THE BLACK HEART BY SYDNEY H O RLER 4 ' THE BLACK HEART THE BLACK HEART BY SYDNEY HORLER AUTHOR OF THE ORDER OF THE OCTOPUS, VIVANTI, ETC. GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEWYORK ALl RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THB COON- TRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. TO H. RUSSELL STANNARD IN MEMORY OF THE DAYS WHEN WE WENT LAUGHING DOWN FLEET STREET 2136290 CONTENTS CHAPTER FACE I. THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CHANCES i II. THE GIRL IN BLACK 9 III. THE MYSTERY MESSAGE 20 IV. BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 26 V. CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 40 VI. A ROOM IN BERKELEY SQUARE 56 VII. INTRODUCING NAPOLEON MILES 62 VIII. CHERTSEY HAS A CALLER 70 IX. "THERE IS DANGER" 80 X. INITIATION 90 XI. AT THE CAFE OF THE ROSY DAWN 98 XII. THE LOCKED BOOK 106 XIII. MOVES IN THE DARK 113 XIV. THE NAPOLEONIC TOUCH 127 XV. LADE MEETS HIS MASTER 140 XVI. SHOCKSI 149 XVII. THE THIRD CUSHION 170 XVIII. BENISTY REAPPEARS 179 XIX. AT THE GARE DU NORD 186 XX. RINEHART AWAKENS 194 XXI. THE CLOAKROOM TICKET 206 XXII. IN THE CELLAR 216 XXIII. THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE 228 XXIV. THE MEET 238 XXV. FACE TO FACE 248 XXVI. AT THE LAPIN BLANC 253 XXVII. "M. LE CURE" 363 XXVIII. THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 267 XXIX. BENISTY SHOWS HIS HAND 281 XXX. THE PRIEST WHO LEERED 288 XXXI. THE CLEAN-UP . . 294 THE BLACK HEART THE BLACK HEART Chapter I THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CHANCES CHERTSEY, as he left the place, did not notice the slim form of the man who came gliding out of the shadows. Such thoughts as he had were still with the feverish and hectic scene from which he had departed. He recalled the mock-commiserative look on the face of the croupier, as the man raked in his last throw: "Monsieur is unlucky to-night. To-morrow . . . who knows?" He had laughed at the moment. If there was one thing certain in this changing world, it was that he wouldn't return to the ironically-named gambling hell which went by the bizarre title of "The House of a Thousand Chances." It was not that he minded losing the money, but the show was so tawdry, so flatly bor- ing, so enormously stale. There wasn't a thrill in a lifetime there. At least, that had been his experience, and he shouldn't go again. Lighting a cigarette, the man who had just lost 2 THE BLACK HEART twenty thousand francs in a remarkably short space of time, shrugged his shoulders and walked at a quicker pace down the Grand Boulevard. Ten minutes at the Cafe de la Paix, and he would turn in. By the time he had reached the Opera House, and the glittering lights of the world-famous Cosmopolitan rendezvous could be plainly seen, the man shadowing the unfortunate gamester had been joined by another. No word was said by either, but the first man pointed with the elegant cane he was carrying, to the strolling figure in front, and his companion nodded. Although a close observer might have remarked on the tense ex- pression on the faces of both these stalkers, they seemed to be in perfect agreement. They were used to shadow- ing men. Still