door of
the saloon and the stairway beyond it was a
feat that would require more nautical skill than
even she was possessed of.
With a grateful appreciation of the blessed
fact that there was just then not a single
steward in sight, and that the only other man
in the saloon was an aged gentleman seated in
a far corner and peacefully and laboriously
engaged in dipping sticks of dry toast into a
bowl of beef-tea, Wells sprang joyfully to seize
the desired opportunity.
“If you will let me take your camera and
cloak under one arm and give you the other to
hold on to,” he said, suiting the action to the
words, “ I’ll get you upstairs all right.”
The young lady stared. She was at least two
inches taller than her would-be knight, and
much heavier.
“But—what will you hold on to?” she
asked.
"Oh, I’m all right!" answered Wells,
possessing himself of the cloak and the camera


I00 PARADISE COURT
and folding the former dexterously around the
latter. “ Now if you would get a firm grip on
me—don't be afraid.”
He steered her safely across the saloon and
as far as the foot of the stairway. But there,
an extra roll of the boat coming suddenly and
the young lady inclining with equal suddenness
in the wrong direction, they came hopelessly to
grief, and after a vain attempt to save the situa-
tion found themselves in a heap on the stairs.
“ It was all my fault I " said the young lady,
ruefully, as she gathered herself up.
“ Yes," said Wells, “you went the wrong
way. Never mind, the camera’s safe, I kept a
hold on it. Let’s try again."
This time he piloted her safely on deck,
and at her request saw her established in a
sheltered nook. And then, as she simply
thanked him with a very frank smile and
showed no disposition to keep him at her side,
he withdrew and went into hiding to rub a
bruised elbow. But later on, as he paced up
and down with Rivington, he stole covert
glances at the young woman_of the camera, and
once she looked at him and they smiled.


THE TELEGRAM 101

“And “of course she’s going somewhere
where I’m not going, and we shall never see
each other again I ” he said to himself. “ And
she looks just my sort! "
Dieppe at last! Blue-smocked porters,
jabbering, gesticulating, elbowing; fiercely-
moustached gendarmes, all cloak and sword;
douaniers, all talk and chalk; porters eager to
carry anything, even a hand-bag, never two
whole yards of platform; small boys anxious
to sell postcards, and willing to accept English
pennies ; washing hanging out of the windows
of the houses beneath which the train is drawn
up; old women in frilled caps; old men in
sabots; a dog drawing a milk cart; a great
smell of fish; much bustle and confusion and
coming and going of men in peaked caps and
Napoleon the Third beards—finally screeching
and grinding and rattling and rumbling, and
Dieppe town and its basins, and its old church
and its fortifications, and its suburbs gliding
away, and in its stead the slowly-opening valley
of the winding Seine and all the glories of
pastoral Normandy—the rich meadows richly
stocked with cattle ; the little towns and villages


I02 PARADISE COURT
by the river ; the stately chateaux high above
the uplands ; the woods in their gay spring-time
gladness, and over everything the smiling sun.
In his corner of a first-class smoking carri-
age Wells went to sleep. He was nodding at
Longueville—at Cleres he was as sound asleep
as if he had been in his own bunk. He woke
at last, because the train stopped, and looked
sleepily out of the window next to him.
Rouen ! Three hours yet to Paris. He closed
his eyes again as the train moved out of the
station, and before it had got well into the
tunnel was fast asleep once more.
A hand on his shoulder, first gentle, then
insistent, brought him to consciousness once
more. Etheredge, very pale and agitated, was
in the compartment.
“Mr Wells—Mr Wells! Have you seen
my master, sir!"
Wells shook the sleep out of his head.
“Seen him? What do you mean, Ether-
edge? He was there—in that corner—when
I went to sleep——that was some time before we
passed Rouen.”
“My master is not on the train, sir!”


THE TELEGRAM I03
“ Not on the train? Good Heavens !—man
—you’re dreaming! Not on ”—
“ This is a corridor train, sir, and I have
searched it from end to end, and Mr Rivington
is not on it. He must have got off at Rouen.”
“ Now I come to think of it," said Wells,
“he was not in the carriage when I woke up
at Rouen. He must have got out at Rouen
and missed the train. Here, let me go with
you and have a look, Etheredge.”
But there was no Rivington to be found.
Neither, incidentally, was the girl with the
camera.
“We must go on to Paris, Etheredge.
There’ll be a telegram from Mr Rivington at
the Grand.”
But no wire was awaiting them at the
Grand Hotel, nor did any news of Rivington
arrive that night. It was not until noon next
day that Wells, who was by that time getting
anxious, received this message-sent off from
Rouen an hour earlier—
“ I have found what‘ I sought. Come back
here by the next train, and meet me at Hotel


I04 PARADISE COURT
U’Angleterre. Come, however, as a perfect
stranger to me, and do not speak to, or recog-
nise me in any way until I make first advance.
Let Etheredge come in his proper capacity of
my servant, but separately from yourself, and
arrive at different times. Be extremely careful
about all this, and show no surprise at any-
thing you see on arrival.”
An hour later Wells and Etheredge, travel-
ling separately, were on their way back to
Rouen.


I06 PARADISE COURT
basket and a huge umbrella; a workman in
his blouse and sabots; the blind man, led by
his little daughter who peeps through the leafy
screen, and making sure that you are one of
those English, comes in with her finger in her
mouth, her round eyes shyly entreating you to
drop at least a sou in her father’s tin cup—all
these things you will surely see, together with
many others, such as officers in their uniforms,
a priest or two in cassock and shovel hat,
smart young ladies in very high-heeled shoes,
schoolboys in their picturesque hooded cloaks,
gendarmerie with white gloves and much
sword, together with an infinitude of dogs who
have either much licence from their owners or
exercise the privilege of living ownerless, and
accordingly drop in wherever their fancy leads.
There is usually a steamer with a black and
red funnel loading or unloading just across the
quay, and the boots and high-heeled shoes
and wooden sabots patter and clatter along the
pavement to the rattle of chains and creaking
of windlasses. You might be in Hull, or
Dublin, or Liverpool if that steamer were all
you had to see, but between it and you, hidden


THE WRONG YOUNG WOMAN I07

behind the leafy screen of the Hotel D’Angle-
terre, there is a stream of life perpetually ebb-
ing and flowing which is French, and—to
you—foreign.
Within this screen, stretched out lazily in a
basket lounge chair, drawn up by the side of a
little table whereon stood .a coffee service, a
liqueur glass full of some golden-hued liquid
and a stand of matches, sat Wells, alone and
therefore silent. It was some seven and a
half hours since he had received the mysterious
message from Rivington, and two and a half
since he had arrived at the Hotel d’Angle-
terre. There seemed to be a good many
people in the hotel, English and American
tourists many of them, but he had seen nothing
of Rivington on his arrival, although after
being shown to his room he had looked into
the various public apartments and had kept an
eye on the vestibule. At half-past six he had
dined at the table d’fifite. There were some
thirty or forty other people in the sails-d-
manger, and more in the restaurant adjoining
it, but Rivington was not amongst them.
Twice, wandering about the place, he had


I08 PARADISE COURT
encountered Etheredge. The valet was as
immobile of countenance, as much a perfect
stranger as he had been from the time he and
Wells parted company at the Grand Hotel in
Paris and drove off in separate conveyances to
the St Lazare Station. Wells began to think
this sort of game mysterious, but a trifle dull.
He wondered if Rivington had come to any
harm; if he had really met the object of his
devotion and his search and had run away
with her; if he, Wells, would have to hang
about there goodness knows how long, doing
nothing, and whether it would be a desertion
of what seemed to be his part if he took a turn
along the quays and had.a look at the out-door
cafés. And in the midst of these speculations
a. coup! drew up at the entrance to the hotel,
and Rivington, tossing the driver what ap-
peared to be a highly satisfactory remuneration,
got out and walked slowly within the leafy
screen. His eyes fell at once on Wells and on
a vacant seat close by him. Without a sign of
recognition he dropped into the seat with the
air of a tired man, and glancing round fixed the
attention of a waiter who had just brought


THE WRONG YOUNG WOMAN 109
coffee to a party of Americans, and beckoning
him to his side ordered cognac and soda.
Wells, utterly indifferent in outward appear-
ance to the newcomer, was keeping an eye on
Rivington's game. Rivington produced a
cigarette-case, selected a cigarette, and began
to feel in his pockets for his match-box. Find-
ing it at last he also found it empty. He
looked round him—the match-stand on Wells's
table caught his eyes. He bent towards that
innocently-unconscious young gentleman.
“May I trouble you for the matches, sir?”
he said, in that peculiarly icy tone which
Englishmen invariably affect towards every-
body whom they recognise as their own
countrymen.
Wells seized the match-stand and leaned
across the table to hand it to Rivington. As
their heads drew nearer together he caught a
rapid yet clear whisper, “At the Corneille
Statue in half an hour. Be careful.” Then
Rivington, seizing and striking a match, said in
audible tones, icier than ever, “Thank you,
sir,” and lighting his cigarette sat back in his
chair and smoked—an incarnation of reserved


IIO PARADISE COURT

strangerhood—until his brandy and soda
arrived. For some minutes he remained smok-
ing and sipping. At last, without so much as a
look at Wells,he rose and lounged into the hotel.
Wells let ten minutes go by, then he, too,
rose and went within. He turned into the
reading-room, just Inside the entrance-hall, and
took up a map of Rouen at which he had
gazed idly for a few minutes before. The
statue of Corneille? Where the dickens was
the statue of Corneille? How was he to find a
statue of Corneille or anybody else in a strange
city? There was a statue of somebody or
otherjust outside the hotel a little way along
the quay, under the trees—was that it? No,
that was the statue of Bordelieu, and there
was a bridge over the Seine named after the
same chap, who was no doubt some writing
or artisticjohnny. Corneille——Corneille? Ah,
there was a Font Corneille, a bridge which
seemed to cross an island in the middle of the
river. Ah, yes, and there was the appointed
rendezvous, the Statue de Corneille, on a span
of that same island evidently. Very well, that
much was plain. It seemed from the map to


IIZ PARADISE COURT
behind him, and the next instant Rivington
went by with a sharp whisper-
"Follow me across the bridge!”
There were many people coming and going
over the Pont Corneille at that moment, but
Wells had no difficulty in keeping Rivington’s
tall figure in sight. Rivington walked slowly,
walked as a man walks who goes out to enjoy
the cool of the evening. Once or twice he
stopped, and leaning over the parapet of the
bridge, gazed for a moment or two at the swish-
ing waters of the Seine. When he did this,
Wells acted on his own sense of what was best
to be done if they, as he fancied, were pursuing
a plan of action designed to convince anyone
observing them that they were strangers to
each other—he passed on, contriving at some
little distance to let Rivington re-pass him.
But keeping a sharp look-out on the people
who came and went, he saw nothing to excite
any suspicion that they‘were either observed or
followed.
Rivington turned to the left on crossing the
bridge, and traversing the Quai d’Elboeuf, pro-
ceeded along the Grand Cours until the road


THE WRONG YOUNG WOMAN I13

gradually left the town. There were now very
few people about, a cart or two rattled along
the highway towards Sotteville, a train rattled
and clanked on the line close by. Out here, now
that the dusk had fallen, there was little light.
And suddenly Rivington stopped and let Wells
come up to him. As they met, he heaved a
great sigh of relief.
“There, Dogger!" he said, “I think we
shall be safe if we walk a little way along this
road—I don't see any signs of our being
followed or watched, though goodness knows
we may be! However ”—
“ Look here, Daubs,” interrupted Wells,
“what’s all this mystery about? What’s it
mean, this dodging and lurking and pretending
that we’re strangers and all that ? I don’t half
like it? Are you frightened of something or
somebody ?”
Rivington uttered a sound which was half-
sigh, half-groan.
“ To tell you the truth, Dogger,” he
said, “I don’t know exactly whether I am
frightened or not. Physically, I am not at
all frightened, mentally, I suppose I am un-
H


n4 PARADISE COURT

easy. The fact is, we are in the middle of a
mystery.”
“ I am, without doubt,” replied Wells. “ But
you—surely you have got some sort of news
by this? You said in your wire yesterday, ‘ I
have found what I sought.’ Did that mean
that you had found Miss de St Evreux ? ”
“ Miss de St Evreux is here! ”
“ Here—in Rouen?”
“ In Rouen. So, also, is that rosy-checked
young lady of the camera whom we saw on the
boat yesterday.”
Wells gasped and came to a halt. He had
been thinking of the young lady of the camera
a good deal.
“ What on earth has she got to do with Miss
de St Evreux?" he exclaimed, wonderingly.
"There’s nothing to be astonished at in her
being here. She’s probably taking photo-
graphs of the place, but why mention her
in connection with your affair? You don't
mean ”—
“ I mean, my dear Dogger, that she has
something to do with it, and what it is I don’t
know. Whether it is that she is watching me,


THE WRONG YOUNG WOMAN 115

or watching Miss de St Evreux, or both, or
neither, or somebody else who has some con-
nection with us, or one of us, I cannot tell, but
she is certainly here either because I am here,
or Miss de St Evreux is here, or somebody
who has something to do with one of us or
both of us is here. Ostensibly the young lady
is amusing herself with her camera; between
ourselves I believe the camera to be a mere
blind.”
Wells kept silent for a few minutes.
“ I’m no hand at mysteries, Daubs,” he
said at last. “ Give me a straight course and
I’ll have acut in with anybody, but I’m shot if I
can understand anything you’re talking about."
“Give me a cigar and I’ll tell you every-
thing that has happened from the time I left you
yesterday until now,” said Rivington. “ That
of course is exactly what I want to tell you, so
that you can set your brain to work on it.
There !—now we will walk gently forward;
this road, you see, is very quiet.”
“ Go ahead, then ! ” said Wells.
Rivington puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.
He kept silent for a minute or two.


THE WRONG YOUNG WOMAN 117
on the left of my own. I walked down the
corridor and could not find him. I came back
and went the other way : he was not to be seen
in that direction either. I proceeded to walk
along the corridor, towards the rear of the
train, looking into each carriage. While I was
thus engaged I saw the young lady of the
camera leave the train—indeed, as there was
no porter just at hand, I helped her with her
baggage. Then I went on in search of
Etheredge. He, however, was not to be
found in the rear portion of the train, so I
came to the conclusion that he was in the front
part. I, however, was now in the last carriage
close to the guard’s van, and the train was
just beginning to move out of the station..
Out of sheer idle curiosity I put my head out
of the window and took a look round. We
were passing the exit—outside it, in the court-
yard of the station, I saw, as it were in the
flash of an eye, Yvette de St Evreux herself,
just stepping into a coupé. I bounded to the
door of the carriage—on that side it was
locked. I leapt to the other—it was open. I
got out on to the step—the train was gather-


118 PARADISE COURT
ing speed. At the risk of a good rolling in
the dustI dropped off and came off unhurt,
except for a bruise to my right knee, and was
then some sixty yards past the platform. I
ran back to be received with exclamations, and
gesticulations by sundry officials who had
witnessed my foolhardy proceeding. It took
me some minutes to calm and reassure them-
more minutes to question porters, drivers and
loafers outside the station as to where the
young lady had gone to who had driven off
in a coupe’ a few minutes before. Oh! they
remembered her perfectly—um; demoz’selle
Anglaz‘se, of a certainty. Where, but to the
Hotel de France, Rue des Carmes? I drove
like a fury to the Hotel de France—asked for
the young English lady who had just arrived-
and was shown into the presence of—the
rosy-checked damsel of the camera!”


CHAPTER III
THE THREE VEHICLES
I
“ You may imagine, my dear boy,’ continued
Rivington, “the utter amazement with which
the damsel of the camera confronted me and
the disappointment which I experienced on
confronting her. To say that we stood staring
at each other for a full minute, probably with
wide eyes and open months, would, I sincerely
believe, he no exaggeration. As to myself I
was no very presentable sight. To begin with,
I was bare of head and dusty of raiment, for I
had left my head-gear in the compartment
wherein you were so peacefully slumbering,
and in spite of my gymnastic performance in
leaping from the train, had rolled at least once
over in the dust and cinders of the railway
track. Therefore I suppose I looked rather
like a madman.”
“If I am not mistaken,” said Wells, “the
camera young woman possesses a strong sense
of humour."
II9


12O PARADISE COURT
“I entirely agree with you, Dogger,” said
Rivington, “she does possess a very keen
sense of humour. That saved the situation
and put us at our ease. Greatly to the
admiration of the waiter who had shown me
into the sale - de – lecteur and had manu-
factured a reason for lingering there, the lady
of the camera broke the silence and the ice
with what one might almost call a shriek of
laughter, and then said with truly British sang
froid—
“‘What is the matter?”
“‘The matter, madam, I replied, ‘the
matter is that I have made a huge mistake—I
have mistaken you for somebody else.'
She glanced at my uncovered and unkempt
head, and then at my dusty, begrimed clothes.
“‘But you appear, she said, almost archly,
“you appear to have been in the wars. I
hope you have not been fighting?'
“‘I will seek refuge in the truth,' I said.
‘And the truth is that after assisting you with
your baggage just now I went along the train
to find my servant whom I did not find, and
chancing to look out of the window I saw


THE THREE VEHICLES I21
someone on the platform of whom I am in
search.’
She interrupted me with a sudden drawing
together of her brows and a quick look in her
eyes.
" ‘ A young lady?’ she said.
“ ‘ Why do you think that?’ I asked.
“ ‘ Because you followed me,’ she answered,
quickly enough.
“ ‘True,’ said I. ‘ The lady is young.
And seeing her on the platform I leapt from
the train when it was in motion, rolled in the
dust, and ran back to the station. According
to the various intelligent functionaries at the
station you were the young lady I was in
search of, and you had driven to the Hotel de
France. Therefore I drove to the Hotel de
France—here I am—and I am disappointed—
yet there are compensations,’ I added, as
graciously as an untidy man could."
“ Oh, you began making up to her, did you?"
inquired Wells.
“ Dogger, Dogger, don’t use vulgar terms!
Of course I spoke nicely to her—was not she a
woman ?"


I22 PARADISE COURT
“What did she say to that?” growled
Wells.
“To that? Nothing. She is a matter-of-
fact young person, the camera damsel, whoever
she is. She merely remarked that she was
sorry for my disappointment and hoped I
should be successful in my search. Then, as
by an afterthought, she said, ‘I am staying in
Rouen for a few days, perhaps, if you describe
your lost friend to me I can help you to find
her, though as this is not London or Paris you
will surely come across her quickly.’ I there-
fore described Yvette to her, made my bow,
and left her, she observing that she would be
findable any morning somewhere about the
town in company with the camera.”
“ Umph !” said Wells.
“ Now you see my predicament,” continued
Rivington. “There I was friendless and
alone in Rouen, certain that I had seen Yvette
and equally certain that she had escaped me.
However, to know that she was there, in the
same city, was a great deal. I made my toilet
at the Hotel de France, took a drink, sallied
out to the nearest hat shop to buy a hat,


- THE THREE VEHICLES I2 3
purchased a rather pretty walking-cane and
some gloves, and then went down to my old
quarters, the Angleterre, to book rooms and
to tell them that my man and luggage would
arrive on the morrow. And after that, there
still remaining nearly two hours before dinner-
time, I went back to the station, hoping that I
might find the man into whose eoupé' I had
seen Yvette stepping as the train moved past
the sortie. That man, however, was not to be
found. Some others had a dim notion that
two ladies had driven up to the station in a
coupé about the time of the arrival of the
Dieppe-Paris express, but they were as certain
that they were not English as they were
positive that the young lady I wanted was she
of the camera at the Hotel de France. Had
not all the young English ladies cheeks of the
most red and eyes of the brightest? Then I
remembered that Miss de St Evreux is not
at all English in appearance and that I ought
not to have labelled her English in describing
her. It was evident that there was nothing to
be done at the station. I met with nothing
but obtuseness in every quarter. So I walked


I24 PARADISE COURT
round the central part of the town for an hour
or so, hoping that I might see Yvette. But
when I eventually returned to the Hotel
D’Angleterre a little after six o’clock, I had
seen nothing of her. She might, for ought
that I knew, be within a hundred yards of me,
but how was I to find her?”
“ You were certain, Daubs, that it was Miss
de St Evreux of whom you caught that pass-
ing glimpse P ” asked Wells.
“ I never doubted it, dear boy, for a moment,”
answered Rivington. "It was impossible to
doubt it. When you have seen Yvette you
will know why. Well, to resume, I dined in
the hotel and afterwards sat outside there,
wondering what to do next and how to go
about things. After a time I strolled along
the quay in the eastward direction and came to
the theatre and saw that Monsieur Mounet-
Sully was playing that evening, and having
nothing that I could think of doing, I decided
to go to the play. I therefore purchased a
seat in a part of the house in which it was not
necessary to appear in evening dress, and in
due course I took my place. I had not been


THE THREE VEHICLES I25
there very long when I saw the damsel of the
camera enter. She was attended, in due form,
by a cavalier.n

Wells threw the end of his cigar away. The
darkness veiled a decided frown which spread
itself all over his face.
“What sort of chap was he?” he inquired.
“ The cavalier? A medium - heighted,
dapper, Napoleoned little Frenchman, most
suave, polite, dancing - masterified person,
evidently devoted heart and soul to the young
lady of the camera. She was very simply
but excellently gowned; he was in evening
dress, of course, and had a bit of ribbon in his
button-hole. They appeared to take great
interest in the house. So did I, for it had
occurred to me that since Yvette was in Rouen
it was not improbable that she might come to
the theatre. As events proved, she did."
“ Did, eh? That was luck! ” said Wells.
“ Most fortunate. The manner of it was this,”
continued Rivington. “A few minutes before
the rising of the curtain I noticed some slight
commotion amongst the people in my neigh-
bourhood. Following their glances I saw that


I26 PARADISE COURT
three persons had entered one of the best-
placed boxes and were at that moment in full
view of the house. It needed but one glance
to assure myself that I was once more gazing
upon Yvette. But what an Yvette! She was
most magnificently and beautifully attired,
there were diamonds in her hair, her ears,
around her neck—never, I will venture to
affirm, nay swear, had the good folk of Rouen
ever seen such a dazzling young beauty. And
yet—and yet—though it was but a few days
before that I had walked and talked with her
in London, she was changed. Dogger, she
was changed !'
“Well, of course, all that finery would change
her,” commented Wells.
“It was not the silks, the laces, or the
diamonds,” said Rivington. “It was some-
thing in herself. But let me tell you of her
companions. One was a handsome, fine-
featured woman of, I should say, forty-five or
fifty years, dressed in excellent taste, evidently
of high breeding, but from exterior appearances
cold, hard and reserved and of a haughty
aspect. The other was a tall, massively-built


THE THREE VEHICLES I27

man, dark, bearded, who wore the ribbon of
some order—what, I could not tell—across his
breast. He was one of those impassive, im-
mobile men—an iceberg seen from without,
possibly a volcano within, who betray nothing
in look or gesture. During the whole of the
performance he never showed either approval
or enthusiasm. Now and then he spoke to
Yvette, with great outward show of politeness
and courtliness, but he never smiled, and save
for the extraordinary brightness and glitter of
his eyes you might have said that his face was
a mask. I need not tell you, Dogger, that for
me the performance on the stage had no
interest. Indeed, I cannot remember anything
of it—my entire attention was given to the
three people in the box. What was Yvette
doing there? Who were her companions?
I asked myself a thousand times and en-
deavoured to supply myself with fitting answers,
but could find none.”
“ Don’t you think, old chap, that it's quite
possible, seeing you know really so very little
of Miss de St Evreux, you know, that these
people may be relations of hers?” asked


I28 PARADISE COURT
Wells. “I confess that’s what would strike
me.”
“The thought certainly did occur to me,”
replied Rivington. “ It was of course my first
thought. But for some curious reason, which
I could not analyse or explain, I found myself
unable to accept it. I scrutinised both man
and woman closely, and saw, or thought I saw,
something in their faces which made it im-
possible for me to believe that they were kins-
folk of Yvette. And yet I knew that in spite
of my dislike to that thought, my inability to
believe in it, it might be true."
“That,” remarked Wells, “is more in ac-
cordance with practical common sense. But
proceed, Daubs, it’s getting as interesting as
it’s mysterious. What—er-what was the
camera girl and her Froggy doing all this
time?"
“I confess,” replied Rivington, “that I did
not give them much of my attention, Dogger.
I saw the young lady look at Yvette and her
companions when they entered the box—after
that she gave her attention to the play. N o, I
saw little of those two until the performance


THE THREE VEHICLES 129
was over. Then I certainly did see them.
What then happened was this—I was deter-
mined that Yvette should see me, and that she
should have the opportunity of speaking to me,
and so, a little time before the final curtain I
went down to the principal entrance and posted
myself at a point which I knew she and her
party must pass. In the event they came
along, a little apart from the mass of people.
The tall, bearded man with the inscrutable face
and hard, glittering eyes walked between the
ladies. Yvette was on his left hand, and
on that side of the door at which I had posted
myself. I purposely turned away as they drew
near, then turned again suddenly and met her
face to face. I put what entreaty I could into
my eyes, my face, as we looked at each other.
She turned deathly pale, and for a second her
hand went to her bosom. She gave me a
glance which I could not translate nor compre-
hend. The man caught her eye and mine. In
less time than it takes to tell it, he had swept her
and the elder lady out of the theatre and into a
private brougham which was in waiting at the
curb. As they crossed the pavement the
I


13o PARADISE COURT
camera girl and her companion passed. She
saw me, gave me a curious look—perhaps I
looked bowled over, for I was—and then a
pleasant nod. There was a fiacre just behind
the brougham. The camera girl and her com- '
panion got into it. These two vehicles moved
away from the other carriages and conveyances
and went up the Rue Grand Pont slowly, for
there was a good deal of traffic and the street
is but narrow. Seeing them move away an
uncontrollable desire to follow the brougham
seized me. I ran after it up the street. Both
vehicles made little headway until they had
passed the Cathedral—even then in the Rue
des Carmes there was a crush. At the Hotel
de France I thought the camera girl and her com-
panion would stop. To my surprise their fiacre
went on in rear of the brougham. An idea
struck me that possibly the occupants of the
fiacre were following the occupants of the
brougham. That resolved me—I would follow
both. At the corner of the Rue des Carmes
and the Rue Ganterie both carriages turned
into the latter and proceeded west. I hurried
after them as quickly as I could until, meeting


THE THREE VEHICLES 131
a coupe’, I jumped into it and bade the driver
follow, at a little distance, the two vehicles in
front. The man, a quick-witted fellow, under-
stood well and played his part to perfection.
In this order, then, we went along the Rue des
bons Enfants, crossed the Place Cauchoise and
began to climb the sloping ground which leads
to the Place St Gervais. The carriages in
front then going at awalking pace and I, know-
ing that their speed would not be accelerated,
jumped out of my coupé and, bidding the
driver wait for me in a side street which I in-
dicated, followed them on foot, keeping out of
sight as much as possible. And this is what I
saw. The brougham stopped at a door in a
high wall which surrounded one of the large
houses near the Rue Tabourat, and its three
occupants immediately disappeared within.
The fiacre passed the brougham at this very
moment and went further up the hill. I waited.
Within five minutes, exactly as I expected, the
fiacre returned down the hill, and in the light
of a street lamp I saw that it was still occupied
by the camera girl and her companion. I let
it go on, then returned to my coupé, and bade


I 32 PARADISE COURT

the man follow as before. We followed them
as far as the corner of the Rue des bons Enfants
and the Rue Jeanne D’Arc, then the fiacre
stopped, and the man got out and turned down
the latter street towards the river. The camera
girl went on and was eventually driven into the
courtyard of the Hotel de France.
“I returned to my own hotel,” continued
Rivington, after a slight pause, during which
Wells filled and lighted his pipe—a sure sign
that he was thinking hard—“ wondering what
all this meant, but absolutely certain that the
camera girl had followed Yvette and her com-
panions. I walked slowly, pondering much.
Reaching the hotel I was informed that a
gentleman had asked for me by name. Judge
of my astonishment on entering the private
room into which they had shown him, to find
myself confronting the man whom I had seen
with Yvette de St Evreux at the theatre!”


CHAPTER IV
REFUSED !
AT this point of his narration Rivington
paused and looked around him as if to ex-
amine his surroundings. They had now
walked some distance out of the city, along
the left bank of the Seine. Over against them,
on their right, on the other side of the railing,
they saw the lights of Sotteville; across the
river, at the head of a high promontory, a
twinkling, star-like light shining from some
cottage denoted the whereabouts of the village
of Bon Secours. The darkness had now
fallen and all around them was silence.
“We will turn back now,” said Rivington,
“ I can complete what I have yet to tell of my
adventures before we reach the outskirts,
where, my dear Dogger, I fear we must once
more separate. Well, as I said—I found
myself confronted by the man whom I had
seen in Yvette’s company at the theatre. It
133


I34 PARADISE COURT

was but half an hour since I had watched him,
Yvette and their companion enter the walled
garden in the Place St Gervais—it was plain,
then, that he had come to me immediately
after escorting his charges home.
“I looked at this man narrowly, now that
we were face to face and alone. He, too, re-
garded me with more than usual attention. I
saw that he was no ordinary man—there was
determination, resource, strategy in his eyes,
and the dominant characteristic of his expres-
sion was a certain quality of iron-like will
which could not fail to impress anyone who
came into close quarters with him. His face
was absolutely immobile as he stood in an
erect, statue-like attitude watching me. His
features might have been carved out of marble,
and I noticed, now that I was so near to him,
that his brow and cheeks were of a peculiar
tint of colour—a tint something like that of old
ivory—or like that strange pallor which comes
over the face of a dead man some little time
after death. It was only the eyes—the hard,
glittering, sinister eyes—that proved to you
that the man was alive. It was for all the


REFUSED! 135

world, Dogger, as if you were looking at a man
whose body was dead but whose soul was still
living within it, staring at you, balefully, from
somewhere deep within the dead brain.”
“ Pleasant, indeed,” said Wells. “You’ll
give me the creeps in a minute, Daubs."
“ Well,” continued Rivington, “I suppose
we stared at each other for a few seconds, and
then we exchanged ceremonious bows. I
silently indicated a chair to my visitor and he
bowed again, and, still standing, addressed me
in excellent English.
“ ‘ I have the honour to address Mr Riving-
ton ?’ he said.
“ I bowed without remark. Then, with an-
other bow, he seated himself in the chair which
I had silently offered. I took another facing
him.
“‘I have called upon you, Mr Rivington,’
he began, ‘ in the belief that a few words from
me may save much trouble and anxiety.’
“ ‘ To whom, sir?’ I asked.
“ ‘ To yourself for one,’ he answered, ‘to the
lady whom you know as Miss de St Evreux
for another.’


136 PARADISE COURT
“For a moment I regarded him steadily.
He too watched me with a quiet calculation as
to how his remark had affected me.
“‘Before I say anything upon this point, I
said presently, ‘may I ask to whom I have the
honour of speaking?'
“For answer he drew a card-case from his
pocket, and taking out a highly-glazed card
laid it before me with a bow.
“‘Pardon, he said, ‘I should have made
myself known to you before.'
“I looked at the card. I read in the centre
Monsieur Thomas Dubarle, and in the left-
hand corner an address in Paris. Laying the
card aside I remarked quietly, ‘Am I to under-
stand, Mr Dubarle, that Miss de St Evreux is
a kinswoman of yours?”
“He inclined his head gravely and
politely,
“‘The lady whom you know as Miss de St
Evreux, Mr Rivington, is my niece—the only
child of my late brother, George Dubarle.
She is also my adopted daughter.'
“‘I am to understand further, then, that the
real name of '—


REFUSED ! 137
“‘My niece's real name, sir, he interrupted,
“is Yvette Dubarle.’
“There was a brief silence between us. At
last, ‘I am glad to know that Miss Dubarle
is not without relations and friends, I said,
eyeing him closely.
“To this he responded with a bow. Then
after toying idly for a moment with the card
which I had laid on the table between us he
looked at me with fixed attention.
“‘It is best to be plain-spoken, he said.
‘Your sudden appearance at the theatre this
evening occasioned great distress to my niece,
Mr Rivington.’
“‘It would give me the greatest distress
conceivable to think that any action of mine
should occasion trouble and embarrassment to
your niece, sir, I answered. ‘There is no
woman in the world whom I would more will-
ingly shield from distress of even the slightest
nature—if I had the right, I added signifi-
cantly.
“‘Precisely, he said. “If you had the
right. But you have not the right, Mr
Rivington—you have not even the right to


I38 PARADISE COURT
follow my niece to Rouen. She told you that
she was leaving England for good, said fare-
well to you, and offered her gratitude for your
kindness to her by telling you that she should
always pray for your prosperity.’
“That rather bowled me out, Dogger, old
boy! It was evident that the man was quite
conversant with the terms of Yvette’s letter to
me—he had either seen it or she had told him
of the contents. Before I could make up my
mind what to say Monsieur Dubarle went on.
“‘ It is not necessary, Mr Rivington, to
enter into details to any unnecessary extent.
I am not, I believe, outside the truth when I
say that you followed my niece?’
“I saw no good in fencing with him,
Dogger, so I spoke plainly.
“ ‘ It is quite true, Monsieur,’ I said, ‘that I
followed your niece. I was greatly concerned
to find that she had left London and I deter-
mined to leave no stone unturned until I had
found her.’
“ He nodded his head.
“ ‘ I may ask why?’ he said suggestively.
“‘Certainly,’I replied, ‘I love your niece,


REFUSED ! I 39
and it is the sincere desire of my heart to
marry her. Since I have told you this, let me
tell you further, Monsieur, that as you come to
me as her kinsman, I am only too eager to tell
you anything you wish to know as to myself,
my position, my ’—
“ He lifted his hand and shook his head.
“ ‘ It is precisely because I know you for an
honest gentleman, Mr Rivington, that I come
to you to-night. There is no need for any
such course as you propose. I know who you
are, your character, your qualities, your posi—
tion in life. I have merely to tell you that
marriage between yourself and my niece is im-
possible!’
“I remained silent for a moment. Then,
‘Am I to understand that your niece concurs
in that decision, Monsieur?’ I inquired.
“‘As you have not proposed marriage to
my niece,’ he replied, ‘it is scarcely likely,
Mr Rivington, that she should be in a position
to concur.’
“‘Then, Monsieur,’ I said, ‘I refuse to ac-
cept any decision except her own. I desire
the opportunity of pleading my own cause to


I40 PARADISE COURT
this lady, and shall not be satisfied until I
have found it’—
“‘You would not give her annoyance—
distress'—he began.
“‘She and I, Monsieur, I said, ‘have met
each other sufficiently to know more than a
little of each other's qualities. She knows that
I would give her nothing but happiness,
pleasure, contentment'—
“He raised his hand, as if to stop me.
“‘Mr Rivington, he said, ‘you shall have
this opportunity. My niece and myself are
stopping, on our way to Paris, at the house of
my sister, Madame d'Andelys, who lives near
the church of St Gervais—the Villa Pimon-
telle. If you will call there to-morrow morning
at ten o'clock you shall see my niece.”
“I was too overjoyed at the frank invitation,
Dogger, to reply instantly. Before I could get
out a word he spoke again.
“‘I am sufficiently impressed by what I have
seen of you, Mr Rivington, he said, eyeing
me keenly, but with something approaching a
species of kindliness in his glance, ‘to believe
that whatever answer my niece gives to you,


REFUSED ! I4I
you will accept as final. I will grant that, as
things are, you have a right to speak to her,
and it is only just that you should be afforded
an opportunity of speaking. But you will
bear in mind, as a gentleman, that you may
be mistaken in believing that my niece cares
for you, and that her own plans for her future
are not necessarily—yours.”
“Therewith, without another word, he
favoured me with a ceremonious bow and de-
parted before I had time to fully analyse his
last sentences. I sat down and thought things
over. And the thought forced itself in upon
me over and over again – Was the man
straight?—was his story true?—was he really
Yvette's kinsman?—more than anything else,
was Yvette under undue influence, under
coercion ?
“Eventually, Dogger, I went to my room,
sorely puzzled. Just consider how quickly
things had gone! To-day is Thursday—last
Monday I was with Yvette in the Zoological
Gardens in London—on Tuesday night I
heard she had left England—on Wednesday
I found her, here, and before midnight had


I42 PARADISE COURT

been informed by a strange and mysterious
personage that she was—not for me. I did
not sleep very much, for I was thinking all
these things over. But the more I thought
the more I was puzzled. The only solution I
could come to was that this Monsieur
Dubarle’s story must be true, that he was a
sort of fairy uncle who had turned up
suddenly, and that he had ambitions for
Yvette. If his ambitions were the sole cause
of his apparent disinclination to a marriage
between his niece and myself—well, I felt they
might be overcome. But something gave me
an uncomfortable notion—a presentiment—
that there was something else, something
behind, some mystery of which I could not as
yet gather even a thread.
“I presented myself at the Villa Pimontelle
this morning exactly as the clock of St
Gervais was striking ten. And now, Dogger,
prepare yourself for the most astonishing part
of this narrative—the most astonishing to me,
at anyrate. I saw Yvette—alone—-—without
any restriction. She was calm, cool, composed,
quite at her ease. She was friendly, frank,


REFUSED ! I43

companionable —-— almost affectionate in her
manner—and she—refused me ! "
In the silence which followed Wells suddenly
uttered a sound which Rivington did not
understand. It was a sudden sharp drawing
in of his breath—a click of his teeth.
“ Yes?” said Rivington, questioningly.
“ You’re surprised, of course, Dogger, after
all I’ve told you. So was I.”
“Go on, Daubs,” said Wells. “Tell the
rest.”
“I was received,” resumed Rivington, “ by
Monsieur Dubarle, who almost immediately
presented me to his sister, Madame d’Andelys,
the lady whom I had seen at the theatre with
him and Yvette. They were both exceedingly
polite, almost cordial, and treated me with the
utmost courtesy. There was nothing in either,
nor in what I saw of the house, to excite any
suspicion. There was a pretty garden, trim
maidservant, evidences of taste and culture in
the salon into which I was shown. There I
was presently left alone. Yvette came to me.
“ I have never been more surprised, Dogger,
in all my life than I was during the next half-


REFUSED ! 145

through she treated me with quite a-a sisterly
candour-—sort of appealed to me, you know.
And in the end she talked in quite a sisterly
fashion. She had no thought of marriage ; she
said she certainly had some ambitions and
projects, but she preferred not to speak of
them. At present she wished to devote her-
self to her uncle, who had done much for her.
She gave me some slight particulars of herself
and of her uncle. It appears that when she
was left an orphan, at a very early age, she
was placed by this Monsieur Dubarle at a
convent-school in Paris, to the authorities of
which he paid her charges in advance for a
long term of years. He himself disappeared
soon afterwards—he was shipwrecked, it seems,
on the Australian coast, and for years lived a
roving life in strange places. Now he has
returned to France with a vast fortune—it
was to join him that she suddenly left London.
I asked her why she had not given such
friends as she had there the opportunity to
bid her farewell. She replied, with perfect
candour, that for certain personal reasons-
reasons, she said, of feeling-she had chosen to
K


I46 PARADISE COURT

leave as she did. And then she answered me,
naming Madame de Marlé, the Willoughbys
and myself, that she should always think the
warmest thoughts of us all.
“ ‘And yet,’ I said, interrupting her, ‘ you
dismiss me!’
“ At that she gave me a look which was so full
of appeal to my best self, Dogger, that I kissed
her hand, said a few words to her which—they
weren’t very clear—meant that her word was
my law—and found myself outside. Monsieur
Dubarle was awaiting me.
“ ‘ I have to thank you and to say farewell to
you, Monsieur,’ I said.
“ He offered me his hand.
“ ‘ I knew you for an honest English gentle-
man, Mr Rivington,’ he responded.
“ He walked down the garden with me—
both of us silent. As we came to the door
in the garden wall there was a sudden ringing
of the bell. Monsieur Dubarle opened the
door—there, rosy-cheeked and blue-eyed as
ever, stood the damsel of the camera! "


CHAPTER V
THE LADY OF THE CAMERA
THE effect of Rivington’s last communication
upon Wells was to adduce from him another
exclamation of an extraordinary sort.
“ What, again ! ” he said. “And there?”
' “I thought that would surprise you,” said
Rivington. “ Yes, there she was, camera and
all. Now, Dogger, I want you to follow
carefully what I have to tell you. First of
all, do you know anything whatever about
photography ? ”
“ Precious little,” answered Wells. “ I used
to mess about it when I was a youngster-
never did much, though. What of that?”
“I wish you to pay particular attention to
what I shall tell you of this young lady’s
doings. When Monsieur Dubarle opened the
door in the garden wall she was standing
about two yards from it, on the path. She
was holding the camera immediately in front
of her and looking down at it. Her attitude,
I47


I48 PARADISE COURT
her manner, everything about her indicated
that she had not expected her ring to be
answered so promptly. She started, as if in
confusion, when the door was opened, reveal-
ing Monsieur Dubarle and myself. But I
will stake all I possess in this world, Dogger,
against a china orange, that in that very
instant she took a snap-shot of us! It was
so quickly and cleverly done that it would
have passed unnoticed by ninety-nine out of
every hundred people. I am sure Monsieur
Dubarle observed nothing——I did. That she
got a snap-shot of the two of us, standing there
in the doorway, with the light full on us, I’ll
swear!”
"Well—and what next?” asked Wells,
quietly.
“Next she fell into the prettiest confusion.
You know,” continued Rivington, laughing a
little at the recollection, “you know the gush-
ing type of English girl who becomes all
blushes and giggles and ”—-
“I had a brief conversation with this par-
ticular young lady on the boat,” interrupted
Wells, drily, “and if you want my opinion,


THE LADY OF THE CAMERA I49
Daubs, old chap, she’s about the last person in
the world either to gush or to giggle.”
“ That, my dear Dogger, being your opinion,
I shall certainly not attempt to controvert it,”
said Rivington. “I shall merely remark that,
if the young lady is not naturally inclined to
gushing and giggling, she is one of the most
accomplished actresses I have ever had the
good fortune to meet. For with my own eyes
and my own ears I saw and heard her play the
part of the English ingénue who gushes and
giggles freely. At sight of Monsieur Dubarle
—she never took the slightest notice of me,
though she knew me, ofcourse, quite well—she
broke out into broken and very bad French.
Monsieur Dubarle, with the utmost courtesy,
addressed her in English—his English as I told
you, is perfect. Her eyes lighted up with the
real girlish delight; she poured out a flood of
eloquence. Really, he must think it so strange,
would he pardon such an unwarranted liberty
—the fact was, she was most anxious to get a
view of the group of houses standing on the
other side of the Place St Gervais, across the
way, with the spire of the church in the back-


15o PARADISE COURT
ground, and from the level of the Place she
could not obtain what she wanted. She had
observed from across the Place that in Mon-
sieur’s garden there was an elevated terrace
(the Villa Pimontelle, Dogger, stands high),
would Monsieur do her the great favour to
allow her to take the view from that excellent
point of vantage, and would he, please, please
pardon the intrusion ?”
“Well, I don't see any great amount of gush
about that, anyhow!” said Wells. “ If the girl
thought she could get a better result from
the garden of these people, why shouldn’t
she”—
“Excellent, excellent, my dear Dogger!”
laughed Rivington. “ I should agree with you
entirely if the young lady had not been so very
naive, so very just-released-from—the-school-
roomy in her manner, if she had not made so
many protestations, and if she had not talked
twenty-five to the dozen—a manner, which,
from what I have seen of her—very little of
course—but my opinion has just been corro-
borated by your own, was not natural, but
assumed. Am I clear?”


THE LADY OF THE CAMERA 151
“Well, go on,” growled Wells. “What
happened?"
“When he could get a word in edgeways,"
said Rivington, “ Monsieur Dubarle explained
that this was not his house nor his garden, but
that he felt sure that his sister, the proprietress,
would be only too pleased if Mademoiselle
availed herself of the advantage of the position
she had indicated. If Mademoiselle would
excuse him but one brief moment he would
conduct her to his sister. He turned from her
with a bow and walked out of the door with
me. We stepped a pace or two along the
street in silence.
“ ‘I rely upon your honour, Mr Rivington,’
he said at last.
“ I turned and faced him.
“‘Monsieur Dubarle,’ ‘I said, ‘your niece
has told me plainly, but with great candour
and kindness, that she does not care for me.
To say that I am surprised does not argue
that I am a coxcomb. A few days ago I was
under the impression—an impression certainly
not derived from anything she ever said or
did, an impression which we will now call


152 PARADISE COURT
erroneous, founded upon too eager hopes and
a sincere respect and affection—that her answer
might have been different. As it is—what it is,
I shall leave Rouen to-morrow.”
“He bowed in his usual courteous, if proud
fashion. -
“‘But there is one thing I would ask,
Monsieur Dubarle, I went on. “Is it im-
possible that my friendship for your niece—
hers for me—should not continue. In time to
come, for example'—
“‘Mr Rivington, he said, interrupting me,
“if, in time to come, such a course should be
agreeable to my niece I shall be pleased to see
you at my home in Paris. For the present
matters must remain according to the compact
arrived at between us. I thank you for your
frank behaviour and wish you well.'
“With that he once more gave me his hand,
bowed, turned away. I heard the door in the
garden wall close with a sharp click of the
lock. I, too, turned away—in the opposite
direction. If I am to tell you the truth,
Dogger, old boy, I felt confused, annoyed—it
was all so utterly puzzling.


THE LADY OF THE CAMERA I53

“I walked a few yards along the street.
Suddenly I thought of the girl with the camera.
Now, what was the particular part she was
playing in all this? That she and her escort
at the theatre on the previous night had
followed Monsieur Dubarle and his com-
panions home I was certain. Now, the morning
after, she had obtained entrance at anyrate to
their garden, after a bit of consummate acting,
for acting it was, Dogger. What was her
game? The thought of this put all other
thoughts out of my mind. I know all that
district very well, for I have spent a good deal
of time in Rouen during the past five years,
and I knew where I could command a view of
the garden and the front of the Villa Pimon-
telle. I crossed the road, slipped down a side
street across the way, turned up another, came
round a third, and entered a little café-
restaurant where there is an upstairs sa/le-ri-
manger, one of the windows of which I pro-
posed to use as a coign of vantage.
“ There was no one in the room, it was only
half-past ten, and therefore too early for de’-
jeuner, and there was nothing easier than to


I 54 PARADISE COURT

look out upon the Villa Pimontelle through
the lace curtains. I ordered a bottle of wine,
lighted a cigarette, and when I was alone,
turned my attention to what I desired to over-
look. My young lady of the camera was mak-
ing herself at home on the terrace. She was
most actively pointing out this and that to
Monsieur Dubarle and Madame his sister.
They, on their part, were all smiles and bows.
Presently out came Yvette and joined the
group. The young lady of the camera appeared
to take several views of the houses and the
church spire. Finally, having satisfied herself,
she began to depart with evident becks and
nods and wreathed smiles—as artless a young
English thing as you could find. Don’t growl
like that, my dear Dogger—you must know by
this time that our young friend of the rosy
cheeks is playing some game.”
‘Well, get on with it,” said Wells. “ What
next?”
“ It was next evident that Madame d’Andelys
was persuading the fair photographer to enter
the house. Eventually she did. Within the
house she remained just half an hour. Finally


THE LADY OF THE CAMERA 155
she left, escorted to the gate by Monsieur
Dubarle, as courteous and Grand Seigneurish as
ever. She tripped away, with her camera,
along the Rue St Gervais. As for me, I
slipped out of my cafe-restaurant, negotiated
my side streets, and came in sight of her again
as she crossed the Place Cauchoise. And
keeping her in view I followed her, at a proper
distance, until she eventually turned into the
Rue des Carmes. Then, close to her hotel,
I stepped up to her.
“ ‘ If you will pardon me for saying so,’I said
politely, but, I trust, very pointedly, ‘I have a
particular desire to speak to you.’
"She looked at me very closely, and very
quietly. There was no gush or giggle about
her now, Dogger; she looked at me as a man of
iron nerve looks down the barrel of a suddenly-
levelled revolver. And when she spoke her
voice was as steady, and as hard, as her eyes-
“ ‘The Rue St Romain, on the north side of
the Cathedral, is a most interesting street,’ she
said. ‘ There are several quaint old shops in
it; I shall be found looking into one or other
of them in ten minutes from now.’


I56 PARADISE COURT
“I bowed and turned away without a word,
more mystified than ever. And after walking
round a little, I made my way to the Rue St
Romain. There she was examining some old
brasses in a shop-window. Beyond ourselves
and one or two old women and children and a
priest in his cassock, reading his office as he
came along, there was no one in sight. I
advanced to her side.
“Well, sir?’ she said, ‘You may now speak.”
“That was blunt enough. I answered just
as bluntly.
“‘If I am not greatly mistaken,' I said,
“you have something of mine which you have
no right to have.”
“‘Will you be pleased to name it?’ she
retorted.
“‘An undeveloped negative of my photo-
graph,' I said, meaningly.
“‘Oh!’ said she ‘You were quick enough
to recognise that, were you?”
“‘And to appreciate your wonderful talents
as an actress,' I went on. “I congratulate you.
But why should my photograph be taken—to-
gether with that of Monsieur Dubarle's ''


I58 PARADISE COURT
chanced to be in such close proximity to—
Monsieur Dubarle. As it is, I will destroy
whatever comes off your side of the negative.
I have no use for your photograph.”
“‘Ah, then you have for—Monsieur Du-
barle?' I said.
“‘Some things go without saying, said she.
‘You should not ask too many questions, nor
leading ones.’
“‘You are an extremely mysterious young
lady, I said. “Do not think me impertinent
if I say that you puzzle me.'
“‘Certainly not, she answered. ‘It is a
valuable compliment. Do not think me im-
pertinent if I inquire how long you are staying
in Rouen ?’
“‘I leave here to-morrow, I replied, seeing
no reason why I should not answer her
question.
“‘Nor unduly inquisitive, she continued,
“if I ask if you have found the young lady of
whom you were in search yesterday afternoon?’
“‘I am so convinced of your abilities and
your penetration by this time, said I, ‘that I
shall not presume to deny that I have.”


THE LADY OF THE CAMERA 159
“She regarded me steadily for a full
mOment.
“‘She is a very beautiful woman, she said
at length. “I suppose you would go through
fire and water for her, Mr Rivington?”
“That made me jump. I stared at her as
at something uncanny.
“‘You know me?' I exclaimed.
“‘I heard your lecture last year on “The
Unattainable in Perfection,” she said, with an
enigmatical smile.
“‘May I not know whom I have the honour
of speaking to ?' I said in my most pressing
manner. Don't growl, Dogger!—I assure you
that”—
“Oh, go on 1” said Wells. “Hang it,
Daubs l—you seem to have had a lot of adven-
ture out of it while I was pelting to Paris and
back. What next?”
“‘At present, she replied, “no. Now
we will go—I am famishing and it is time for
déjeuner at my hotel. And she walked me
down into the street again, said, ‘You to the
left—I to the right—au revoir, m'sieu, and
went off, cool as—what's that ?”


I60 PARADISE COURT

A slight rustling in the hedgerow by which
they were walking—a calm, penetrating
whisper.
“ Do not be alarmed, sir—it is I—Ether-
edge!”
“Good Heavens! Etheredge? What is
it?”
“The lady that we saw on the boat, sir-—-
the young lady who had a camera—I have a
message from her. I am to conduct you and
Mr Wells to a café where she will meet you.
She has important news for you, sir, and par-
ticularly wishes Mr Wells to be present.”
As he spoke Etheredge pressed something
into his master’s hands. He spoke again——-
quietly as ever—
“ Your revolvers, sir—quite ready for use.
I—I thought it well to be on the safe side,
sir!”


CHAPTER VI
AT THE CHAT JAUNE
WELLS broke the silence which followed with
a low whistle.
“ This," he said, “begins to get more and
more interesting. You had better hand one
of those revolvers over to Etheredge, Riving-
ton—it so happens that I have one of my own
on me.”
“I am much obliged to you, sir," said
Etheredge. “I am already provided for, sir.
I never travel unarmed, sir."
“But really," said Rivington, “is it neces-
sary? Do you really think that we are in any
danger, Etheredge ? I—I am a little surprised,
confused, by your sudden appearance. When
did this young lady meet you, and what are
the precise terms of her message?”
“I will explain the matter clearly, sir,"
replied Etheredge, in his usual composed
manner. “ Having supped at nine o’clock and
L 161


I62 PARADISE COURT
there being nothing to attend to, I went for a
walk along the front of the quays. As I
passed by the theatre the young lady of whom
I have spoken came up from behind, and pass-
ing me swiftly said, without turning her head,
‘I wish to speak to Mr Rivington's man—
cross to the other side near the river.' I
immediately recognised the young lady, sir,
and after going a little way further I crossed
to the parapet which is immediately in front of
the Hotel de Paris. There were a few strollers
there, but it was otherwise quiet. I affected
to be interested in the reflection of the star-
light in the water, and leaned over the parapet
of the stone wall watching it. Presently the
young lady joined me. “Your master and his
friend have gone along the Grand Cours on
the other side of the river, she said, ‘ and have
probably followed the field path along the
river – side. I want you, in your master's
interests, to meet them as they return to the
city and tell them that I wish them both—and
particularly your master's friend—to meet me
at the Chât Jaune, in the Rue Vieux Palais,
at half-past ten. Stay, she said, “do you know


AT THE CHAT JAUNE I63
the place P’ I replied that I did know it.
‘Then, she said, ‘I will leave it to you, whom
I perceive to be a discreet and confidential
person, to bring the gentlemen there by such
means as you think best, but separately.
When you reach the place you will meet a man
at the door who, upon your pronouncing the
words “Jeanne d'Arc" will conduct you to a
room where I shall meet you.' This, sir, was
the sum of the young lady's communication,”
concluded Etheredge.
“And a most mysterious communication,
too !” exclaimed Rivington. “But listen,
Etheredge, did the young lady give you no
proof of her good faith—did she not say any-
thing which would warrant you in taking me
to this place P”
“I believe, sir,” replied Etheredge, “that I
have the honour to possess your unbounded
confidence, and I will therefore reply frankly
that the young lady did make a communication
to me which for the moment I should prefer
not to speak of, for I am assured that she will
make it to you herself at the Chât Jaune,
whither, sir, I strongly advise you to repair,


I64 ’ PARADISE COURT
especially as there are three of us and we are
all well armed.”
“Then let us go to the Chat Jaune by all
means,” said Rivington. “ What say you,
Wells? Are you inclined for an adventure?”
“Spoiling for it!” answered Wells. “But
look here, you and Etheredge seem to know
this place like a book—I don’t. If we are to
go separately, how do I get there?”
“I think, sir,” said Etheredge, modestly,
“that if I may venture an opinion, it would be
well if you proceeded to the south-west corner
of the church of St Eloi alone, by way of the
Pont Bordelieu, while Mr Wells, following me
at a little distance, reaches the same point by
the Pont Corneille. The Chat Jaune is only
just round the corner from there.”
“Very good—then I go straight there,” said
Rivington, and strode off in the darkness while
Wells and the valet waited behind.
“This is a queer business, Etheredge,”
observed Wells, as the sound of Rivington's
footsteps died away.
“A most mysterious business, sir,” answered
Etheredge, respectfully.


AT THE CHAT JAUNE 165
“Are we going to hear any explanation of
it?” suggested Wells.
“I should not feel surprised if we heard
some startling communication, sir,” replied
Etheredge. “We will now, if you please, set
out, sir. If you will keep me in sight, we shall
presently be in the lights again. I will con-
duct you to the church of St Eloi, close to our
destination.”
After a walk of some twenty minutes’ dura-
tion Etheredge and Wells entered the quiet
little square wherein stands the church of St
Eloi. They found Rivington standing in the
shadow of a buttress.
“ It is just half-past ten,” he said as they
came up to him. “Everything about here is
absolutely quiet—there is not a soul to be seen
in any of these streets.”
“ Follow me, if you please, gentlemen,” said
Etheredge.
He led the way round the corner into the
Rue Vieux Palais and at the distance of a few
yards along the street tapped twice at a door
which was instantly opened by a stout man in
a white apron. “Jeanne d’Arc,” said Ether-


I66 PARADISE COURT
edge. “ Entrez, m’sieu," responded the man.
He closed the door when they had entered,
and then, passing them without comment,
signed them to follow him along a dimly-
lighted passage. At the end of this he threw
open a double door and stood aside with a bow.
Rivington and Wells, closely followed by
Etheredge, stepped into a room where other
people were already assembled. The door
closed behind them.
This room, unlike the passage, was well-
lighted, and when the eyes of the two friends
became accustomed to the light, they saw that
three persons who had been seated round a
table in the centre had risen and were bowing
politely to them. Of these persons Rivington
instantly recognised one as the man whom he
had seen at the theatre with the young lady of
the camera. The second—another man—he
did not know at all. The third, a woman of
apparently middle age, whose hair was already
turning grey and who wore dark spectacles,
was also a stranger to him. It was this person
who broke the silence.
“Good-evening, Mr Rivington," she said in


AT THE CHAT JAUNE 167
the voice of the camera girl. “I thank you
for your punctuality and hasten to assure you
that you are amongst friends.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Rivington.
“It is’ you, then—but what an admirable
disguise! It is really.”
“ I told you this morning that I hoped I was
something of an artist,” she said, interrupting
him. “But sit down with us, please. We
believe you can help us and we can help you.
As I have already said, you are amongst
friends.”
Thus adjured and assured, Rivington and
Wells, the latter open-mouthed with astonish-
ment, took seats at the table. Etheredge
remained standing, but at a word from the
lady, who appeared to be in command, he took
a seat at the foot of the table and assumed an
attitude of attentive and respectful propriety.
“ Mr Rivington,” said the lady, “I ask you,
for a few minutes at least, to place yourself
entirely in my hands, on my personal assurance
to you that in what we are now doing and
in the questions I wish to ask you, I am
endeavouring to assist you in the matter


AT THE CHAT JAUNE 169

“ At Madame de Marlé’s.”
“ Who is Madame de Marlé?"
“ Madame de Marlé is a professor of music.”
“ Living where?”
“ In a flat which she names Paradise Court,
in Minobar Mansions. I met Miss de St
Evreux there at Madame de Marlé’s Sunday
evening receptions. A great many young
people—literary, artistic, musical—are to be
found there.”
“ Many foreigners?”
“ A good many.”
The lady paused for a moment and consulted
a small notebook which lay on the table
beneath her folded hands.
“On the 11th of this month and again on
the 22nd, Mr Rivington, you took Miss de St
Evreux to the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s
Park?” she asked.
“Certainly I did! ” answered Rivington, in
much astonishment.
“Are those the only occasions on which you
have met her alone? ”
“They are.”
“ Mr Rivington—beyond your knowledge of


I70 PARADISE COURT
the fact that Miss de St Evreux was employed
as governess in the family of Mr Willoughby,
in Cumberland Terrace, did you, until within
these last forty-eight hours, have any knowledge
of her private history?”
“No,” replied Rivington, slowly. “I had
not. I knew nothing until, night before last, Mr
Willoughby told me that Miss de St Evreux
had been brought up from childhood in a
convent in Paris, and since leaving it had
earned her living as a governess.”
“ Turn your attention to the events of last
night, Mr Rivington. You saw Miss de St
Evreux at the theatre here in company with a
lady and a gentleman? "
“ Yes.”
“Later on, the gentleman called on you at
your hotel?”
“ He did.”
“What name did he give you ? ”
“ That of Monsieur Thomas Dubarle—with
an address in Paris.”
“ What took place—briefly ? ”
“Monsieur Dubarle represented himself to
me as the uncle of Miss de St Evreux. He


AT THE CHAT JAUNE I71

said that it was impossible that a marriage
should be arranged between his niece and my-
self—utterly impossible—and begged me not to
pursue her with any attention. I told him that
if his niece would give me an answer with her
own lips I would accept it. He thereupon
invited me to call upon his niece at the Villa
Pimontelle this morning."
“What was the result of your visit, Mr
Rivington ?"
“Miss de St Evreux very candidly and
kindly refused me.”
“ You were surprised? ”
“ Frankly—yes.”
“ Have you anything to suggest, anything to
remark upon, as to this ? "
“ Merely," replied Rivington, after a
moment’s reflection, “ that in spite of Miss de
St Evreux’s candour and kindness I could not
help feeling that there was some difference in
her. She was not what she was on Monday
last, when she and I were at the Zoological
Gardens. I cannot explain the difference to
myself.”
“ In the course of her conversation with you


AT THE CHAT JAUNE 173
English, but with a foreign accent, “ I suppose
you never saw Monsieur Dubarle in London ?”
“Certainly not,” replied Rivington. “I never
saw him until last night.”
The questioner nodded and addressed some
remark to the lady. She looked at Rivington
and smiled. Then she whipped off her dark
spectacles and smiled out of her blue eyes.
“ Well, Mr Rivington—and Mr WeIls——-”
she said, favouring the astonished naval officer
with a friendly glance—“you—at least you,
Mr Rivington, have been very candid, and we
think it well, knowing you both to be English
gentlemen, and that you, Mr Rivington, are
genuinely and sincerely in love with this young
lady, and therefore anxious about her welfare,
to be equally candid with you. We also
extend our candour to your confidential servant,
Mr Etheredge, whom I have already had
reason to trust in years past. That astonishes
you, Mr Rivington? Never mind, you may
trust Etheredge to the fullest extent.”
Etheredge bowed a modest acknowledgment
of this approval.
“ The fact is, Mr Rivington,” continued this


174 PARADISE COURT



mysterious young lady, “my companions and
myself are secret agents of the Russian Govern-
ment. I am a perfectly respectable English-
woman, gentlemen,—my name is Angelica
Maxwell, and my father is a well-known
Leicestershire clergyman. This gentleman”
—she indicated the man with whom Rivington
had seen her at the theatre—“ is Monsieur
Simond,—this gentleman ”—she turned to the
other—“ is Monsieur Dequis. Monsieur
Dequis and myself are employed in London—-
Monsieur Simond in Paris. Now, gentlemen,
you know us.”
"Miss Maxwell,” said Rivington, “will you
tell us something of what all this means? ”
“That,” replied Miss Maxwell, “ is what I
am about to do. I take it, from what I have
seen, that Mr Wells is hand-in-glove with you
in this affair?”
“ That is precisely so—as long as my leave
lasts,” said Wells, bluntly.
“Then I shall explain to you both. The
man Dubarle is not Dubarle at all—he is a
Russian of high rank, who, many years ago,
was concerned in a terrible outrage in St


AT THE CHAT JAUNE I75

Petersburg, in which others of his family were
also mixed up. He was sentenced to death,
but the sentence was commuted to one of
banishment to Siberia—for life. Within the
last two years he escaped—nothing was heard
of him until recently, when he appeared in
London. Monsieur Dequis and myself have
had him under observation. We will not tell
you his real name yet—that he is the man of
whom I speak we now know. What we do
not know is—what he is after, and what share
Miss de St Evreux has in his plans, or what
use he is making of her, or is about to make?
From what we have heard of her she is a dupe
—a cat’s-paw to be. If that be so, we are as
anxious as you are to save her.
“For four successive Wednesday evenings
she has met this man at various cafes in Soho.
Day before yesterday he came here by the
morning boat—she followed by the night boat.
It is our belief that the next act will be played
in Paris. Why do we think that? _ Because a
certain personage of distinction, whom I need
not name, is to visit Paris, incognito, within the
next two or three weeks.”


PART THE THIRD
IN PARIS





CHAPTER I
ANOTHER CURTAIN RISES
BETWEEN the Thursday evening which wit-
nessed the fateful meeting at the Chat Jaune
and the noontide of the following Tuesday,
seemed to Rivington an interminable stretch
of time. It was a time of whirl and bustle, too
—a rapid transference of himself and Etheredge
from Rouen to London, and a feverish rushing
about there, making arrangements for the
delivery to his order in Paris of a new and
powerful first-class automobile — finally a
hurried journey by night to the French capital,
and a quick consultation next morning with a
house-agent, who lost no time in providing
Rivington with precisely what he wanted, as
soon as he discovered that the young man was
rich and very free with his money. By the
Monday evening, then, he and Etheredge
were safely installed in a quiet and charmingly
situated little villa in the Charenton district,
I79


I80 PARADISE COURT

and in the coach-house at the foot of the tree-
surrounded garden reposed a De Dietrich.
Despite all their preparations and pro-
visions, however, Rivington was ill at ease and
sorely distressed in mind. The revelations
made at the Chat Jaune had opened his eyes
to many possibilities of evil and danger to the
woman he loved. If Miss Maxwell’s story
were true, and her theories correct, Yvette
must surely be in daily, even hourly peril.
Rivington had small sympathy with secret
service agents of any sort. It seemed to him
that work such as they accomplished was the
work of a spy, and he could find it in his mind
to apply other terms than “terrible outrage ”
to whatever it was that the man who called
himself Dubarle might have done in bygone
years. instinctively a lover of liberty and
freedom, Rivington felt that these “ outrages ”
in Russia might more accurately be classed in
the despairing and frenzied protests against
oppressive wrong from a half-maddened
people. No one, he would have argued,
blames the poor rat, driven into his last corner,
if he turns and makes a final vicious protest


ANOTHER CURTAIN RISES I81

and bites his hardest as he bites his last.
Therefore, it seemed to him, the “ outrage"
which the so-called Dubarle and his friends
had compassed, for his share in which the man
himself, having escaped death, had suffered
imprisonment in the living tomb of Siberia,
might not affect others with so much horror as
it must necessarily assume in the eyes of paid
agents. But that had little to do with the
question of Yvette’s safety. Rivington recog-
nised that if the man known as Dubarle was
meditating some desperate action, she, being
in his company, could scarcely fail to escape
some result of it.
To him the whole affair was more mys-
terious than ever. Over and over again,
travelling from Rouen to London, and again
from London to Paris, he tried to account for
certain things, to describe certain facts with
other perhaps less certain facts. He had no
reason to doubt Miss Maxwell was right when
she said that for four successive Wednesday
evenings Yvette had met the so-called Dubarle
at various restaurants in Soho under suspicious
circumstances. Now, if the man was in reality


I82 PARADISE COURT

her kinsman, why should there have been all
this secrecy in his dealings with her? Why
should he not have gone openly to the
Willoughbys’ house, proclaimed himself as
the young woman's uncle and announced his
intention of providing for her in future?
What need was there of hole-and-corner
meetings? And, though these were matters
of which Rivington did not desire to think,
how was it that Yvette, who had always
seemed so candid, so frank in all her dealings
with himself, could lend herself to this under-
ground work? True, she was under no
obligation to anyone, she was not deceiving
anyone, she had a perfect right to manage
her own affairs in her own way—yet there
was the fact that she met this man in what
could only be properly described as a clan-
destine fashion. Rivington remembered what
a difficult task he himself had had in persuad-
ing her to accompany him to the Zoological
Gardens, how she had seemed to think that
such an excursion would not be according to
the conventional proprieties, how shy and
modest she had been at their meeting. And


ANOTHER CURTAIN RISES I8 3

yet, at that very period, she was meeting
this so-styled Dubarle in a way that might
we be called underhand. It was more than
strange—it was mysterious. But in the midst
of all these perplexing thoughts Rivington
never doubted Yvette for a moment. He
recalled all the conversations he had had
with her at Madame de Marlé’s receptions;
he went over and over their talk at the
Zoological Gardens and he found it im-
possible to believe that Yvette, as he had
known her in even such scant opportunities
as these, was likely to be a woman of a
double life. Yet there had been a difference
in her when he met her at Rouen. What
it was he could not explain to himself, but it
was there. And knowing of its existence,
Rivington found his mind inexpressibly tor-
mented by the question—Was Yvette under
some powerful influence which for the time
being had completely changed her individu-
ality? He had heard of such influences, and
knew them to be possible. The so-called
Dubarle was a man of immense mental power
—that was evident on the face of things—


I84 PARADISE COURT

was it not possible that for purposes of
his own he was working on Yvette’s mind
and compelling her to assist him in—
what?
Rivington was full of these thoughts when,
on the following Tuesday, he waited at the
cross-roads at Rosny for the coming of
Wells. Since the eventful evening at the
Chat Jaune he had heard nothing from either
Wells or Miss Maxwell, though the latter
had promised to telegraph to him in London
if anything of any note happened on the
Friday or Saturday. Wondering if Wells
would keep the appointment, and what news
he would have to give him, he lounged idly
about the roadside, staring at such folk as
came along or at the outworks of the Fort
which rose frowning and threatening above
him. Certainly he scarcely saw anything—
his mind was too busy to allow his eyes to do
more than stare blankly at the things about
him. He had, in fact, almost lapsed into
unconsciousness of his situation when he was
suddenly brought to his senses by the sound
of a familiar voice—


ANOTHER CURTAIN RISES 185
“Here you are, Daubs, old chap ! Climb in
and have a ride!”
Rivington turned in amazement to find a
smart motor car drawing up on the road
almost at his elbow. In the driver's seat
sat Wells, his eyes hidden by a huge pair of
goggles, his mouth widened in a gigantic
smile. Everything about him seemed to
denote a heyday of jollity and pleasure; there
was keen enjoyment in the tilt of his snub
nose and gaiety seemed to exude from his
multitudinous freckles. But Wells was not
alone. By his side sat a lady, very smartly
but quietly clad in a long coat of dark blue
cloth, finished with a deep collar of sable, a
lady of something under middle-age, whose
very dark hair, coiled in a heavy knot at the
back of her neck, was surmounted by a rakish
bowler hat, around which a veil was arranged
in the fashion affected by hunting ladies.
Rivington hastily uncovering at the sight of
this unexpected apparition, was conscious that
behind the veil was a much-bronzed com-
plexion, very white teeth and a pair of blue
spectacles.


I86 PARADISE COURT
“Is that really you, Wells?" exclaimed
Rivington. “ Dear me, I”—
“Look here, old chap," interrupted Wells.
“ I want to introduce you to my Aunt Jemima
—Mrs Farringdon—Aunt Jim, this is my
friend Rivington. Awfully strange coinci-
dence, Daubs, wasn’t it, that Aunt Jim and I
should strike Paris just about the same time?
We dropped across each other in the Rue
Royale on Saturday. This is Aunt Jim’s
craft—I’ve been learning how to navigate it
since Sunday morning. But get in, old boy,
we’re going to lunch at a spot a few miles out
—run you there in no time.”
Rivington climbed up to a seat at the back
of the car, wondering what had made Wells
bring a female relative with him on such an
important occasion.
“I say, Dogger," he said, “you’re quite
certain you can drive all right? Because I
don’t believe you were ever in a motor in your
life before Sunday, you know."
“All right, old chap,” said Wells, reassur-
ingly. “I’m a wonderful hand at picking up
anything. Just wait until we’ve got past this


ANOTHER CURTAIN RISES I87
village in front here, then I’ll let her go.
You can do a good fifty miles an hour on this
car—can't you, Aunt Jim ? ”
“ Don’t be afraid, Mr Rivington,” said the
newly-qualified driver’s aunt. “I am an ex-
perienced motorist. I’ll take care that this
very youthful nephew of mine plays no tricks
with us. He has certainly iproved himself a
very apt and quick pupil. Now you may let
her go a little, Dick.”
Mrs Farringdon had a pleasant, musical
voice, but somewhat high-pitched. Rivington
began to wonder whether Wells had ever told
him of her. Was she his mother’s or his father’s
sister? He leaned over to the front of the
car.
“ It must have been a great pleasure to you
to meet your nephew unexpectedly in Paris,
Mrs Farringdon ? ” he said.
“ Oh, a great pleasure indeed, Mr Rivington.
I had not seen him for such a long time, you
know. Don’t you think he’s grown?”
“Grown?” said Rivington. “I—well I—
really, perhaps he has a little.”
“Quite a nice boy, too,” said Mrs Farring-


I88 PARADISE COURT

don. “ There, Dick, that will do—that is quite
fast enough. I don’t want you to frighten Mr
Rivington. Do you motor, Mr Rivington ?"
“ I have just bought a car,” answered Riving-
ton, “ but I can’t drive it.”
“That’s a great pity—if you are staying in
Paris you must let my nephew give you some
lessons.”
“What sort of a car is it, Daubs?" asked
Wells. “A good ’un?"
“ It’s a De Dietrich—eighty horse-power,”
answered Rivington.
“That’s excellent,” said Mrs Farringdon.
“ I should like to try it. I have often driven.”
“I shall be greatly honoured if you will,
Mrs Farringdon,” said Rivington. “ Per-
haps Wells and I can arrange matters”-
“ Oh, we’ll arrange 'em all right, old chap!”
said Wells. “ Now then, Aunt Jim, which
way—left, right or straight ahead? "
“ To your left as far as Bondy—then to your
right, straight along the Metz Road as far as
Livry,” replied Mrs Farringdon. “We will
lunch there."
Rivington was speedily aware that Wells’s


ANOTHER CURTAIN RISES 189
aunt had been giving him special instructions
in the art of driving an automobile. Every
now and then she leaned over to him and gave
him advice or hints—once or twice, as the road
was straight and there was little traffic about,
she allowed him to go at a speed which took
Rivington's breath away—finally, a few miles
outside of Livry, she took the wheel herself and
let Rivington see what her car could do. He
noticed that her wrists were like steel.
“And now I am sure that Mr Rivington
must be very hungry,” said Mrs Farringdon, as
at last they came to a standstill before the door
of a little hotel. “Dick, do you see that the
car is safely housed for an hour or two while
we see what we can get for lunch. This is a
quiet little place, and good—I have been here
often.”
She preceded Rivington into a little salle-d-
manger and explained her wants promptly and
clearly to an admiring waiter, who foresaw
much profit to himself in the advent of people
who descended upon him in a swift motor car.
And when he had departed to enter upon a
period of great activity, and they had the little


I90 PARADISE COURT
room to themselves, she turned from a mirror
whereat she had been taking off her veil and
said, with a certain arch intonation-
“ I really believe that I am something of an
artist after all, Mr Rivington!” Rivington,
who had been staring out of the window,
wondering when he would get the chance of a
talk with Wells, turned towards the lady as if
he had been shot. The veil and the spectacles
were gone.
“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed. “Is it
really you, Miss Maxwell?”
“At your service, Mr Rivington,” she re-
plied, bowing.
“You are indeed a very clever woman!”
said Rivington, admiringly. “I am afraid of
you.”
“Be thankful, then, that I am not on your
track. For I should catch you, you know.”
“That makes me hopeful that you can and
will help me in the matter. Have you any
news for me, Miss Maxwell?”
“I have a lot to tell you, Mr Rivington, but
I will tell it to you while we lunch and when
Mr Wells comes in. I have been assiduously


ANOTHER CURTAIN RISES I91

teaching him how to drive ever since Saturday
morning, because if we use that De Dietrich of
yours, I wish him to drive it.”
“ More mystery," sighed Rivington. “ But-
I am very anxious—can you not give me some
news of ”—
“She is safe, as yet," said Miss Maxwell.
“And I do not think there is any immediate
danger."
“ Where is she?" asked Rivington.
“ She is in Paris," replied Miss Maxwell.
“ Sit down—here—Mr Rivington, and I will
tell you just a little, to make your mind easy.
Monsieur Dubarle, we will agree to call him so
for the present, and Miss de St Evreux travelled
from Rouen to Paris on Saturday. Happening
quite by accident, you know, to be also travel-
ling to Paris, I came across them on the train.
Monsieur Dubarle was just as polite to me as
on Thursday last, when I gained admittance to
the Villa Pimontelle. Indeed, he invited me
to call upon his niece at their apartment. They
are living, I may tell you, at a most expensive
and handsomely appointed flat in the neigh-
bourhood of the Champs Elysées, the sort of


I92 PARADISE COURT

place that only a millionaire ought to afford.
To Monsieur Dubarle, I am Miss Virginia
Steyne—a singularly young and gushing
English miss, whose conversation, I believe,
he finds amusing.”
“But,” said Rivington, now more anxious
than ever, “can you give me no idea, Miss
Maxwell, of what this man's plans, his schemes,
his intentions are, and what part Miss de St
Evreux is to play in them?”
Miss Maxwell looked around her and then
leaned over the table and spoke in a low voice.
“The distinguished personage of whom I
spoke to you on Thursday at the Chat Jaune,”
she said, “arrived in Paris last night. It is
my belief that Dubarle is plotting his assassina-
tion, and that Miss de St Evreux, unknown to
herself, is to be used as a decoy ! ”


CHAPTER II
MoLE’s WORK
ON hearing this declaration of opinion from
Miss Maxwell, Rivington was conscious of a
sudden sinking of the heart. He half rose
from the table.
“What are you going to do?" inquired his
companion, stretching out a hand. “ Sit down
again, Mr Rivington.”
“Yes," said Rivington, mechanically, “I
suppose that is all I can do. But, I felt as if I
must go to her help at once. My God! Miss
Maxwell, think of what that meansl—a
decoy!”
Miss Maxwell nodded her head, with a
grave appreciation of Rivington's feeling.
“Yes,” she said, “it sounds dreadful, I
know. But that is the theory which we have
worked out, Simond, Dequis and myself.
There are many things in favour of it-—-I will
tell you of them presently, when Mr Wells
N 193


I94 PARADISE COURT

joins us. But just let me say this, Mr Riving-
ton, do not be alarmed about Miss de St
Evreux at present. She is safe up to now,
and it will be in our interest to keep her safe.
We have her and Dubarle under close obser-
vation. I may tell you that, as a matter of
fact, we have one of our most skilful agents in
Dubarle’s household, and that we shall receive
constant reports. We are taking every pre-
caution. What we really want is to let matters
develop until we are certain of our theories
and our plans, and then ”—
“ Yes, and then?” asked Rivington, noticing
that she paused and hesitated.
“ Then—well, we want to get this man red-
handed if we can, and at the same time to
save Miss de St Evreux.”
Rivington looked at her anxiously and
doubtfully.
“That is to say you want things to go on
until she is at the very edge of the abyss?” he
said.
“We will see that she does not go over,”
interrupted Miss Maxwell, quickly. Rivington
shook his head. A new look had come into


MOLE’S WORK 195

his face, and Miss Maxwell was quick to
see it.
“ You will not mind if I speak very plainly,”
he said slowly and in low tones. “It seems
to me that not only Dubarle but yourselves-
you secret agents——wish to make Miss de St
Evreux a means towards an end. Why not
rescue her now, instead of letting things go on
until it may be—too l‘ate? If this man Dubarle
is nothing to her, why should she remain one
hour longer under his roof? If he is meditating
the assassination of the eminent personage who
is coming to Paris, incognito, why permit Miss
de St Evreux to remain in ignorance of the fact
that she is living with a would-be murderer”--
Miss Maxwell interrupted him with a
significant lifting of her hand.
“Mr Rivington,” she said, “I want you to
try to recognise that in this matter I not only
know more than you know, but am better able
to do the right thing, to adopt the wisest
course. It would be utterly useless for you,
for me, for anybody, to approach Miss de St
Evreux at present, because she is under the
influence-how exerted, and in what special


196 PARADISE COURT
form I cannot yet say—of Monsieur Dubarle.
It is my opinion that this influence is hypnotic.”
Rivington almost shouted an exclamation.
Miss Maxwell raised a warning finger.
“Ah!” he said. “That—that is what has
been struggling to get to the top in my
thoughts! Did I not say, Miss Maxwell,
that she was not herself. That is, that must
be the reason. But, my God! how dreadful to
think that this man should have such a power
over her It is, it is almost unbearable !”
“Don’t despair and don't give way, Mr
Rivington. It is, after all, a better thing that
Miss de St Evreux should be under such an
influence than that she should be what we
were at first inclined to suspect—a willing
accomplice.”
“You thought that ?” exclaimed Rivington.
“Why not? What did we know of Miss de
St Evreux but that she was meeting this man
clandestinely, under most suspicious circum-
stances? We knew him and his record; there
is a proverb of our own, is there not, which
says that a man is known by the company he
keeps. Of course, if she kept such company,


MOLE’S WORK 197
she could not avoid suspicion. N o, it is better
as it is. But here comes Mr Wells.”
Wells was sober-mannered enough as he
took a seat at the table whereat Miss Maxwell
and Rivington had already placed themselves.
He gave a quick glance at both.
“ I see you have been talking business," he
said. “Look here, Daubs, old chap, there’s
just one thing I want to say, follow Miss Max-
well’s advice implicitly. I have seen enough
since I came here to assure myself that if any-
body will save Miss de St Evreux, she will.”
“ Thank you, Mr Wells,” said Miss Maxwell,
“that is a very generous compliment; I shall
try to live up to it.”
“My Aunt Jemima," said Wells, relaxing
into a broad grin, “is a most accomplished
woman, especially as a coach in teaching you
the whole art of driving a motor car.”
“I am in Miss Maxwell’s hands,” said
Rivington, “and I am deeply grateful to her.
I only wish that I personally could be of more
use; I feel as if I were doing nothing.”
“Oh, but you will do a great deal!" said
Miss Maxwell. “ To begin with, you have


I98 PARADISE COURT
provided the motor car—a-—a De Dietrich, I
think you said?”
“It is all ready, awaiting your instructions,”
answered Rivington. “ But I have not the
least idea of what it is wanted for.”
"Then I will tell you,” said Miss Maxwell,
“it is wanted for this. If things develop as I
believe they will develop, I shall kidnap Miss
de St Evreux.”
“ Kidnap her!”
“I shall kidnap her and have her miles
away before Dubarle or anybody else knows
where she is. And Mr Wells will drive.
Therefore, he must use this new motor and get
used to it. He has nerve enough for anything
requiring pluck and dash—that was Why I
pressed him into service.”
“I can only say once more that you are a
very wonderful young woman!” exclaimed
Rivington. “You think of everything.”
“Naturally I do, it being part and parcel
of my profession to anticipate and to prepare
for contingencies. But as I see the waiter
approaching with an omelette of which he is
most inordinately proud, and which we must


MOLE’S WORK 199
be sure to praise unreservedly, I should prefer
not to think of anything for the next half-hour
but food, and of drink, if somebody would dis-
cover the most advisable wine in our host’s
cellar---I have had nothing since my coffee at
six o’clock.”
Later on, however, over coffee and cigar-
ettes, Miss Maxwell returned to the subject
which was occupying all their thoughts.
“ Now, since you have expressed your will-
ingness to place yourself entirely in my hands,
Mr Rivington,” she said, “I want you to do
exactly what I ask you to do. To-night you
must go to the Opera. You will there see
Miss de St Evreux.”
“And Dubarle ?”
“Dubarle, without doubt. Unless all my
theories, all my workings-out in this matter,
are wholly and radically wrong, Dubarle will
play his first card to-night. He has secured
one of the best boxes, in one of the most con-
spicuous situations in the house, and there he
will show himself and his niece—especially his
niece.”
Rivington winced.


20o PARADISE COURT
“Why should he thus show himself, and her
—and especially her?” he asked.
“Because, Mr Rivington, the eminent per-
sonage who is in Paris, incognito, will be at the
Opera.”
“And Dubarle wishes him to see—his
niece?”
“ Dubarle most certainly wishes the eminent
personage to see—his niece.”
“I should like to know,” said Rivington,
after a pause, “who this eminent personage
really is. May I not know?”
“Well,” replied Miss Maxwell, “I do not
think there is any reason now why you should
not. He will be known here as plain Mon-
I!
sieur Semenoff—he is in reality General .
She whispered a name which of late had been
too famous throughout Europe. Rivington's
eyebrows arched themselves. Wells, who was
now informed of the unknown’s identity for
the first time, whistled.
“What!” exclaimed Rivington. “That—
that monster! ”
“Ah, to be sure!” said Miss Maxwell.
“He is exactly what you say—a monster. If


MOLE’S WORK 201

I were asked to define him I should call him
a human beast. I never heard anything good
of him—he is cruel, he is wicked, he is as full
of evil as an egg is full of meat, he is, I
suppose, by this time, drunk with blood. But
he is a man of iron will, a statesman, clever,
resourceful and necessary to the Czar.”
“ It would not afford me the least matter for
regret," said Rivington, “if I heard that such
a man had been torn to death by wild
horses!"
“Nor me," said Miss Maxwell, quickly.
“ But I am not in a position to regard him as
a man—to me he is an official."
Rivington jerked his head.
“I am afraid all my sympathies are with
Dubarle!" he said. “Why, it would be a
work of charity to the world to rid it of a
swine like that! I’m tempted to go and help
Dubarle to do it.”
Miss Maxwell looked at Rivington gently-
Wells clapped a hand on his arm.
“Now, then, Daubs!" he said, "none of
your damned old Radical rot. If you go off
on that tack we shall never get you round.


202 PARADISE COURT
Just realise that the pilot’s come aboard, old
chap, and that you’ve got to obey orders.
Besides, think of Miss de St Evreux.”
“Hang it, Dogger, I am thinking of her!”
exclaimed Rivington. “Her! a decoy
to a fellow like that! Oh, it’s maddening,
it’s "-
“But you are not making it any better,”
said Miss Maxwell. “Come, now i "
“Well,” said Rivington, after a pause, “I
leave it all to you, Miss Maxwell. But the
thought of that man even looking at—oh!
What is he in Paris for?"
“He is on his master’s business—which is
to negotiate a new loan. Now he will be
at the Opera to-night. No one, of course,
will know him. He will accompany the
Russian Ambassador. I wish you to be
there.”
“If I go," said Rivington, gloomily, “I
shall be recognised by Dubarle.”
“No, you will not, I have arranged every-
thing for you. You see the name and address
on this card. Present yourself there—of course
in evening dress—at seven o’clock this even-


294 PARADISE COURT
St Evreux’s beauty, betray no sign your-
self. And when it is all over go back to
Monsieur Jacques, who will take thirty-five
years off your age, as cleverly as he put
it on.”
“I wish Monsieur Jacques could take off
my load of anxiety!’’ said Rivington. “ But I
will follow your instructions implicitly, Miss
Maxwell.”
“Then I will once more become Aunt
Jemima Farringdon,” said Miss Maxwell,
“and my nephew, whom I have been so
pleased to meet—and who has certainly
grown since I last saw him—shall drive us
back.”
That night, standing in front ofa mirror to
which Monsieur Jacques politely bowed him,
Rivington marvelled at the transformation
which the man had wrought.
“ You are a great artist, Monsieur Jacques,”
he said with conviction.
Monsieur Jacques bowed.
“I always endeavour to realise, Monsieur,”
said he. “I regarded Monsieur on his en-
trance. ‘What?’ said I to myself, ‘what will


MOLE'S WORK 205
Monsieur be at sixty years of age?' I saw
Monsieur, as it were, mentally, a picture of
Monsieur at that dignified age, and upon that
I worked. Behold ! Monsieur is satisfied !”
“As I said before, you are a great artist—
yes, a genius,” replied Rivington. “Indeed, I
do not know myself, yet I see myself as I shall
be. And so I am really to be a handsome
old gentleman?”
Ushered a little later into his box at the
Opera, Rivington found it already occupied
by a short, stout, rotund gentleman of middle-
age, who rejoiced in a florid complexion, a
grey head, and mutton-chop whiskers of a
pepper-and-salt tinge. He bowed politely
but distantly.
“It's all right, Daubs,” said Wells's familiar
voice in a whisper. “The chap did me up to
look as he says I shall look at fifty-five. Do
you think I shall really be as stout as this?
Hang it all, do you know I’ve got an india-
rubber stomach on 1"
When Rivington had done laughing he
sighed deeply.
“This is a strange business, Dogger,” he
~


206 PARADISE COURT
said. “You know I’m feeling all the time
that I ought to go straight to her and tell her
everything and beg her to go back with me to
England to the Willoughbys, where she’d be
safe, and "-
“ And a damned nice mess you’d make of it,
too," said Wells. “You leave everything to
my Aunt Jemima, who is entirely"-
“Is your Aunt Jemima in the house?"
inquired Rivington.
“She is, but she is her young and gushing
self to-night,” replied Wells. “The Johnny
who is with her, confound him i with the poet’s
hair and the eyeglass and the generally artistic
look is that chap Dequis. And there’s the
other man, Simond, somewhere about; see!
that is Dubarie's box, there, and that, ex-
actly opposite it, is the box in which our
Russian friend will appear. But they’re
empty yet.”
On those two boxes Rivington fixed his
attention. As the overture to Carmen began
and the vast audience settled down to quietude,
three men entered the Russian Ambassador’s
box and took seats at the front. In one of
d-» WW‘- b _


CHAPTER III
THE OPERA-AND AFTER
RIVINGTON gazed upon this man with some-
thing of a sense of fascination. It seemed to
him that he himself, the man upon whom he
gazed, the brilliant assemblage which filled the
spacious opera-house, were all parts, figures,
phantasies of a strange dream—a dream of
which the man, however, was the dominant
and most impressive actor. Something in
him, as Rivington saw him, shut out all else—
he revealed himself, to Rivington at anyrate,
as a silent, immovable incarnation of unyield-
ing force.
To other people—people who were uncon-
scious of the man's identity—this individual
must needs have seemed nothing more than
a quietly-dressed, quiet-mannered, reserved-
looking gentleman, something over middle-
age, who regarded everything that was
208


THE OPERA—AND AFTER 209

happening in his vicinity with unemotional
observation and an air of almost complete
indifference. He was a man of height and
breadth, and gave an impression of unusual
physical strength, but his face, clean-shaven,
except for a pair of whiskers trimmed in
mutton-chop fashion, had a curious pallor over
it which seemed to argue some form of sick-
ness that had not as yet had time to exert its
malign influence on the massive frame. There
were strange contrasts in the man’s face. The
mouth, nostrils and chin were heavy, sensual,
cruel; on the other hand the eyes were large,
set well apart, and mild in expression; an
unusually high and broad forehead conveyed
an impression of benevolence and lofty thought.
Rivington watched closely, hoping to see the
man smile, or sneer, or do anything that would
bring the muscles of his face into play and
throw some light into the inscrutable eyes, but
he watched in vain: the so-called Monsieur
Semenoff sat like a statue, cold, immobile.
Rivington found the thought of all he had
heard of this man and of his iron rule crowd-
ing thick upon his brain. So that—that very
O


21o PARADISE COURT
quiet, unobtrusive gentleman was the man
who had turned out armed troops against un-
armed and defenceless peasants, had shot men
and women down like dogs, had caused young
women to be stripped and flogged by a brutal
soldiery, had shot young boys, little better
than children, in the open streets, had crushed,
with a brutality that had turned Europe sick
with horror, every attempt of his own people
to struggle upward and onward to freedom
and liberty. It seemed impossible, looking at
that high, white forehead, that these measures
of violent repression could have sprung from
the brain which it shielded. But the tightly-
locked lips, grim, implacable, showed another
side to the man’s character.
Still feeling as if he were in a dream, Riv-
ington saw ghosts all around this impassive
figure. There were the ghosts of men whose
garments were crusted with snow and stained
with blood; of women, some of them young
and beautiful, from whom the clothing had
been torn, upon whose bodies, back, arms,
breast, were the scars, livid, bloody, of fierce
scourgings; of children, wide-eyed with terror


THE OPERA–AND AFTER 2II
at sight of the levelled rifles from whence, with
scarlet flame and grey smoke, death was about
to leap, remorseless, unpitiful, upon them.
He wondered if the man saw these ghosts
himself—if they ever haunted him; if that
curious pallor which was spread all over his
face came from some consuming sense that,
sooner or later, the white faces and accusing
eyes of all these victims must rise up before
him, never to be put away from his sight for
eVer.
Then he suddenly remembered that if Miss
Maxwell's theory was correct the woman he
loved was to be brought here as a decoy to
this man | He clenched his hands in passion.
ate revolt.
“Uncommonly sober and quiet – looking
gentleman, our friend the Eminent, isn't he,
Daubs?” he heard Wells saying. “Doesn't
look the truculent monster the papers make
him out to be, eh? Not a very nice sort of
party to tackle, though—there's a remarkable
sense of watchfulness about his eyes. Looks
as if he were keeping a perpetual watch,
doesn't he '"


THE OPERA—AND AFTER 213

Miss de St Evreux playing that of the young
woman newly introduced to a world of gaiety
and fashion, ready to be amused, delighted,
to enjoy everything, still young enough to show
pleasure when she was pleased and astonish-
ment when she was astonished, and sufficiently
naive to be not ashamed of betraying an
evident affection for her companion. With
the unconsciousness of innocence she im-
mediately begun to chatter with evident
volubility to Monsieur Dubarle, who, much
to Rivington's surprise, showed that he, too,
could unbend, and could smile in such an
engaging fashion as to make his features as
charming and urbane as Rivington had
previously seen them grim and sombre.
Fascinated as he had been by Monsieur
Semenoff, Rivington was still more deeply
fascinated by Yvette. Once more he fell
into a waking dream—it seemed to him that
this beautiful young creature, resplendent in
loveliness of a rare type, was slowly drawing
all the house to her feet as worshippers of
her beauty. The people upon the stage, on
which the curtain had just risen, their voices,


2I4 PARADISE COURT
the music which throbbed behind and with
their voices, all were blotted out—nothing
remained but the beauty of Yvette, calling,
attracting, compelling . . . .
“By George!” he suddenly heard Wells
say, “she is a beauty!”
Rivington then remembered that Wells now
saw Yvette for the first time. He gazed at
him wonderingly, speculating in a dim, vague
fashion on his friend's thoughts. That Wells
was genuinely astonished by Yvette's charm
he was quick to perceive. He also saw that
Wells was somewhat puzzled.
“You are thinking—what?” he inquired.
“That she is—well, of a more vivacious
temperament than I had gathered from your
description of her,” replied Wells.
Rivington drew his chair nearer to his
friend and further back into the box.
“I have told you already,” he said, dropping
his voice to a whisper, “that she is not her
real self. She is playing a part—playing it, I
am sure, under influence.”
“It seems natural enough,” said Wells.
“The man, I suppose, is Dubarle?”


THE OPERA—AND AFTER 215
“And he, too, is playing a part,” said
Rivington. “I would give everything to
know what influence it is that he is exerting
upon her, for that is not her real self—I
know !”
“Well, there's one thing quite certain,” said
Wells. “She's creating a vast amount of
sensation. There are more people looking at
her than at the folk on the stage.”
Glancing round the house, Rivington saw
that this was true. Here and there lorgnettes
were framed upon the box in which Dubarle
and Yvette sat—he noticed that a great many
people, after inspecting them, turned to their
neighbours with whispered inquiries which
were invariably answered by a shake of the
head. It was evident, as Wells had observed,
that Yvette's beauty was evoking much com-
ment, and that people were asking who she
was. He turned to the box of the Russian
Ambassador—the three men seated in it were
also regarding the unknown pair with a steady
scrutiny. He saw the Ambassador himself
turn to a younger man, whom Rivington took
to be an attaché or secretary, and ask him


2I6 PARADISE COURT
some question to which, it was evident, no
satisfactory reply could be given. As for
Monsieur Semenoff, his face was as impassive
as ever. But when the first act was over and
the lights were turned up, Rivington saw this
man, for the first time since he had entered the
box, lay hold of his opera-glasses and, after
looking carelessly round the house, bring them
to bear upon Dubarle and his companion who
were at that moment chatting and laughing
with the affectionate intimacy which exists
between an admiring father and a favourite
daughter.
Following Miss Maxwell's advice, Rivington
and Wells—both at first somewhat timid about
the success of their disguise, but quickly re-
assured on finding that nobody took any
particular notice of them—went, during the
evening, into various parts of the house. On
the grand staircase, in the foyer, and about
the salon they overheard many inquiries—
chiefly among men—as to the identity of
Dubarle and Yvette. And once Rivington
caught the remark of a man who passed him
talking with great animation.


THE OPERA—AND AFTER 217

“ All Paris will be talking of her to-
morrowl”
He was sick and wearied of all of it long
before the night was over. It was no pleasure
to him to work, like a mole, underground—he
would much rather have faced every danger
boldly in the full light of day. The music
gave him no pleasure; the brilliant crowd
bored him.
“I wish you and I could have carried the
thing through between us, Dogger!" he said
to Wells in the privacy of their box. “We
might have muddled it, but we should have
muddled through, somehow, after our natural
characteristics.”
But the usually impetuous Wells, who up to
three days before had been spoiling, as he
said, for a fight, shook his head with newly-
acquired wisdom.
“ No, old chap," said he, “it wouldn’t
have done. _ This is one of those affairs which
require a good deal of feminine subtlety and
artifice, and you are lucky in having tumbled
across them. If anybody will clear this thing
up, Miss Maxwell will."


218 PARADISE COURT

“ It appears to me," said Rivington, “that
you have already formed a very high opinion
of Miss Maxwell.”
"Miss Maxwell," answered Wells laconi-
cally, “would have made a first-class com-
mander. She knows what she’s doing, what
she wants doing, and how to have things done.
I’m not clever, Daubs, but I know clever
people when I see ’em—even if they’re
women.”
They saw Miss Maxwell as they left the
opera. She passed them, leaning on the arm
of her companion, and looked steadily at both
without showing a sign of recognition.
“Nor did she even smile at the ridiculous
figure I must cut!" said Wells in a whisper.
“Certainly that chap Jacques is clever, and I
don’t care how soon I get round to him.”
There was a considerable crowd—chiefly
composed of young men—at the foot of the
grand staircase, and it was evident that its
members were waiting to see something or
somebody. Rivington and Wells wedged
their way to a favourable point of vantage and
waited too. After a time came the Russian


THE OPERA–AND AFTER 219
Ambassador and his two companions—the man
passing as Monsieur Semenoff paused within
a yard of the two friends. Rivington gave
him a searching glance—now that he was close
to him he saw that the pallor upon his face
was like that which spreads over the features
of a corpse and that beneath his eyes there
were heavy shadows. For the rest, his face
was as set as if it had been carved out of ivory,
but his eyes, as he conversed with his two
companions, were alive with an instinctive
watchfulness.
A stir amongst the crowd in which they
stood heralded the coming of Dubarle and
Yvette. He, tall and commanding of figure,
made a fine presence as he came down
the staircase — she, her small hand resting
lightly on his arm, looked around her with an
innocent indifference, as if unconscious that a
hundred eyes were deliberately inspecting her.
If this apparent indifference on the part of
both was acting, said Rivington to himself, it
was fine acting indeed. Dubarle paid no
apparent heed to the people amongst whom
they passed and looked neither to the right


22o PARADISE COURT

nor to the left—he was bending down, smiling,
to offer some evidently amusing observation to
his charge as they passed Rivington; she,
looking up at him affectionately, showed her-
self to her observers as the fond daughter of a
proud father. Something in the air and atti-
tude of each seemed to indicate this relation-
ship. Rivington almost instantly recognised
that the people about him had already decided
that the unknown was some rich foreigner who
was showing his daughter the sights of Paris.
He heard half -smothered exclamations,
whispers, here and there a frank remark from
one man to another, and he recognised that
Yvette’s beauty had captivated everybody.
“I can’t stand much more of this, Dogger,’
he said desperately, as he and Wells walked
along the Place de l’Opera together.
"Something definite will have to be done
’
quickly, or”—
“ Now then, now then, old chap!” said
Wells. “Patience, and play the game.”
“If I only could play my game!” exclaimed
Rivington. “ It’s poor work playing some-
body else’s game.”


222 PARADISE COURT
Before he could finish, Wells set down his
glass with a sharp exclamation.
“By Gad ' " he said. “It is ! Madame de
Marlè l''
Madame de Marlé walked down the steps
into the courtyard very slowly, and at their
foot paused and looked about her. She was
dressed as if for walking and wore a thick
veil, but neither Rivington nor Wells had any
doubt of her identity. That their own was
skilfully concealed they were instantly assured.
Madame de Marlé, who was evidently looking
for someone, gazed along the row of men
sitting at small tables along the balcony and
for at least a second inspected both with a
scrutinising glance. The two were looking
directly at her, and it was with considerable
relief that they saw that she did not know
them. Her glance passed on—she examined
other faces—seemed to hesitate—was turning
away, when a man came out of the hotel, ran
down the steps, and greeted her with signs of
the utmost deference and politeness, exhibiting,
at the same time, symptoms of his absolute
desolation at the consciousness of his turpitude


THE OPERA—AND ‘AFTER 223
in having caused Madame to await him. As
he turned his face in their direction after bend-
ing over Madame de Marlé’s hand, Rivington
could scarcely restrain an exclamation of
surprise. Feeling that both the lady and her
companion were looking about them, however,
though with the careless glances of people
who, meeting in a public place, stare at those
gathered there without any definite object in
doing so, he affected to be interested in select-
ing a cigar from his case and in lighting it.
“Dogger," he said in a low voice, “don't
appear to take any notice of those two, but
when you get the chance just look carefully at
the man who has met Madame de Marlé. I
have met him before.”
He passed his cigar-case over to Wells as
he spoke. Wells silently took a cigar and
lighted it.
“They are still standing there,” continued
Rivington. “Do not look round just yet—
now they are moving away—you may
look.”
Wells turned his head slowly, with the best
imitation of languid indifference that he could


224 PARADISE COURT
assume, and inspected Madame de Marlè's
companion. He saw a man whom from his
appearance he took to be an Italian—a man
who, to his thinking, was either a poet, a
fiddler, or a dancing-master—these forms of
art, in Wells's opinion, being invariably asso-
ciated with long hair, large neckties, and a
certain picturesque get-up. When he per-
ceived that the man was voluble in speech,
that he made much use of gesticulation, and
had a remarkable mobility of countenance, he
came to the conclusion that his first impression
of him was correct. He turned to Rivington
again.
“One of your artistic friends, I suppose,”
he said. “What is he—a mad poet or a
fiddling chap?”
“I can't tell you,” answered Rivington.
“I saw him once—for five minutes only—at
Madame de Marlè's. That is some months
ago. He is, I believe, a Pole, or a Hungarian
—I don’t know which—and I think I remember
hearing Madame de Marlé say that he is a
pianist. Dogger!"
“Well ?”


THE. OPERA—AND AFTER 225
“You were inclined to be suspicious about
Madame de Marlé. ”
“I am just as much inclined to be suspicious
now.”
“I am not sure that I am not getting sus-
picious of everybody and everything,” said
Rivington. “ But—do you think that Madame
de Marlé’s business in Paris has anything to
do with our business?”
“ It would not at all surprise me if it had.”
“ But what—and how? ”
“Ask me something else, old chap. I con-
fess that I am puzzling my brains considerably
over a very delicate question.”
“What is it?”
“ Just this. If Madame de Marlé is—as
she evidently is—staying at this hotel, which
big as it is, is after all, a place within itself,
Madame de Marlé will almost certainly en-
counter me somewhere, and when I have had
all this beastly make-up and my false stomach
taken 0H‘, and have got into my own clothes,
Madame de Marlé will know me—and will
perhaps ask where you are. And if Madame
de Marlé is—as she may be, and I, personally,
P


226 PARADISE COURT
certainly think is—mixed up in this business,
it may be awkward if she discovers that you
are in Paris. For you see, Daubs, if the
lady really is mixed up in it, there’s one thing
that’s as certain as death—she’s not on your
side.”
“That’s true," assented Rivington.
“ Therefore, she must be on the other side.
And Miss Maxwell is particularly anxious that
the other side should not know that you are in
Paris.”
Rivington considered this for a moment or
two. He glanced with apparent carelessness
across the courtyard. Madame de Marlé and
her companion were still pacing up and down
an empty stretch of the pavement and were
now in what appeared to be close and serious
conversation. As Rivington watched them the
man drew out his watch, and having looked at
it made some observation to Madame de
Marlé. Both turned, and still talking walked
towards the entrance which gives upon the
Boulevard des Capucines. Rivington’s gaze
followed them closely—they turned to the
right.


228 PARADISE COURT
and then, and nod my head—and keep my
eyes open.”
Accordingly, anyone coming from the oppo-
site direction and noticing these two, saw
nothing more unusual than a couple of elderly
gentlemen, arm-in-arm, one of whom was tall,
slender, and grey-bearded, and the other short,
rotund, and black-whiskered, marching up the
tree-fringed pavement in earnest, if one-sided,
conversation, which the tall old gentleman
emphasised and accentuated with his umbrella.
But no one noticed that from beneath the
broad brim of his somewhat old-fashioned
opera-hat the stoutish gentleman gazed straight
ahead.
“They’re crossing the road,” said Wells, as
the dark bulk of the Madeleine rose vast and
massive against the stars and the sky. “ To
the left—slow up a bit and go on talking.
There’s a tidy lot of light just ahead around
the corner. There, they’ve turned down there.
What street is it?"
“Rue Royale," said Rivington. “Come
on.
“ Steady, till we’ve weathered the corner, old


THE OPERA—AND AFTER 229
chap,” counselled Wells. “I don't want to
run ’em down. I can see ’em a good fifty
yards off in this light. There they are
—do you see ?—on the other side of the
street.”
“Let us keep on this, then,” said Riving-
ton. “I won’t look that way at all. You
keep your eye on them. Well, to re-
sume”—
He went on talking, or making the appear-
ance of talking until they had traversed nearly
the whole length of the Rue Royale. Wells
suddenly checked him.
“Shut up, Daubs!” he said. “They’ve
gonel”
“Gone? Disappeared?”
“ That’s so,” answered Wells. “Confound
it! Don't stop walking though—go on as if
nothing had happened. Damn! I took my
eyes off them for one second, and they’d
vanished. But see-—they were just by that
café. They must have slipped in there—must
—ah l—look there, quick ! ”
Without pausing, Rivington cast a glance
across the street at the café to which Wells


23o PARADISE COURT

had drawn his attention. Striding up to it,
cloaked almost to his eyes, was a tall, bearded
man who within another moment had passed
the door and disappeared up the staircase
beyond.
The two friends uttered the same exclama-
tion.
“ Dubarle ! ”
Then Wells, Rivington having unconsciously
stopped, said,—
“Come on, come on! We mustn't stand
there. Straight forward and round the corner
—then we can talk.”
They had walked some little distance along
the Rue de Rivoli before either spoke. Then
Wells suddenly stopped.
“I don't think there’s much doubt about
that, Daubs, old chap!” he said. “That’s
a pretty clear thing. Midnight conference
between Dubarle, Madame de Marlé, and
her friend of the long hair. Possibly
others.”
“You’re sure Madame de Marlé and the
man went into that cafe ?” asked Rivington.
“They must have gone in,” replied Wells.


232 PARADISE COURT
“And you know where to find her?”
“I know where to find her, and we shall
probably find her busy.”
He led the way back to the Boulevard des
Capucines by way of the Rue du Luxem-
bourg, and crossing over to the Rue des
Mathurins presently conducted his companion
to an appartement high up in a building of
that thoroughfare. A smart maid, who, in
spite of the lateness of the hour, looked very
wide-awake and alert, answered Wells's sum-
mons. Rivington felt that there was more
mystery, more mole's work, when his com-
panion, instead of asking for Miss Maxwell, or
giving any name, drew from his vest pocket a
big silver emblem of peculiar shape and exhi-
bited it to the maid without word or comment.
Within another moment they were in Miss
Maxwell's presence.
Rivington glanced around him with much
curiosity. The room in which they stood was
large and lofty—it looked to him like a well-
appointed editor's room in a first-class news-
paper office. There were luxurious desks,
comfortable desk-chairs, bureaux of the latest


THE OPERA—AND AFTER 233
pattern, telephones, speaking-tubes, electric
lamps. Nor were certain creature comforts
absent. In one corner of the room was a
supper-table, amply spread, and there was a
bright fire burning in a cosy grate, and on the
warm-hued hearthrug before it a great Persian
cat lay coiled in happy sleep.
Miss Maxwell was not the only occupant of
this room. At one of the desks, busily turning
over some papers, sat one of the men whom
Rivington and Wells had seen at the Chat
Jaune in Rouen—Monsieur Simond. At
another, writing, sat a middle-aged woman
who might well have passed for a school-
mistress or a governess-—a woman whose hair
was arranged very simply and severely, whose
gown was prim and Quaker-like, whose
countenance was of the most proprietous.
Neither of these persons paid any attention to
the two friends.
Miss Maxwell pointed to two chairs close to
the desk at which she sat. Rivington noticed
that she looked him and Wells very closely
over, but showed no sign of amusement or
surprise at the transformation wrought by the


234 PARADISE COURT

artistes of Monsieur Jacques. Indeed, there
was no sign of anything in Miss Maxwell’s
face but of a business-like attention to what-
ever it was that was just then occupying her
attention. She wasted no words in welcome
or otherwise, but simply said, looking from one
to the other,-
“Well?”
Rivington bent forward and spoke.
“I told you of a Madame de Marlé at
whose reception I used to meet Miss de St
Evreux?”
“ Yes, I remember.”
“ Madame de Marlé is in Paris.”
“ Yes ? ”
“Wells and I saw her at the Grand Hotel‘
to-night, after the Opera. She did not
recognise us. A man whom I have met—but
only once—at her flat, Paradise Court, joined
her. He is, I believe, a Pole—a musician, but
I cannot remember his name. After some
conversation they went away. We followed
them to the Rue Royale—they entered the
café which stands almost at the end of the
street, on the right-hand side as you go down


THE OPERA—AND AFTER 235
from the Madeleine. A moment later Dubarle
came up from the opposite direction and also
entered the caf .”
Miss Maxwell’s brows drew together.
“Describe this woman to me, and the man,”
she said.
Rivington gave her a brief description of
Madame de Marlé and her companion. Miss
Maxwell left her desk, crossed the room to
Monsieur Simond and spoke briefly with him.
Monsieur Simond rose and went out of the
room by a side door.
“You know nothing of this Madame de
Marlé beyond what you have told me?” asked
Miss Maxwell, coming back to the two friends.
“She—”
The sharp tinkle of a bell on her desk
interrupted her. She caught up one of the
telephones — a moment or two later she
laid it down, and turned to Rivington and
Wells.
“Wait here for me,” she said. “I must
leave you for perhaps twenty minutes, perhaps
longer—on no account go away until I return,
even if you wait all night. See, there is a


236 PARADISE COURT
supper-table and wine and spirits and cigars,
help yourselves, please. I have just had some
strange and startling news—it is probable we
shall have to act, all of us, sooner than I had
reckoned for.”


CHAPTER IV
THE SPELL 1s BROKEN
FoR more than an hour Rivington and Wells
waited in momentary expectation of Miss
Maxwell’s return. Everything was very quiet
in that businesslike-looking room—the prim
and proper lady continued to read documents,
to make notes, to write letters. She only once
spoke, and that was when she seconded Miss
Maxwell’s invitation to the two young men to
refresh themselves. N 0 other person entered
the room, and as neither Rivington nor Wells
cared to converse in the presence of a third
party, this period of waiting passed slowly for
both. But at last, the time then being nearly
two o’clock in the morning, Miss Maxwell
came hurrying back.
That she was deeply concerned about some
serious matter was evident to both Rivington
and Wells. She gave them a short, sharp nod
of the head as she came in, and with one word
237


238 PARADISE COURT
“Wait,” sat down to her desk and immediately
began to write a letter in cipher, the code-
book of which she produced from her pocket.
She was occupied in this task for some time;
finally she touched one of the many electric
buttons which stood ranged on a board at her
side. A man whom the two friends had not
seen before appeared in the room; to him Miss
Maxwell confided the letter which she had just
written, after briefly speaking to him in a
language which neither Rivington nor Wells
understood. Then leaving her desk she went
over to the supper-table, and with the aid of a
spirit-lamp, prepared herself a cup of coffee.
Carrying this to a quiet corner of the room,
she beckoned Rivington and Wells to join her.
As they took seats near her, Miss Maxwell
produced a cigarette case and lighted a
cigarette.
“I am the least little bit tired,” she said, “a
cigarette and some coffee will pull me together.
I have still a good deal to do to-night. Now
before I tell you what I wish you to do, I want
to ask you, Mr Rivington, to give me a little
more information about Madame de Marlé


THE SPELL IS BROKEN 239
of whom we were speaking before I went
out.”
“Yes,” replied Rivington. “But that may
be difficult.”
“Because you know so little of her?”
“Exactly. Remember, I scarcely know
anything of her.”
“But you say you have gone to her house a
great deal during the past twelve months?”
“Yes, almost every Sunday, of late, I think,
every Sunday. Yet even then I know little of
her.”
“I suppose you simply saw her in the
capacity of hostess, moving about amongst her
guests?”
“Just so, she divided her time and her
attention very fairly. I do not think I ever
had more than a few minutes téte-à-tête con-
versation with Madame de Marlé at any time.
She would have a word with you when you
presented yourself, and perhaps you would
chance to find yourself near her in the course
of the evening, but taking things all together,
she devoted herself to nobody in particular and
to everyone in general.”


24o PARADISE COURT
“You took it, I suppose, that she liked to
have young, clever, bright people about her,
and took an interest in bringing them to—
gether? ”
Rivington hesitated a moment before
answering this question. He was thinking of
what Madame de Marlé had said on the occasion
of the midnight visit paid to her by Wells and
himself.
“Madame herself remarked to me, the last
time I saw her, that there was nothing she so
much disliked as that her receptions should be
regarded as—as—how did she seem to put
it?” said Rivington, turning to Wells.
“Didn’t want them to drop into match-
making affairs, I think,” said Wells. “Said
all that sort of thing always led to such a lot
of bother. That was the hang of it, anyway.”
Miss Maxwell smiled.
“But I suppose there were mutual likings
formed in spite of the music and the conversa-
tion, and of Madame de Marlé?” she said.
“ You never went to Madame’s except on the
occasion of these Sunday evening gatherings, /
Mr Rivington ? ”


THE SPELL IS BROKEN 241
“No," replied Rivington, “except on the
evening when Wells and I went together to
inquire if Madame de Marlé had any know-
ledge of Miss de St Evreux."
“And you do not know, of course, if Miss
de St Evreux ever went there—say on
Wednesday evenings, when she was always
free of her duties at the Willoughbys ? "
“ No, I do not know that.”
“That she was not there on any one of the
four Wednesday evenings previous to her de-
parture from London we are very well
assured," said Miss Maxwell, reflectively.
“Of Miss de St Evreux’s existence prior to
the first of these evenings we were not aware.
She only came into our field of vision through
and because of Dubarle. Well, just one or
two more questions. I may as well tell you
that three of us who believe that we know
everybody of note who is in league against
our employer have seen Madame de Marlé
to-night in company with Dubarle and the
man who met Madame at the Grand Hotel.
Dubarle we know, of course. None of us
know Madame de Marlé, nor the other man.
Q


242 PARADISE COURT
Yet it is sufficient to arouse suspicion against
them when they are found in his company.
At present we cannot do anything as regards
them, they are not within our province as yet,
whatever they may do. But as regards
Dubarle, he is already arrested.”
Both Rivington and Wells started at this
sudden and unexpected announcement.
“ Arrested ! " they exclaimed, simultaneously.
“Exactly—and in very safe keeping. He
is under lock and key—at the Russian
Embassy.”
“You work swiftly and surely," said Riv-
ington, after a pause, during which he and
Wells looked at each other and Miss Maxwell
calmly sipped her coffee. “It is—a little
terrifying."
“We cannot take unnecessary risks, nor
stand at nice questions," answered Miss Max-
well. “Nor can we always wait while
ordinary legal forms are gone through—we
have, in dealing with such people as Dubarle,
to use our wits and to strike, as you say,
swiftly and surely. You see, Monsieur
Semenoff, imperturbable as he looks and


THE SPELL IS BROKEN 243
utterly unconscious as he showed himself to-
night, recognised Dubarle in spite of the fact
that he had not seen him for twenty years.
And Monsieur Semenoff, on whom so much
depends just now here and elsewhere, cannot
afford and is not disposed to have a man like
Dubarle loose in Paris while he is here. And
therefore, Monsieur Dubarle was very quietly
and effectively arrested an hour ago as he
walked from the Rue Royale towards his
flat, and he is as safely immured as if he
were in the fortress of St Peter and St
Paul.”
Rivington could not suppress a shudder as
he heard the name of this terrible prison pro-
nounced so glibly by Miss Maxwell. He
looked at her wonderingly and with anxiety in
his eyes and face.
“But Miss de St Evreux ?” he asked.
“ Is, I hope, sleeping soundly," replied Miss
Maxwell, glancing at a clock and showing
some disposition to yawn. “She is quite safe,
and before to-day is over will, I trust, be much
safer—and under your roof.”
“Under my roof?” exclaimed Rivington,


THE SPELL 1s BROKEN 245
tions,” she said. “ You must do as I tell you.
Leave everything to me and I think you will
find that all will go well. Now, within a few ’
minutes you must leave here.”
“ In our disguises?” inquired Wells.
“ In your disguises. You, Mr Wells, must
not return to your hotel, but accompany Mr
Rivington to his villa at Charenton. There
is a closed brougham waiting for you down-
stairs in which you can make the journey.
You had better get some sleep on arriving,
but at ten o’clock you will both proceed to the
Convent of Notre Dame at Courbevoie, and
will hand this letter to the Reverend Mother.
The brougham will be at your service for this
journey also, but you can by that time have
rid yourselves of your disguises. I think
Etheredge will be able to help you. The
Reverend Mother at the convent will in-
troduce you to Sister Teresa, an English-
woman, who will accompany you in the
brougham to your villa. There you will all
three wait for me—or for news of me. That
is all—now good-night, or, rather, good-
morning.”


246 PARADISE COURT
Miss Maxwell rose without another word,
crossed the room, opened a door, and revealed
to the two young men a staircase.
“ Go down this, open the door at the foot of
the stairs, and you will find the brougham
awaiting you in the courtyard. There is no
need to speak to the driver—his instructions
are complete. Enter—close the door—and he
will drive you home.”
Then Miss Maxwell went back into the
room which they had just left. Rivington
and Wells, without another word, followed
her instructions. Within another minute
they were being driven eastward at a smart
pace.
Each was so surprised by the events of
the evening that it was not until they had
been carried for some considerable distance
through the sleeping city that they spoke.
“ I should like to know what the end of all
7
said
Wells at last. “It is a most extraordinary
this is going to be, Daubs, old chap,’
business.”
“The only end that I am concerned with
and wish to arrive at,” answered Rivington,


248 PARADISE COURT
plicity. I think we shall find when we get
Miss de St Evreux safely back to England
that Madame de Marlé will be one of the
readiest in congratulating her on her escape.”
“We’ve gone through so much that’s
curious and mysterious," said Wells, “that
nothing, I think, could astonish me now.
However, there’s to-day to get through yet.
I suppose the next thing is an hour or two’s
sleep, some breakfast, and then this convent.
After that — well, I wonder what will
happen!”
Before noon the two friends, now in their
natural semblance, were in the presence of a
kindly-faced, apple-checked old lady who was
apparently in expectation of their coming, and
asked them to sit down in the plainly-
appointed reception room of the convent
while she read Miss Maxwell’s letter. “Yes,
that was quite in order," she said with a
smile, “if Messieurs would rest tranquil but
for a few moments Sister Teresa would join
them.” And presently Sister Teresa, a big,
self-assured, sharp-eyed Englishwoman of
some fifty years, who looked fit to command


25o PARADISE COURT
distance at a swift pace, and within a few
minutes he was able to recognise the chauffeur
as a man in Miss Maxwell’s employ. A few
minutes more and the coupe’ turned into the
grounds of the villa, and Rivington found
himself face to face with the girl for whose
rescue he had worked so untiringly. And as
he looked at her, as she stepped down from
the carriage, closely followed by Miss Maxwell,
he recognised, with a sudden burst of almost
stupefying knowledge, that this was the real
Yvette—the Yvette he had known in London.
She looked dazed, mystified, half-afraid, but
she knew him and gave him her hand.
“You will help me?” she said, looking at
him with something of a child’s wistfulness.
“I—I am in trouble—something—I cannot
understand yet—but "—-
Then she caught sight of Sister Teresa and
with a little cryof thankfulness at the recognition
of a well-known and trusted friend, she hurried
forward into her old gouvernante’s arms. She
and Sister Teresa disappeared within the
house.
Rivington and Wells, still standing on the


THE SPELL IS BROKEN 251
steps, turned to Miss Maxwell. They saw
that her usually rosy-checked face was pale,
and that she looked as if some recent ex-
perience had been trying and exhausting.
But Rivington at that moment, in spite of all
his gratitude to this woman, could think only
of the other. He involuntarily laid his hand
entreatingly on Miss Maxwell’s arm.
“What is it?" he cried excitedly. “What
has happened? She is changed, she is herself
as I knew her in London. She is not what
she was at Rouen, nor as she seemed to be
last night at the Opera. Why did she seem so
changed at Rouen—so changed in a different
way, last night—~and now like her old self
again? What is it—what is the reason?”
Miss Maxwell answered in a low, hushed
voice, looking alternately from Rivington to
Wells.
“The reason is this,” she said. “ Dubarle
was shot at the Embassy at three o’clock this
afternoon—killed, you understand?"
“What—murdered? " exclaimed Rivington.
“No, shot by Semenoff in self-defence. It
seems that he suddenly attacked, overpowered





CHAPTER I
ACCORDING TO THE DOCTORS
IT seemed to Rivington, regarding the pros-
pects of things a few days after Miss Maxwell’s
rescue of Yvette and her astounding announce-
ment of the sudden and tragic death of Dubarle
at the hands of the man who was posing as
plain Monsieur Semenoff, that they had only
assumed bright tints for a momentary space in
order to be almost instantly overclouded again
by darker ones. To see Yvette enter his own
roof—a temporary roof though it was—under
the charge and protection of her old friend and
governess, Sister Teresa, had yielded him a
sensation of intense pleasure. And sorry
though he was to hear that a man like
Dubarle, a man, despite his record, of evident
great intellectual attainments and of many
personal attractions, should have been shot
down like a dog, he could not avoid a feeling
of deep conviction that his death meant the
255


256 PARADISE COURT
‘—1
salvation of the woman whom he, Rivington,
loved. Yvette’s rescue—her present safety-
the removal for ever from the scene of the
man who had of late appeared to dominate her
life—these three facts were mighty agents in
lifting Rivington from what had been almost
depths of despair to regions of glowing hope.
And then, with rude and shocking suddenness,
he had been thrown back again into a miser-
able middle state, a state of suspense, a state
that was neither of hope or of fear, but of
wretched uncertainty. For before Yvette had
been under his roof many minutes it became
evident that in some strange, subtle degree her
mind was affected.
It was Sister Teresa who made this startling
discovery. Having known Yvette from the
time she was a child until she quitted the
convent, a young woman, she knew her better
and more intimately than Rivington could
know her. And Sister Teresa, after safely
bestowing her charge within the little villa,
was quickly in conference with its master and
with Miss Maxwell and with Wells in the
garden outside. She was a woman of resolu-


258 PARADISE COURT
that will—my God, this is awful news! You
do not really think that—that "-
“I will not say what I think until we have
heard what those who are competent to decide
may tell us," answered Sister Teresa. “ We
will hope. But now listen, can you not fetch
Dr Barrére here in your motor car? See, I have
written down his address. He is the greatest
man of the day ; tell him that I have sent you
to him. It is possible he may bring a colleague
with him—you will have room?"
“ Plenty," answered Rivington, “ come along,
Wells, you must drive. Let’s get off—it
maddens me to be doing nothing."
But Wells was already on his way to the
coach—house where the big De Dietrich stood
ready for use at a moment’s notice. He was
calling for Etheredge as he ran—Etheredge,
who invariably anticipated necessities and
occasions, appeared as from the clouds on the
instant.
“What do you think of what Sister Teresa
says?" asked Rivington of Miss Maxwell as
they followed the more nimble Wells. “Can
it be true?”


ACCORDING TO THE DOCTORS 259
She shook her head very gravely.
“I am not surprised at Sister Teresa’s con-
clusions," she said, “I feared something of the
sort myself."
“ Listen ! " said Rivington, a sudden thought
occurring to him. “ Does she know of Du-
barle’s death ? "
“ Not a word ! " replied Miss Maxwell. “ No
one knows but those of us who are in the
secret.”
“Then it couldn’t have been the shock of
that," said Rivington, meditatively.
“ I’m not sure," remarked Miss Maxwell.
with a shake of her head which seemed to
mean a good deal, “that it wasn’t the shock of
that."
Rivington stopped and stared at her in-
credulously.
“Good heavens!" he gasped. “More
mystery. But—how could it be—how
could "—
“Jump in, Daubs ! " commanded Wells,
bringing the car alongside. “Jump in, we’ll
be into Paris in no time.”
“Yes, go," said Miss Maxwell, seeing


26o PARADISE COURT
Rivington still in a state of wonder. “Get
the doctor over, then we shall bear."
Outside, on the high-road, with the car
forging ahead at a pace which at any other
time would have drawn a remonstrance upon
Wells, Rivington said,—
“I wonder what we shall hear—I wonder
what we shall hear!”
But Wells with all the senses alert which
had more than once carried him and those
under him through murderous-looking dens,
made no answer. It was his duty just then to
fetch the help which Sister Teresa had de-
manded, and he had the sailor’s instinct which
forbids interference with the man at the wheel.
But later in the afternoon, when he had safely
piloted the famous doctor and a brother
physician of almost equal celebrity out to
Charenton, and had waited with Rivington
and Miss Maxwell while they visited Yvette,
he listened eagerly enough to what Dr Barrere
had to say. And when he had listened and
heard, he remarked to himself that the mystery
in this matter seemed to be deepening.
Dr Barrére was a tall, portly, clean-shaven


ACCORDING TO THE DOCTORS 261
man, with a leonine head on his shoulders and
the ribbon of the Legion of Honour in the
lapel of his frock-coat. His companion, Dr
Sarcy, was his opposite in appearance—a little,
active, dapper gentleman with a very black
beard, trimmed to a fine point, a high fore-
head and keen eyes. Each of these famous
physicians was obviously interested in the case
to which their attention had been called—and
it seemed to Wells that each was a little
curious.
“I need hardly say to you, gentlemen,"
Rivington eagerly began when the two con-
sultants returned in company with Sister
Teresa, “that we are all deeply anxious to
hear what you can tell us."
Dr Barrére inclined his massive head to one
side and polished his spectacles with a hand-
kerchief of delicate and daintily embroidered
cambric.
“I am of opinion, sir," he replied after a
moment’s pause, “that this young lady is
suffering from the results of what—so that you
may gain some idea of my meaning—of what,
I say, I will call hypnotic suggestion.”


ACCORDING TO THE DOCTORS 263
—has the young lady of late appeared to have
been of a changed nature? "
“Yes, gentlemen, yes, most certainly!"
replied Rivington, with much insistent eager-
ness. “She has not seemed to be her-
self."
“And this further change—a return to at
anyrate some consciousness of herself,” said
Dr Barrere, “dates from, I understand, a
particular hour this afternoon. Just so. Now
let us sum up the facts. According to what
we have heard from the patient herself and her
friends, this young lady has no clear memory of
any events which have recently happened ”—
Rivington uttered an exclamation of astonish-
ment. He stared at the two doctors with
supremely astounded eyes.
“No memory of recent events!" he burst
out. “Then how”--
Dr Barrére polished his spectacles again with
the dainty handkerchief.
“The patient’s last recollections," he said
smoothly, “are of a house and a family in
London, wherein she fulfilled the duties of
governess to some children of whom she seems


264 PARADISE COURT
to have been very fond, and whose parents
were very kind to her. She does not know
when nor why she left this eminently desirable
house. She does not know why nor when she
came to Paris. What she does know is that
to-day, about the hour of three in the after-
noon, she suddenly awoke, as it seemed to her,
from a sleep in which she had experienced
many confusing dreams. She was astounded
to find herself in Paris, in elegant apartments,
and to hear herself addressed by an unfamiliar
name. It was fortunate that she was in the
company of the young lady, Miss Maxwell,
whom I believe myself to have the honour of
seeing here, and who immediately conducted
her to friends whom she could know and trust
—to the good Sister Teresa, and to Mr Riv-
ington, who is doubtless the young lady’s
guardian.”
“I hope, sir, to be a better guardian than
she has ever known," said Rivington, fervently.
“ But tell me—am I to understand that Miss
de St Evreux knows nothing at all of What
has happened to her during the past eight
days?"


ACCORDING TO THE DOCTORS 265
“Nothing at all," replied Dr Barrére.
“And that of course has led my esteemed
colleague, Dr Sarcy and myself to a certain
conclusion in which Dr Sarcy shares fully.”
“Absolutely," said Dr Sarcy. “ My re-
vered colleague is right.”
“ That conclusion is," continued Dr Barrére,
“that our patient has for some time—in-
definite, but from the evidence, about nine or
ten days past—been the subject of hypnotic
suggestion, that some unusually powerful mind
has as it were driven her real self out of her,
and supplied a false self, a self which would
be as wax in the hands of the stronger mind,
even to the point of complete obsession, and
that the reign, the domination of that mind
over hers came to a very sudden end to-day,
with the result that she suddenly woke, as out
of sleep, or a trance, and just as suddenly
became herself again as she had just as sud-
denly become—something else."
Amidst the silence which followed this state-
ment Rivington rose and took one or two turns
about the room. He stopped at last before
Dr Barrere.


ACCORDING To THE DocToRS 267
strange instances of the power of mind over
matter, sir," he answered. “ We are begin-
ning to learn a little in these days of the power
of mind over mind.”
Rivington, who had begun pacing the room
once more, again confronted the doctors.
“Then how soon will Miss de St Evreux be
herself again?” he asked.
“She is herself again as regards her
memory of events previous to a date which we
make out to be quite recent," answered Dr
Sarcy, “and she knows where she is and with
whom, and is tranquil. Whether she will ever
know what has happened during this time of
obsession we cannot tell. It may be well,” he
added, with a significance which was kindly
and sympathetic, “if she never does remember.
In the meantime, sir, she is under the best care
she could have ”— He indicated Sister Teresa
with a bow.
As Rivington turned back from the gates of
the villa after seeing Wells drive away Paris-
wards with the two specialists he encountered
Etheredge, who emerged from a side-walk of
the grounds. He knew at once that the valet


CHAPTER II
BENEATH A BUNCH OF ROSES
AFTER having had so much experience of the
strange things that were happening around
him, Rivington was not at all astonished to
receive this communication from Etheredge.
But he was just then so much concerned in
reflecting upon what he had heard from the
doctors, that news like this, which seemed to
threaten further troubles and complications,
was by no means grateful to his ears, and he
uttered an exclamation of annoyance.
“I should not intrude this news upon you,
sir, ifI had not good grounds for believing it
to be true," said Etheredge, in his usual placid
fashion. “ It is my sincere belief, sir, that you
personally have been under observation ever
since we left Rouen."
“Good heavens!" exclaimed Rivington.
“ Was there ever such a tangle of mysteries?
Speak out, Etheredge, tell me everything you
269


272 PARADISE COURT
Calais the other morning this man joined the
train there, as if he had been waiting for the
arrival of some person whom he had ex-
pected.”
“Very likely he had,” observed Rivington.
“ He had most likely come along the coast from
Dieppe. Even a bad artist might love the
sea-line, Etheredge.”
“Precisely, sir. The man travelled to
Paris in our train, sir, and passed us, quite
casually, as we were driving away from the
Gare du Nord. And now”—
“Really,” interrupted Rivington, who was
anxious to join Miss Maxwell and consult with
her, “I don't see much in it, Etheredge. But
you hadn’t finished—I beg your pardon—you
were going to say ”—
“ Only that the man is here, sir.”
Rivington started, staring at the valet in
surprise.
“ Here!” he exclaimed. “ Here ! Where?”
“Herein Charenton, sir. If you will give
yourself the trouble, sir, to look through this
little window, you will see—if you look between
the poplars, sir—a little hotel across the road


274 PARADISE COURT
time. Then he left the easel in charge of some
children and went round the village. His
def/euner occupied a long time at the hotel—I
do not think he had done much at his canvas
when evening came. Then he carried every-
thing into the hotel and there stayed the night.
There he was this morning, regarding various
scenes from various standpoints. And this
afternoon, when the young ladies arrived "—
“ Ah, yes ! " exclaimed Rivington. “You
said they were followed.”
“ When the young ladies arrived this after-
noon, sir," said Etheredge, “ their car was
followed by a young man who rode a motor
bicycle. He passed the car at a very swift
rate as it turned into the gates of the villa, then
circled around the village green—as we should
call it in England, sir—at a gradually decreas-
ing pace, as if its rider wished to examine his
surroundings, until he came to a stand at the
door of the hotel, where the man whom I have
already spoken of was sitting under the canopy.
There was nothing to show that these two had
ever met, but when the host brought out wine
for the newcomer he saluted the other, as


BENEATH A BUNCH OF ROSES 275
strangers will, out of politeness, in this country,
sir, and they presently fell into conversation
and began to fraternise, with the result that
the younger man soon removed his bottle and
glass to the first-comer’s table. After a time
they strolled across the green towards the
church, as if to examine it, but came back in a
few minutes and called for another bottle.
They were there until Mr Wells returned from
Paris in the car, and they looked at the two
doctors with interest, and soon afterwards the
younger man mounted his motor cycle and
went off along the road. As for the first-comer,
sir, he is still there, in the hotel, drinking with
the host and some others.”
Rivington felt troubled and perplexed. He
could not deny that there was good ground for
Etheredge’s suspicions. The fact that one of
these men had been seen at Rouen, at Calais
and in Paris under circumstances which seemed
to argue that he was keeping an eye on them ;
the further fact that he had turned up there at
Charenton; the still further fact that the car
in which Miss Maxwell had conveyed Yvette
' to the villa should have been so closely followed


278 PARADISE COURT
—there will be room for everybody and for
Etheredge too.”
“That’s a ripping idea!" said Wells,
enthusiastically. “What do you say, Daubs,
my boy?”
“That I can never sufficiently thank Miss
Maxwell for her kindness,” answered Riving-
ton. “ Yes, we will go, as soon as Miss de St
Evreux is fit to travel.”
But he knew, from what Sister Teresa had
told him, that Yvette was still suffering from
whatever terrible experience it was that she
had gone through, and that some time must
elapse ere she would regain her former self in
all its true nature and strength. And in this
knowledge he was further confirmed next
morning when Sister Teresa, after many
injunctions, admitted him to a brief audience
of her charge.
Yvette looked as people look 'who have just
awakened from a strange dream. But she
knew Rivington, and her cheek warmed and
her eyes lightened as she gave him her hand.
“You are feeling better, Miss de St
Evreux?" he said, venturing to retain her


28o PARADISE COURT
looked into her eyes, and seen her smile, and
the mere sight of her had for the moment
driven all thought of danger out of his
head.
But that danger was present, nearer than
any of them dreamed, they were presently
reminded in a fashion which they were not
soon to forget.
It was on the third morning after Yvette’s
arrival at the villa that Wells, coming down
into the little breakfast salon at an early hour,
found Rivington looking at a parcel wrapped
up in brown paper—a parcel of about the size
of a cardboard box such as bootmakers enclose
their wares in. On the table at his side lay a
magnificent bunch of roses.
“Look here, Dogger," said Rivington,
looking up with a puzzled expression. “When
I went out into the garden this morning I
found these things on the shelf in the porch—
this bunch of roses, and lying beneath it, this
parcel. The parcel is addressed in French, as
follows : ‘ A little present for the sick English
lady.” Chocolate, I suppose. How sym-
pathetic these people are, and what a delicate


BENEATH A BUNCH OF ROSES 281
way of doing little attentive things they have!
But I am wondering who can have sent it,
for who knows that Yvette is ill?"
“ Exactly,” said Wells. “ Left in the porch,
you say?”
“Left in the porch. The roses were fresh
with the morning dew."
Wells strolled round the table and glanced
at the address on the parcel. Rivington, who
was smiling with gratification at the thought
of this polite attention, shook the parcel alittle
in his hands as if estimating its weight or
guessing at its probable contents.
“Heavy, isn’t it?" he said. “There must
be at least two pounds of chocolate. What
are you doing, Dogger?"
Wells had suddenly snatched the parcel from
Rivington. For one second he held it to his
ear, then with a loud shout he made a dash for
the open window behind them and leapt head-
long into the orchard beneath it. Holding the
parcel at arm’s-length he raced between the
fruit-trees to the further end of the orchard,
and coming to a low wall which shut it in, he
flung the parcel over it into mid-air. Then


282 PARADISE COURT

he fell back against a tree, gasping and
waiting.
Rivington, leaping from the window, had
raced after Wells. But ere he reached the end
of the orchard a sudden roar, a great shock,
seemed to arise from the bowels of the earth.
It flung both men to the ground, and behind
them they heard the crash of breaking win-
dows. In the silence that instantly followed,
they rose to their feet and rushed to the wall.
Beneath the wall, at a great depth, lay a
disused stone quarry, in the midst of which
they had on the previous day noticed an empty
cottage and workshop. There was a curiously
coloured mist of smoke and steam hanging
over these old buildings ; when it cleared away
they saw that scarcely one stone was left
standing on another, and that the débris had
been blown to all parts of the quarry.


284 PARADISE COURT
cerned with his cigarette, which he had now
managed to light.
“You’ve saved all our lives, Dogger!" he
said at last.
“Oh, rot!" answered Wells. “Anybody
would have done that—the only thing to do,
you know. Lucky I remembered that old
quarry—couldn’t have had a better place to
tip such rubbish into."
“But how did you discover what it was?"
inquired Rivington.
“Easy enough. When you rattled it I
heard a slight—the very slightest whirring
sound. It didn’t stop—it went on as I ran
with it. Something like a clock running
down. And knowing a bit about machinery
as applied to explosives, and that we were just
now going through some queer experiences, I
--—well, I put two and two together in ajiffy,
with the result we’ve seen. Hullo! Ithought
the neighbourhood would be roused ! "
Looking around him Rivington perceived
that the quarry had suddenly become the
centre of attraction to the whole village.
People were gathering about the fences,
A-_~_.‘A


WARNING TO QUIT 285
hedges and walls which enclosed it, peering
down into its still smoke-obscured depths with
wondering eyes—a chorus of exclamations
denoting all shades of astonishment filled the
morning air and drowned the thrush's song.
Down a lane which ran at the side of the villa
came running officials—a soldier or two, a
policeman or two, and with them a stout person
who appeared to be somebody. All were in
frantic haste.
“Now, we shall be in for some questioning,”
remarked Wells. “Look here, Daubs—we
don't know anything, you know. Walking in
the orchard in order to get an appetite we
were suddenly dismayed—and knocked down
—by this terrible explosion, and on recovering
our senses and looking over into the quarry
we find the old cottage blown to bits, eh?
How's that for a yarn? I think it's scarcely
advisable to talk of—bombs, eh?”
“All right,” answered Rivington. He
bowed courteously to the stout gentleman, the
officials, the policemen, the soldiers who from
the lane at the corner of the orchard surveyed
the scene of devastation. As Wells foresaw,


286 PARADISE COURT
the stout gentleman—who proved to be the
owner of the quarry—immediately began to
ask questions. Had the gentlemen—whose
orchard lay on the confines of this quarry, the
scene of a so remarkable, a so extraordinary
outrage, seen anything? Ah, the gentlemen
had heard the so appalling sound and had
suffered the indignity of being violently thrown
to the ground? And after recovery had seen
the now ruined habitation and the formerly
made-useful workshop blown to atoms. Just
Heaven l Unbelievable ! Was it, then, a
thunderbolt that had caused this most incred-
ible affair, in which, however, no lives appeared
to have been lost and no injury done of any
moment? For what else could have oc-
casioned an event so unheard of? Do quarries
suddenly blow themselves up? No! The
cause, then, my children I An earthquake?
(This from a soldier who in his hurry had
evidently got into a comrade's coat). Pouf!
there had been no shock. A flash of light-
ning? (This from a policeman who had put
his hat on wrong way first and was brandishing
his scabbarded sword). But who had seen it?


WARNING TO QUIT 287
No, it must have been a thunderbolt, a bolt
from the blue, direct from—
“If I may be permitted to offer an opinion,
sir,” said Rivington, with his fine air of
courtesy, “I would venture to suggest that a
simple explanation of this event may be found.
Monsieur, when working this quarry, doubtless
made use of explosives?”
“Of explosives? Truly, yes! To detach
large masses of the stone-great, prodigious!
Ah, explosives, truly.”
“Then it is possible,
“that some explosive had been left in the old
9 y
continued Rivington,
cottage, sir, and that by some cause unknown
to us it was suddenly discharged this morning.
Workmen are sometimes careless in leaving
these things about.”
Monsieur had more reason than ever.
Truly, that must be the proper explanation.
For see, where else could such a thing that
said Bo-m-m-m! like a cannon, have come
from? What happiness that there was no
damage done save a little broken glass—easily
mended. Not even a goat killed. Ah, the
poor goats!—sometimes they were tethered on


288 PARADISE COURT

the green patches in the quarry. But it was
yet too early for their attendance. Well-—-
well, let us to our coffee again, which we were
just about to drink when that terrible voice
said Bo-m-m-m! A thousand, thousand thanks
to monsieur for his suggestion so reasonable,
so sensible. Ah, those pigs of workmen, to
leave unnoticed a so dangerous a thing as an
explosive—imbeciles!
To Sister Teresa and to Yvette, Rivington
permitted himself to offer the same suggestion
as to the cause of the broken window and the
violent shaking which the villa had received.
But to Miss Maxwell, who arrived shortly
afterwards in her motor from Paris, he gave a
full account of what had really happened. She
heard him in silence and her usually vivacious
face grew grave.
“This is more serious than I had looked
for,” she said. “It is evident that you or
Miss de St Evreux or both have some im-
placable enemy. But what I wish to know is
—for what reason?”
“I have been wondering," said Rivington,
“if the sudden disappearance of Dubarle has


WARNING TO QUIT 289
anything to do with this. Do they—I don’t
know what I mean by them, unless it is some
society of which he was a member—do they
connect her with his disappearance—think that
she has, for instance, betrayed him? That
would supply a motive for such an outrage as
that which Wells’s presence of mind frustrated
this morning."
“Yes," replied Miss Maxwell, “but I have
never known—it is not within our knowledge
—that Dubarle (which I told you, you know,
was only an assumed name) was ever a member
of any society, secret or otherwise. What he
did years ago he did on his own initiation.
And yet"—
“Yes?"
“It is plainly evident that some person, or
some body of persons, has an earnest desire to
kill Miss de St Evreux. It is also evident
that she was followed here, whether by the
men whom Etheredge suspected—he was
probably right—or by others is immaterial.
It is very plain that she is known to be here
by the persons who wish to do her an
injury."
T


29o PARADISE COURT
“ Do you think they will try further means?"
asked Rivington.
"I should say they will," replied Miss Max-
well. “They seem to be a determined set,
judging by the affair of this morning.”
Rivington paced the room in great agitation.
“What is to be done?" he exclaimed.
"One cannot go on for ever with this per-
petual fear hanging over one’s head! Death
were better than such a fate. Why, if
Yvette once knew of this it would drive her
mad!" .
“Look here, Daubs,” said Wells, who had
so far listened in silence. “ Let’s get across
to England, as we agreed to do the other day.
Get Miss de St Evreux safely lodged with the
Willoughbys——there’s something remarkably
safe and solid looking about themselves and
their house. And then, as soon as you can,
or can persuade her to agree, marry Miss de
St Evreux and settle down in peace.”
Miss Maxwell listened to this sage advice
in silence. Rivington shook his head almost
despairingly.
“ If these people cherish so much hatred for


292 PARADISE COURT
Courbevoie?” suggested Rivington, who re-
membered that he himself was still in the dark
as regards Yvette’s antecedents.
“There is nothing to be learnt there that I
have not already learnt or that Sister Teresa
upstairs could not tell us just now,” replied
Miss Maxwell. “I made it my business to
ascertain all that before I arranged for Miss
de St Evreux’s rescue. No—she was taken
to that convent when quite a child by a man
who, representing himself as her guardian, in-
formed the authorities that her parents were
dead, and that as he himself was going to
some distant country and might never return,
he wished them to take charge of her. He
paid there and then for her educational and
boarding expenses for a term of twenty years
in advance, left a considerable sum for her
clothing and incidental expenses, and in addi-
tion deposited with the authorities certain legal
documents which showed that he had invested
with a Parisian banker the sum of fifty thou-
sand francs which, principal and interest, was
to be handed over to Miss de St Evreux on
her marriage or her attaining her twenty-sixth


WARNING TO QUIT 293
year. She was six years old when she entered
the convent, and it was stipulated that at
eighteen, if she wished it, she was to be free
to go into the world—which she did, as a
governess. So that you see the man, who-
ever he was, fully provided for the child until
she was twenty-six, and further made arrange-
ment for the handing over to her at that age
of a nice little nest-egg. To me,” continued
Miss Maxwell, “ there does not seem to be any
great mystery in this—I have heard of similar
cases. There are just one or two facts, how-
ever, as related to me by the authorities at the
convent, which seem significant—one is that
the man had no papers to show with respect to
Yvette’s parentage, and explained this by say-
ing that her parents had died suddenly abroad,
and that all their personal belongings had been
lost in a fire; the other, that he gave no name
himself at any time to anyone, but paid all the
money in French currency—in notes and gold.
Yes—there is one more fact of significance,
of which Sister Teresa could also tell you—
Yvette as a child had some recollection of a
country which seems to have been Russia, and


294 PARADISE COURT
of a city which seems to have been St Peters-
burg, but these recollections were so indistinct
and hazy that she soon forgot them amongst
her new surroundings and within a few months
never spoke of them. That, Mr Rivington, is
all that is to be learnt at the convent."
“Miss Maxwell," said Rivington, “does it
not strike you that these particulars, in which
you say you do not see any great mystery,
rather point to the fact that, mystery or no
mystery, Yvette may be the offspring of some
house of Russia, of some noble family, which
has incurred the hatred of the disaffected? Is
it not a fact that the innocent children of such
families have at times been tracked down with
sleuthhound-like determination, so that the
sins of the fathers should be visited upon the
sons—ay, and on the daughters? You know
how they hunted the children of the emigrant
aristocracy here in France in the days of the
Terror, even if they returned to the country as
simple democrats."
“Yes," replied Miss Maxwell, “it is
possible. But—how can we further probe the
mystery which hangs around Miss de St
__‘.__ __ “n I _


WARNING TO QUIT 295
Evreux’s antecedents? I cannot see that it is
possible."
“Then is she for ever to hang under
this cloud—this awful terror?" exclaimed
Rivington.
“Ah, but at present she does not know of
it! " replied Miss Maxwell. “ Let us hope she
never will. And now let us think of how we
can get her to England with least danger to
her and ourselves.”
Wells heaved a sigh of relief.
“That is the wisest—the only plan," he
said. “Because, I say, look here—how do
you know that if we remain here much longer
we shan’t have one of those infernal bombs
thrown into the villa or planted under the
table? Let’s get off—one can breathe in
England.”
Discussing these matters still further it was
finally decided that Yvette should that
morning he removed by Sister Teresa and
Miss Maxwell to the convent at Courbevoie,
and that she and Miss Maxwell should next
day travel from thence to EngIand in the garb
of Sisters of Mercy. As for Rivington,


296 PARADISE COURT
Wells and Etheredge, they, on Miss
Maxwell’s suggestion, were to repair later
in the day to Paris and to place themselves
in the hands of Monsieur Jacques for purposes
of disguise. They were all to travel by the
same train, and to keep an eye on each
other, but to hold no communication with
each other save in case of strict necessity.
And so the little villa at Charenton was that
night tenantless, and the De Dietrich was
stabled in Paris; and next clay nobody would
have recognised Etheredge in the character
of an ascetic High Church clergyman, nor
Miss Maxwell as a plump-faced, blue-
spectacled, middle-aged relzlgz’euse, nor Yvette
in the plump-faced nun’s pale and sad com-
panion, nor Rivington in the rather Hebraic-
looking gentleman with a full beard, nor
Wells—who swore deeply under his breath
all day—as the horsey-looking groom of the
red hair and red side-wing whiskers who was
condemned to second-class accommodation and
to perpetual chewing of a straw. But in spite
of discomfort and disadvantages they were
thankful to see the chalk cliffs of Dover,


''-~_._'.-





302 PARADISE COURT
made it impossible for secret machinations to
go on here. And so, as day after day went
by and Yvette remained safe and sound in the
bosom of the Willoughby family, his spirits
rose until they wove about his brain a feeling
of assurance which became almost a spirit of
defiance.
“ It’s just here, Dogger, old chap,” he said,
addressing Wells as they sat at dinner one
evening; “it’s all very well talking, but that
sort of thing isn’t done here. How often do
you ever hear of any of these secret societies,
and so on, ever doing anything in this country.
This is the land of personal safety, Dogger!”
“ Hear of lots of people suddenly disappear-
ing who are never heard of again, anyhow,”
replied Wells.
“Possibly—but chiefly, I think, amongst
what we may, without any offence, call the
lower classes,” said Rivington. “It is a
rather common thing, I believe, for the ne’er-
do-weel sort of gentleman who gets tired of his
wife, to leave her some fine morning and to
disappear so completely that he is never seen
again.”


THE LONG ARM 303
“ It’s not an uncommon thing either, judging
from some of these wretched Sunday news-
papers that you have in London, to hear of
people being found murdered without the
slightest clue to show who murdered them,"
retorted Wells, “and I don’t think that’s
confined to your so-called lower classes either.
Don’t you get too cock-sure, Daubs, about
this business—it’s the easiest thing in the world,
so I’ve heard wiser men than I am say, to
be never sure. For anything you know, the
danger that’s been overhanging Miss de St
Evreux may still be there.”
“I think not, dear old chap, I think not,"
said Rivington. “I have a sort of instinctive
feeling that it is past. There would be some-
thing so very—shall we say incongruous ?—in
anything happening to anybody who lived
under the Wisden Willoughby roof; it is
surely a living example of the grandeur of the
fine old saying which informs us that the
Englishman’s house is his castle.”
“That’s sentimental rot," said Wells,
calmly. “Get off that horse, Daubs, for
heaven’s sake, and get on to another.”


304 PARADISE COURT
But Rivington only laughed. He was
thinking of the solidity, the truly English
middle-class weariness of the Willoughby
ménage, wherein the atmosphere was as re-
spectable and as commonplace as the oak and
the mahogany. He could not conceive it
possible that dark deeds should be done within
those four square areas of severe convention
—the picture of an assassin with an infernal
machine, even with a revolver, in Mrs
Willoughby's drawing-room, struck him as
being as ridiculous as it was anachronistic.
One might as well think of finding Guy Fawkes
there, he said to himself, as of encountering
either tragedy or romance behind those mas-
sive, high-commerce suggesting doors.
In and out of those doors Rivington passed
a good deal during the first days of the return
to London. Mr Wisden Willoughby was a
man of kindly and hospitable nature, a little
wearying, perhaps, because of pompous bear-
ing and garrulous tongue, but genuinely
sympathetic in this very romantic case. As
for Mrs Wisden Willoughby, she was still
breathless with amazement to think that these


THE LONG ARM 305
dreadful and mysterious adventures could
have happened to one who had acted as
governess to the little Willoughbys—it made
her think, she said, of all the dreadful stories
she had heard of Siberia, and the Man in the
Iron Mask, and the Bastille, and many other
matters which she did not definitely refer to, but
hinted at darkly. To her essentially feminine
eyes Rivington appeared a god-like young
Perseus who had delivered a new Andromeda
from a dragon which was all the more horrible
because it was unknown. Therefore, while
Mr Wisden Willoughby pressed Rivington to
dine, she pressed him to come to afternoon
tea, and thus it was that he spent much more
time in Cumberland Terrace than at his own
rooms.
As the days went by, his belief that Yvette
cared for him increased until it became a
certainty. It had been the desire of the
Willoughbys that she should rest after her
experiences in Paris, but she had insisted on
taking up her duties exactly where she had so
suddenly laid them down, and the family
physician, privately consulted on this point,
u


THE LONG ARM 307

remember a dream dreamed long since and
could find nothing of its fragments but such as
set up thoughts of fear and horror and un-
certainty. And she had turned to him with
an entreaty which he recognised as childlike
in its simplicity. “I cannot recollect!” she
said. “ It is—l do not know what it is—please
do not ask me yet, for I feel-—-somewhere—
that I shall remember everything at last, and
understand everything. And then I shall tell
you everything of my own will.”
With that Rivington was well content. He
could wait. He was seeing the woman he
loved daily ; every day showed him something
more admirable in her; every day found him
more in love with her; and, in spite of any-
thing that Wells might say, every day added to
his sense of security. Was it likely that the
enemy would linger in striking when there were
daily opportunities of doing an injury to either
himself or Yvette if such an injury were
intended? He began, in his optimistic
fashion, to encourage the belief within his own
mind that the incident of the bomb-throwing at
Charenton had borne no direct relation to the


THE LONG ARM 309

lot longer, anyway," said Wells. “She’s had
about enough of it, and that’s what I think,
too.”
Rivington was suddenly conscious of a great
illumination. He examined his friend’s face
and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“ By George! Dogger, ” he exclaimed, “I
believe you’re in love with Miss Maxwell !
Aren’t you now ? "
“I’ve been pretty badly gone on her ever
since I met her on the Dieppe boat," Wells
said bluntly. “I should think anybody could
see that who wasn’t as blind as a blessed owl."
“ Or so much wrapped up in his own affairs
as to be quite insensible to those of other
people," admitted Rivington, regretfully.
“Dear, dear me! Well, I congratulate you,
dear boy, most heartily—I suppose I may con-
gratulate you ? "
“ I think it’s a solid fact," answered Wells.
“ I haven’t been twiddling my thumbs in idle-
ness while you were up at Cumberland Terrace.
And I wanted to tell you—she and I are going
to motor down to her father’s place on Saturday
to spend the week-end—the old boy’s a parson,


THE LONG ARM 313
Everything at Paradise Court looked just
the same. There was the curious gate, the
garden, the porch with its salon and its flowers.
They passed in ; they went along the passage.
At a certain door Fritz paused. He opened
it; he drew back.
“Will you please to enter, sir?” he said
with his usual formal politeness.
Rivington stepped into a room, the interior
of which was concealed from him by a screen
which stood in front of the door. He had
only crossed the threshold when he heard the
door close sharply behind him. A key was
turned heavily. And then the sickening,
heart-crushing consciousness burst on him-
he was trapped.


THE TRIBUNAL 315

suddenly fallen into the grave—to be secured
there for ever.
He suddenly moved forward and thrust one
compartment of the screen roughly aside,
and on seeing what he saw, the sweat burst
out upon his forehead and rolled down his face
in a stream.
The room was a cell—a dungeon. He knew
that it was a room in Madame de Marlé’s
Paradise Court, that it stood next to the sky
at the very top of such an essentially modern
and commonplace pile of buildings as Minobar
Mansions—but it was a cell for all that. He
might have been in a prison, might have been
in the Bastille of evil memory, in the fortress
of St Peter and St Paul of present-day ill-
repute. He was in none of these places—he
was there.
He folded the screen up, placed it against
the wall, cursing the cruelty of those who had
made such malignant and fiendish use of it,
and proceeded to make a careful examination
of his prison. He found himself in a room of
about twelve feet square in height, width, and
length. Beyond a screen and a straw mat


316 PARADISE COURT
thrown carelessly down in one corner, there
was not a scrap of furniture in the place. The
floor was of cement, hard as adamant; the
unpapered walls were of the same material.
There was neither fireplace nor window; high
up in one angle of the room was a grate,
utterly beyond his reach. Projecting from
the wall, also beyond his reach, was the
bracket of an electric lamp. In all the rest
of this dungeon-like apartment there was
nothing. He walked around the walls—there
was not even a crack in them at the angle
where they joined the floor.
Rivington turned his attention to the door
and to what he could see of its fastenings.
His heart sank as he saw that the door itself
was of a strength which he had not antici-
pated. It was of oak, heavily clamped with
iron, and there was not the slightest sign of
a lock or a bolt about it—a circumstance
which showed him how securely he was im-
prisoned. He pressed his weight against it
—he might as well have endeavoured to move
the Tower of London.
Rivington needed none of these evidences


31s PARADISE COURT
times when she was out alone—supposing
some officious excuse were made to her to
the effect that he, Rivington, was ill—dying,
and must see her at once—how easy it would
be to decoy her instantly into a cab, drive her
here, and throw her into a hellish place like
this which he was now pacing like a newly-
captured wild beast! It drove him to the
verge of madness to think of her being thrust
into such a living tomb. He pictured her
horror, her fright, the terror that would—yes,
yes, it would destroy her reason.
“She would go mad!" he said between his
set teeth. “She would go mad ! "
Lest madness should come upon himself,
he began to think of what might be about to
happen. For aught he could see to the con-
trary, the walls of that cell might be the silent
witnesser of his death. He had not been
brought there to Paradise Court for nothing—
of that he was certain. No one knew he was
there. He had left no word for Etheredge.
He remembered that, in passing the porter’s
box at the Burlington Gardens end of the
Albany, the porter was not there, consequently


THE TRIBUNAL 319
the porter did not see him leave in company
with Fritz. It might be that the porter had
seen Fritz enter, and that on hearing the
outcry which Etheredge would certainly make
when he, Rivington, was found to be missing,
would remember that a big, military-looking,
obviously German man-servant sort of person
had passed in soon after Etheredge had gone
out. But how would the porter know that
Fritz had gone to his, Rivington's, rooms?
It was plain enough to him now that these
people had watched until they knew that he
was alone in his rooms. If they had exercised
enough ingenuity to do that, they could have
exercised enough to ensure that nobody saw
Fritz go to the rooms. No, he could see no
hope of rescue anywhere. He felt in his
pockets for the treacherous letter which had
brought him there, hoping that he had thrown
it down on the hall table, and that Etheredge
might find it there—no, worse luck, there it
was, and in its envelope. It was no good-
nobody would know that he was a prisoner at
Madame de Marlé’s.
He looked up at the grate, high above him


32o PARADISE COURT
in the wall, wondering if it overlooked the
street. But he could hear no sound of the
street. It struck him with a new sense of his
awful position that there, in the very heart of
London, he could hear nothing of London’s
voice—not even that subdued murmur of it
which no walls or shutters or closely-drawn
curtains can shut out. It seemed then
to him that he was indeed buried alive, for he
had never before known London’s voice hushed
to silence.
Rivington looked at his watch. Half-past
ten. Good God ! he had not been in the place
an hour—not three-quarters of an hour! Was
he, who had never suffered a moment’s curtail-
ment of liberty in his life, to be fastened up
there like a rat in a trap for———how long? Yes
—how long? He looked at the door as if
he would tear it forcibly away—he suddenly
calmed himself and went over to the straw mat
and sat down on it to wait. How long Riving-
ton waited, sitting on the straw mat, he never
knew, for, before he had sat down many
minutes, the light set high above him in the
wall went out suddenly and left him in darkness.


THE TRIBUNAL 321

His situation was then more horrible than
ever. He did not know what to expect, but it
seemed to him that he was expected to pass
the night in this terrible blackness, not knowing
at what moment the cell door might not open
on violence and murder; and, for some reason
which he could not explain, he shifted the
position of the straw mat to another corner of
the cell—that facing the door—and sat down
again, waiting.
It was some time afterwards that he heard a
curious metallic click in the wall above him.
There was nothing to be seen in a darkness so
profound, but a slight reflection told him that
the clicking sound was the result of a sudden
sharp closing of the grating through which air
was admitted to his prison. He sat up with a
beating heart and asked himself why it had
been closed. Did they mean to—to suffocate
him? If not, why did they close the only
aperture through which he could obtain air?
Yes—that must be it. He was to be suffo-
cated.
He began to calculate upon the length of
time he would have to live, and how long it
X


324 PARADISE COURT

the shackles which had been fastened about
his ankles. He could therefore move his
hands a little and indulge in a shuffling walk,
but that was all.
What was to happen next ? It was evident
to him now that he had been anaesthetised in
order that his captors might make themselves
more secure in their hold upon him—with those
shackles on him he could do nothing.
He lay there in the darkness for what
seemed to be some time longer, though it was
difficult to tell how time passed under such
conditions. No sound came to his ears, but
that he might expect the presence of his jailers
at any moment seemed to him a probability
because of the fetters on his feet and wrists.
A sudden click heralded the turning on of
the electric light. Rivington's eyes, blinking
under its harsh glare, at last were able to search
the cell and to examine himself. He saw then
that near the straw mat some hand had placed
a pitcher of water and a small loaf of bread.
He also made himself acquainted with the fact
that his fetters were apparently of the finest
steel and that he might as well expect to


326 PARADISE COURT
The two men silently produced revolvers—
the second man spoke again. “I say once
more, monsieur, follow me!”
Rivington bent his head. He stepped after
the man—Fritz closed in behind him ; once
outside the room half a dozen steps brought
them into the famous salon wherein Madame
de Marlé had held her Sunday receptions. It
was just the same in appearance, except that, at
the farthest end, three chairs were set behind a
table. In these chairs sat Madame de Marlé,
a man whom Rivington did not know, and the
woman whom he had known at Rouen as
Madame d'Andelys. The faces of these three
were dark, sinister, implacable.
But Rivington scarcely gave them or the
room a glance. He was suddenly conscious of
one thing as soon as he crossed the threshold,
and the consciousness smote the iron so deep
into his soul that he cried out in agony. - There,
chained and guarded like himself, he saw
Yvette.


VOICES FROM THE DEAD 329
that she was dressed in a walking costume-—-
she must, then, have been waylaid in the park
or in the street. Her glance strayed round to
him, and her lips quivered and her eyes filled
with tears, and he saw that, manacled though
she herself was, she was looking at his own
chains. The sight of her distress nerved him
like a tonic, and he pulled himself together,
and in defiance of all there, leant, smiling,
towards her.
“ Courage, Yvette!" he said, calling her by
her name for the first time since he had known
her. “Courage!"
Then he turned to the three at the table,
and his natural voice rapidly gathering its
normal strength, he said, “I repeat once
more that this is an outrage, and I demand to
know why Miss de St Evreux is brought here
and treated in this abominable fashion.”
“That, Mr Rivington," replied Madame de
Marlé, “is precisely what we wish to tell you.
As for yourself, you find yourself in your
present position because you have, of late,
mixed yourself up in affairs with which
you had nothing to do. As for the woman,


33o PARADISE COURT
she is where she is because she is who
she is.”
Rivington felt as if a hand of ice had been
placed upon his heart. What secret was he to
hear? Inwardly full of terrible dread, he en-
deavoured to put a bold face on matters.
“That, Madame de Marlé, is language of
the vaguest," he said, affecting to sneer.
“You would be more merciful if you were
more explicit."
“Mercy, Mr Rivington, is a quality, or,
rather, a weakness, which has long been un-
known to me. Do not expect to find mercy
anywhere within this place, for it does not
exist here. Justice does," said Madame de
Marlé, “and justice will be done. And now
prepare to listen to what I have to say to both
of you—to you, an interfering Englishman,
and to you, child of devil’s breed "-
Yvette’s voice, gentle, pleading, interrupted
her.
“ Madame de Marlé, I never wronged you!
How could I—I who never had any but kind
thoughts of"—
Rivington interrupted Yvette in turn.


332 PARADISE COURT
hesitated a moment, and then proceeded in a
steady voice,—
“Long years ago in a certain town in
Russia, Mr Rivington, there was a certain
man who, because of the bad conditions of
government in that country, had the power of
life and death over the people whom he, as
representative of the Czar, was supposed to
protect as well as to govern. You, who live
here in a free country, under laws which you
yourselves make through your duly-elected
representatives, can have no conception, no
faint idea of what it is to live in a country
like Russia, where no man is anything unless
he is of the army or the police. This man,
the governor-general, was head of both in this
town, and he exercised his prerogatives as
many such men do—for his own end. And he
was no better than a brute—nay, he was not
so good, for a brute is not perpetually hunting
after its own pleasure, its own animalism, and
this man was. He was a monster ! ”
Rivington was listening with intense interest
—an interest so great that it seemed to drive
much of the fear out of his heart. He glanced


VOICES FROM THE DEAD 333

at Yvette—she was watching Madame de
Marlé with dilated eyes and slightly parted
lips. The two people at the table were im-
passive, save for this fact, that in their eyes
burned a mouldering fire, a light of concen-
trated resolve which was far more terrible than
any display of emotion.
“In that same town," continued the hard,
level voice, “there dwelt a family of good
birth—a family which, when this monster first
went there, was living in an old house in the
neighbourhood of the university, whereat every
one of its members was engaged. There were
five members of that family—you are looking
upon three of them to-night. The other two—-
one, long, bitterly long, years ago ! the other but
a mere matter of days since—were murdered-
assassinated by a man whom you have seen ! "
“Semenoff! And Dubarle was your
brother!"
The exclamation burst involuntarily from
Rivington’s lips. It seemed to him as if it
had been forced clean from the middle of his
heart. And as he uttered this cry the veil
which had wrapped so much of his recent life


334 PARADISE COURT
began to part—and through its slowly-opening
curtains he saw vague, dim shapes which he
feared to look at.
“We will speak of Semenoff, and we will
speak of Dubarle, and we will speak of
Madame d'Andelys, and of Madame de
Marlé,” continued the hard voice. “One
name is as good as another in these cases.
But you are right in your conclusions—myself
and Madame D'Andelys and Dubarle were
sisters and brother. This gentleman (let us
call him Monsieur d'Andelys) was my sister's
husband—my dead husband made the fifth of
that little family circle. You see now what
that circle was — Monsieur and Madame
d’Andelys, Monsieur and Madame de Marlé,
and Monsieur Dubarle, brother to all. We
were all engaged, I tell you, at our beloved
university. Our hearts were wrapped up in
our teaching. We spent our spare time in
reading, in music, in pleasant conversation,
and we loved to see our friends. We were
happy in those days: certain human feelings
had not been crushed out of us.”
Rivington had forgotten his own position.


336 PARADISE coURT

approaches, then to veiled suggestions, finally
to open insult. And neither of us knowing
much of the world, nor of the awful power
which lies in the hollow of the hand of a man
placed in the position which Semenoff occupied,
complained to our husbands. And our
husbands, innocent of the world as ourselves,
were rash."
The woman paused for a moment and
applied her handkerchief to her mouth.
When she removed it, Rivington believed
that he saw it stained with blood. But she
presently went on in the same hard, level
voice,—
“I said—rash. Ah, honest folk are rash,
impetuous, impulsive, quick to do things with-
out thinking or counting the cost. It is only
your cheat, your hypocrite, your scoundrel who
always counts the cost, looks before he leaps,
thinks before he speaks. Our husbands,
simple-minded students and honest men, dared
to beard this devil and to remonstrate with
him—nay, more—and very foolishly on their
parts—to threaten him with exposure to
authorities higher than himself. He mocked


VOICES FROM THE DEAD 339
the world seemed to have passed away from
us—then we found ourselves, my sister and I,
across the frontier, in Germany. But her
husband-this man—and our brother, were on
their way to Siberia—exiled for life. There,
for many long years, they remained, separated.
At last they escaped—each bent on revenge.
Semenoff still lived—was become a great man
—a pillar of the State. And while Semenoff
lived there could be no rest for us!"
Rivington raised his hands involuntarily.
“Madame de Marlé!" he cried, “I beg
you listen to me. Your wrongs are terrible,
irreparable, but what has this woman, whom
I love, to do with them ? Why is she treated
in this way—why? "
Then the hard, level voice broke into almost
a shriek of anger.
“Why? Why? Because that woman is
Semenoff’s daughter—the child of the man
who murdered my husband and brother!
Blood for blood !—as he took their lives so
we will have hers!"


344 PARADISE COURT

Rivington could see handwriting in some
foreign language.
“This is what this man had written,’ con-
tinued the dull voice. “ It goes as follows—
“ ‘ To anyone concerned in the private history

_of the Governor-General of this may be
of interest. There is now in the Convent
School of N otre Dame at Courbevoie, outside
Paris, a girl, entered there under the name of
Yvette de St Evreux, who is the natural
daughter of that man by his favourite mistress,
a young French actress, Yvette St Cyr, whom
he brought to St Petersburg, and kept there
until she died. She was probably the only
woman he ever really cared for in his life.
When she died the child was very young and
the father commissioned me to take her to
Paris and to place her in the convent I have
just named. He furnished me with ample
funds for this purpose and for her provision
for many years. The truth of this statement
may be verified by inquiring of the authorities
of that convent if these particulars are not
correct. That the child’s expenses were paid


SENTENCED ! 345
for twenty years in advance. That fifty
thousand francs were deposited with Monsieur
Gaston de Bargy, the well-known banker,
on the child's behalf. That there was a
sister there, whose religious name was Teresa,
to whose care the child was confided. That
the child on attaining the age of eighteen
years was to be free to go into the world if
she pleased. Anyone comparing these facts
with what I have here written will know that
this girl is the daughter of Semenoff. But
Semenoff himself does not know where she is,
for his instructions to me were to take her to
a Belgian town—Brussels or Bruges—whereas
for reasons of my own I took her to Paris.
He made no inquiries concerning her—it may
be that anyone who preserves this paper after
my death and escapes from this accursed land
may find it useful.’”
The man folded the paper up and replaced
it in his pocket. A silence fell on the
room. The three people at the table seemed
to have relapsed into a brooding contemplation
of their past wrongs. At last Rivington spoke.


346 ’ PARADISE COURT

“ Madame de Marlé, granted that this docu-
ment is true, that all the facts are as it is there
set forth, again I ask you what has this
innocent girl, bred in a convent, to do with
the crimes which this man committed? You,
who have borne so many wrongs, should be
the last woman in the world to wrong another.
Think, Madame, think!"
Madame de Marlé raised her head slowly and
looked steadily at Rivington. His heart sank as
he met her eyes—he knew without doubt that
he was gazing into the eyes of a madwoman.
“ So I should be the last woman in the
world to wrong another, should I ?" she said,
with an intensity of vindictiveness, of hate that
made Rivington's blood run cold. “ I will
show you what sort of woman I am. For now
you shall know, and she shall know, what was
in store for her and her father, in Paris, if our
carefully-laid plans had not been frustrated by
you. It was I who arranged that plot—I, to
whom this man brought that paper when he
escaped from Siberia—I, to whom Dubarle
came when he, too, escaped. It was easy
enough to get this girl into our power—she is


SENTENCED ! 347
made of poor, plastic stuff, fit, like her mother,
to be a toy for men ”—
“That, Madame, woman as you are, is a
lie ! ” exclaimed Rivington.
“—and once in our power she had no will
of her own,” she continued, paying no heed to
him. “We took her to Paris, well knowing
that Semenoff would be attracted by her
beauty. We meant to use her to lure him
on until a day came when he would be in our
power—defenceless, helpless—as we were once
in his. We meant then to tell him what the
relationship between him and this girl was-
we would have proved it to him. We meant,
before his eyes, to insult her, to degrade
her, to use her, as I and my sister were
insulted, degraded, used by him and his brutal
soldiers, years before. And in the end we
should have shot both him and his daughter.
And you and your allies frustrated that—and
you must suffer for it. We will have blood for
blood.”
Rivington knew that it was useless to
argue. He looked at the faces of the men
who were guarding himself and Yvette, and


348 PARADISE COURT
he saw no sign of pity or mercy in any of
them.
“Madame!” he said, “ Semenoff still lives
—wreak your vengeance on him—spare this
innocent girl ! "
“ Semenofflives! Liar !—Semenoff is dead
—dead-dead! He was blown to pieces in
St Petersburg last night, and we are baulked
of our vengeance—the vengeance that we
should have had in Paris had it not been
for you. Why should not you pay for your
share in what you did? I told you that we
know nothing of mercy. You have interfered
in something which did not concern you—-
you have played with edged tools"-
Rivington grew desperate as a rat in a
corner. He forgot that he was talking to a
madwoman, that he was pinioned and a
prisoner.
“ Have a care, Madame de Marlé, have a
care!" he cried. “Remember that we are
neither in St Petersburg nor Paris, but in
London. Whatever you may do to this girl
and myself bear in mind the fact that you
cannot escape detection. Kill me—kill her-


352 PARADISE coURT

thing—who know how we have suffered-
justice, justice! Judge you this woman—the
spawn of that devil who ruined me and
mine!”
“What right have these men to judge?
Who are they?” cried Rivington.
One of the men spoke.
“We are the heads of a certain secret
section to which Madame belongs,” he replied.
“Madame, as a member of that section, cannot
take justice into her own hands! She can
only lay her case before us and ask us to
decide.”
"I refuse your right to decide,” exclaimed
Rivington. “ It is an outrage; it is ”—
But the four men took no heed. The two
behind him pinned him securely to his chair
and whispered over his head in some language
unknown to him. The other two, guarding
Yvette, engaged in a similar conference. The
three people at the table looked from one face
to the‘ other with eager eyes. But in Madame
de Marlé’s eyes there was murder.
The man who had previously spoken, after
a nod from Yvette’s guardians, spoke again.


354 PARADISE coURT
down with all his force on the head of the man
who stood between him and Yvette, but ere
the blow fell he was himself struck down
violently from behind, and he sank, sank, sank
into a great sea of blankness that came welling
up in slowly-widening waves.


CHAPTER V
THE GLEAM OF STEEL
“I AM alive and she is dead. I am alive and
she is dead. I am alive and she is dead. She
is dead. She is dead—dead—dead—she is
dead!"
Some voice was saying these words over
and over again in the darkness—now whisper-
ing them, now sobbing them, but always re-
peating them without ceasing. But whose
voice? Surely not his own. No, it could not
be his, because he was asleep, or dreaming, or
in another world, or mad. Perhaps, after all,
he was dead too. And that would be better
than anything that could be, because she was
certainly dead. They had killed her.
Somewhere, deep down in his tortured brain,
slowly fighting its way back to life and con-
. sciousness, something began to sing-
"She is dead and gone, lady,
She is dead and gone I”
355


THE GLEAM OF STEEL 357
enough to enable him to see the objects about
him. He himself was bound securely. His
arms were lashed to his sides, his feet were
similarly fastened together. Yet whoever had
placed him in his present position had done so
with some regard to his comfort. There was
a cushion underneath his head, and some hand
had undone his collar and cravat. In the
midst of his agony of mind he laughed at this
refinement of cruelty.
The back of his head ached and throbbed
violently. He felt sore all over his body. But
the physical pain was as nothing when com-
pared with the mental pain. He wondered
how long he had lain there, how long it was
since they had struck him down and carried
Yvette off to that infernal den. Was she
dead? He writhed in his torture, and tried to
cry out, mocking himself the next instant for
his impotence and uselessness.
All around him was a dead silence. He
could hear nothing. The place was as
quiet as the cell in which he had been
confined and in which he now pictured
Yvette lying dead. Oh, if he were only


362 PARADISE COURT
woman’s part—a leap forward on his—a quick
cry—the sound of falling steel. He had
leapt upon her, thrown the knife out of her
hand with a quick jerk of the wrist, and over-
throwing her bodily at the same moment had
pinned her to the floor. And it seemed then
to Rivington that the room had suddenly
become full of people, for there was Etheredge
and Miss Maxwell and some strange men, and
all was confusion, above which Wells’s voice
suddenly rose clear and strong-
“ That’ll do—she’s safe now. Tear those
curtains down—get some light into this hellish
place! Ah, what’s this—Rivington, by God!
Not dead—here, brandy, brandy, Etheredge-
he’s trying to speak. Cut those cords some-
body-now then, Daubs, buck up-there, there
—speak, man !—where’s the girl—the girl !”
Whose voice was it that came from some-
where far off, travelling so fast and so hard and
yet so tediously and slowly? Surely not his
own!
“Dogger—Yvette—first door behind cur-
tains—perhaps dead—- quick—key—in woman's
hand there—quick ! ”


EDINBURGH
COLSTON AND' COY., LTD.
PRINTERS


A SELECTION FROM THE
GREEN CLOTH LIBRARY,
In uniform Green Cloth. Large Crown 8vo. 6s, each.
By Beach and Bogland.
By JANE BARLow, Author of “Irish Idylls,” etc.
Through Sorrow’s Gates: A Tale of
the Wintry Heath.
By HALLIwELL SUTCLIFFE.
“A study full of power and originality.”—Westminster Gazette.
“As an example of a well-knit story, utterly free from loose ends, it would be difficult
to mention anything in recent fiction to rival this splendidly masculine work of a writer
who is comparable with even Mr Thomas Hardy in his deep knowledge of, and true
sympathy with, the people of the soil.”—Daily Mail.
Mistress Barbara Cunliffe.
By HALLIwELL SUTCLIFFE.
“The novel is indeed a fine one, with characters whom it is good to know, and situa-
tions well developed.”-Spectator.
Ricroft Of Withens.
By HALLIwELL SUTCLIFFE.
“It is impossible to speak except in terms of unqualified eulogy of this remarkable
novel, a novel that will assuredly give its author a place in the front rank of romancists.
-Aberdeen Free Press.
A Bachelor in Arcady.
By HALLIwELL SUTCLIFFE.
“To our mind Mr Halliwell Sutcliffe has previously done nothing so good as his latest
"rough notes, as he modestly calls them, of that West Riding he knows and loves.”
-Pall Mall Gazette.
Evelyn Innes.
By GEORGE MooRE.
“A great achievement.”-Athenaeum.
“The sanest, most solid, and most accomplished book that Mr Moore has written. . . .
Mr George Moore has written nothing hitherto that was so masterly.”—Saturday Review.
Sister Teresa.
A Sequel to “Evelyn Innes.”
By GEORGE MooRE.
“Like “Esther Waters, Mr Moore's later study in feminism has a stimulating effect.
It helps us to see more and to understand better. Prophecy is a thankless task, but we
should not be surprised at anyone's prophesying that these books will live; they certainly
stand far above the fiction of the day in sincerity and power.”-Times.
T. FISHER UNWIN, PUBLISHER,
1 ADELPHI TERRACE, LONDON, W.C.


T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,
THE RAIDERS
S. R. CROCKETT
Eff/1M Edam. Crown 800., 010M, ‘SE.
fit?
"A thoroughly enjoyable novel, full of fresh, original, and
accurate pictures of life long gone by.”—Daily N ews.

“ A strikingly realistic romance."—-M0ming Post.
"A stirring story. . . . Mr. Crockett’s style is charming. My
Baronite never knew how musical and picturesque is Scottish-
Eziglish till he read this book."-——Punch.
“ The youn sters have their Stevenson, their Barrie. and new
a third writer as entered the circle, S. R. Crockett, with a iively
and jolly book of adventures, which the paterfamilias pretends
to buy for his eldest son, but reads greedily himself and won’t
let go till he has turned over the last page. . . . Out of such
historical elements and numberless local traditions the author
has put together an exciting tale of adventures on land and sea."
Frankfurtn Zeitung.
SOME SCOTCH NOTICES.
" Galloway folk should be proud to rank ‘The Raiders’ among
the classics of the district."—Sc0tsman.
“Mr. Crockett’s ‘The Raiders’ '5 one of the great literary
successes of the season.”-—Dundce Advertiser.
“ Mr. Crockett has achieved the distinction of having produced
the book of the season."—Dumfries and Galloway Standard.
“The story told in it is, as a story, nearly perfect.”
- Aberdeen Daily F rec Press
" ‘The Raiders’ is one of the most brilliant etiorts of recent
fiction."—Kirkcudbrigh{skin A drums”.


THE STORY OF THE NATIONS


A SERIES OF POPULAR HISTORIES.
Each Volume is furnished with Ma 3, Illustrations, and Index. Large Crown
Bvo, fancy cloth, gold lettered. or br Edition, dark cloth, burnished red
top, 50. each.—0r may be had in half erslan, cloth sides, gilt. tops; Price


on application























By GREvILLE TREGARTI-IEN.



LoNDoN: T. FISHER UNWIN, I ADELPHI TERRACE, WC.
1. Rome. By ARTHUR GILMAN, M.A. 36. Spain. By H. E. WATTS.
2. The Jews. By Prof. J. K. HOSMER. 37. Japan. By DAVID MURRAY, Ph.D.
3. Germany. By Rev. S. BARING' 38. South Africa. By GEoRGE M.
GouLn, M.A. THEAL.
4. Carthage. By Prof. ALFRED J. 39. Venice. By ALETNEA WIEL.
CiwRcI-I. 40. The Crusades. By T. A. ARCHER
5. Alexander’s Empire. By Prof. and C. L. KINGSFORD.
J. P. MAnAI'‘rv. 4x. Veclic India. By 2. A. RAGoziN.
6. The Moors in Spain. BysTANLEY 42. The West Indies and the Span-
LANE'PooLE. ish Main By JAMES RonwAv.
7. Ancient Egypt. By Prof. GEORGE 43. Bohemia. Py C. EDMUND
RAwLINsoN. MAURICE.
8. Hungary. By Prof. ARMINIUS 44. The Balkans. By W. MILLER,
VAMnERv. M.A.
9. The Saracens. By AIrrI-IUR GIL' 45. Canada. By Sir J. G. BouRINo'r,
MAN, M.A. LL.D.
Io. Ireland. By the Hon. EMILY 46. British India. By R. W. FRAZER,
LAwLEss. LL.B.
n. Chaldea. ByZéNAiDEA.RAGozIN. 47. Modern France. By ANDRE LE
:2. The Goths. B HENRY BRADLEY. BoN.
:3. Ass rie. ByZ NAlon A. RAGoziN. 48. The Franks. ByLnwis SIRGEANT.
i4. Tur ey. BySTANl'lYLANE'POOLI. 49. Austria. By SIDNEY WHITMAN.
15. Holland. By Prof. J. E. TI'IoRoLD 50. Modern En land. Before the Re-
RoGERs. form Bill. yJusTiN MCCARTHY.
:6. Medieval France. By Gus’rAvE 5:. China. B Prof. R. K. DouGLAs.
MAssoN. 52. Modern England. From the
11. Persia. By S. G. W. BENJAMIN. Reform Bill to the Present Time.
:8. Phoenicia. By Prof. G. RAwLINsoN. B JusTIN MCCARTHY.
19. Media. By ZENAlnE A. RAGoziN. 53. M am Spain. By MARTIN A. S.
no. The Hausa Towns. By HELEN HUME.
ZIMHERN. 54. Modern Italy. By Pimo ORSI.
2x. Early Britain. By Prof. ALFRED 55. Norway. By H. H. BovEsEN.
J. CHURCH' 56. Wales. B O. M. EDWARDS.
22. The Barbary Corsairs. By 57. Medieval ome. By W. MILLER,
STANLEY LANE-POOLE. M.A.
23. Russia. By W. R. MoRnLL, M.A. 58. The Papal Monarchy. By
24. The Jewsunder the Romans. By WILLIAM BARRv, D.D.
W. D. MoRRisoN. 59. Mediaval India under Moham-
25. Scotland. By JOHN MAcxiNTosII, mcdan Rule. By STANLEY
LL.D. LANE'PooLE.
26. Switzerland. By Mrs LINA HuG 6o. Buddhist India. By Prof. T. W.
and R. STEAD. RNYs'DAvIDs.
27. Mexico. By SusAN HALE. 61. Parliamentary England. By
28. Portugal. ByHJIORSESTEPNENS. EDWARD ENKs, M.A.
29. The ormnns. By SARAH ORNE 62. Medieval nglnnd. By MARY
JEwETT. BATEsoN.
30. The Byzantine Empire. By C. 63. The Comin of Parliament, By
W. C. OMAN. L. CEcIL ANB.
3x. Sicily: Phoenician, Greek and 64. The Story of Greece. From the
Roman. By the late Prof. E. A. Earliest Times to A4). :4. By
FREEMAN. E. S. SHUCKBURGH.
3a. The Tuscan Republics. ByBELLA , In Preparation.
Dwrv. The Story ofGreecc. From the Roman
33. Poland. By W. R. MoRrILL, M.A. Occupation to mo. :53. By E. S.
34. Parthia. By Prof. GEORGE SHrJcKBuRGn.
RAwLINsoN. The Story of the Roman Empire (ac.
35. The Australian Commonwealth. 29 to AD. 476). By H. STUART
JoNEs.
2A


T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,
THE ADVENTURE SERIES
POPULAR RE-ISSUE.
Earb large :roum 8w, all] lllurtraled. Popular re-irme, 3s. 8d.
per val. ; in two :lyle: a binding, via, decorative cover, cu! eiger; and
plain library style, untouched edge:.

I. ADVENTURES OF A YOUNGER SON. By EDWARD
J. TRELAWNEY. Introduction by EDWARD GARRETT.
z. MADAGASCAR; or, Robert Drury’s Journal during his
Captivity on that Island. Preface and Notes by Captain
8. P. OLIVER, RA.
3. MEMOIRS OF THE EXTRAORDINARY MILI-
TARY CAREER OF JOHN SHIPP.
4. THE BUCCANEERS AND MAROONERS OF
AMERICA. Edited and Illustrated by I-IowARD PYLE.
5. THE LOG OF A JACK TAR: Being the Life of James
Choyce, Master Mariner. Edited by Commander V. LOVETT
CAMERON.
6. FERDINAND MENDEZ PINTO, THE PORTU-
GUESE ADVENTURER. New Edition. Annotated
by Prof. A. VAMBERY
7. ADVENTURES OF A BLOCKADE RUNNER. By
WILLIAM WATSoN. Illustrated by ARTHUR BYNG, RN.
8. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JAMES
BECKWOURTI-I, Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, and Chief
of Crow Nation Indians. Edited by CHAs. G. LELAND.
9. A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT OF THE EUROPEAN
MILITARY ADVENTURERS 0F HINDUSTAN.
Compiled by HENRY CoMPToN.
10. THE MEMOIRS AND TRAVELS OF COUNT DE
BENYOWSKY in Siberia, Kamdchatka, Japan, the Linkiu
Islands, and Formosa. Edited by Captain S. P. OLIVER, RA.
u. A MASTER MARINER: The Life of Captain Robert W.
Eastwick. Edited by HERBERT COMPTON.
x2. KOLOKOTRONES: KLEPHT AND WARRIOR.
Translated from the Greek by Mrs. EDMoNDs. Introduction
by M. GENNADIUs.
— I Adelphi Terrace, London, W.C.


(the (Ibermaib fiertes.
THE BEST PLAYS OI‘ THE OLD DRAMATISTS.
Literal Reproductions of the Old Text.
Printed on thin Pa or. Small Crown Bvo, each Volume containing about
Pages and. an Etched Prontlspleco.
Cloth, 25. 6d. net. Leather, 3s. 6d. net.
The Best Plays of Christopher Marlowe. Edited, with Critical
Memoir and Notes, by I'IAVELOCK Runs; and containing a
General Introduction to the Series by JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS.
The Best Plays of Thomas Otway. Introduction and Notes by the
Hon. RoDEN NoEL.
TheEComplete Plays of William Congreve. Edited by ALEX. C.
WALD.
The Complete Plays of Richard Steele. Edited, with Introduction
and Notes, by G. A. AITKEN.
The Best Plays of Ben Jonson. Edited, with Introduction and Notes,
bgBRINSLEY NIcHoLsoN and C. H. I-IERFORD. 3 vols.
TheG est Plays of James Shirley. With Introduction by EDMUND
OSSE.
The Best Plays of Thomas Shadwell. Edited by GEORGE SAINTSBURY.
The Complete Plays of William Wycherley. Edited, with Intro-
duction and Notes, by \V. C. WARD.
The Best Plays of John Ford. Edited by HAVELOCK ELLIs.
The Best Plays of Webster and Tourneur. With an Introduction
and Notes, by JOHN ADDINo’roN SYMONDS.
The Best Plays of Thomas Heywood. Edited by A. W. VERITY.
With Introduction b I. A. SYMONDS.
The Best Plays of Jo n Dryden. Edited by GEORGE SAINTSBURY.
2 vols.
The Best Plays of Thomas Middleton. With an Introduction by
ALoERNoN CHARLEs SWINBURNE. 2 vols.
Nero and other Plays. Edited by H. P. HORNE, ARTHUR SYMoNs,
A. W. VERITY, and H. ELLIS.
The Best Plays of Thomas Dekker. Notes by ERNEST RHvs.
The Best Plays of Philip Massinger. With Critical and Biographical
Essays and Notes by ARTHUR SYMONS. 2 vols.
The Best Plays of Beaumont and Fletcher. With Introduction and
Notes b . St Los STRACHEY. 2 vols.
The Best P ys of George Chapman. Edited by WILLIAM LvoN
PHELPS.
The Select Plays of Sir John Vanbrugh. Edited, with an Introduc-
tion and Notes, by A. E. H. SWAIN.
The Best Plays of George Farquhar. Edited, with an Introduction,
by WILLIAM ARCHER.
THE TIMES, 201/: November I903, in a Review of a column and
a yuarter, rays-
“ Mr Fisher Unwin is re'issuing his ‘ Mermaid Series’ of Old Dramatists in a very
attractive form. The volumes are light in the hand and will go easily into the pocket;
they are printed in clear type on thin‘paper; ideal companions for the student who
Seeks his pleasure where the Saint found it, ‘ in angulo cum llbello.”’

T. FISHER UNWIN, I ADELPHI TERRACE, LoNDoN, W.C.


'1'. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,
CLARA HoPooonm
MARK RU'FHERFORD
ammo n
REUBEN SHAPCOTT
Second Edition. Crown 8110., doth, 6s.
(The Third and Cheaper Edition is now ready, Crown 890.,
doth, 35. 8d,)
i“
“The writer who goes by the name of Mark Rutherford
is not the most popular novelist of his time by any means.
There are writers with names which that recluse genius
has never heard of, probably, whose stories give palpita-
tions to thousands of gentle souls, while his own are
quietly read by no more than as many hundreds. Yet his
publisher never announces a new story by the Author of
‘ Mark Rutherford’s Autobiography,’ and ‘The Revolution
in Tanner’s Lane,’—which we believe to be one of the
most remarkable bits of writing that these times can boast
of-without strongly exciting the interest of many who
know books as precious stones are known in Hatton
Garden . . . . . . ‘Clara Hopgood’ is entirely out of the
way of all existing schools of novel-writing. . . . . . Had
we to select a good illustration of ‘Mark’s way’ as dis-
tinguished from the way of modern storytellers in general,
we should point to the chapter in which Baruch visits his
son Benjamin in this narration. Nothing could be more
simple, nothing more perfect.”—Pall Mall Gazette.


T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,
THE GREY MAN
BY
S. R. CROCKETT
Crown 8vo., cloth, Gs.
Also, an Edition de Luxe, with 26 Drawings by
SEYMOUR LUCAS, R.A., limited to 250 copies, signed
by Author. Crown 4to., cloth filt, 21s, set.
Š
“It has nearly all the qualities which go to make a book
of the first-class. Before you have read twenty pages you
know that you are reading a classic.”—Literary World.
“All of that vast and increasing host of readers who
prefer the novel of action to any other form of fiction
should, nay, indeed, must, make a point of reading this
exceedingly fine example of its class.”—Daily Chronicle.
“With such passages as these [referring to quotations],
glowing with tender passion, or murky with horror,
even the most insatiate lover of romance may feel that
Mr. Crockett has given him good measure, well pressed
down and running over.”—Daily Telegraph.
1 Adelphi Terrace, London, W.C.


*
As []], [][]314 & 25 |
||||||
b 89 a
DATE DUE
#Y 22'
DEMCO 38-297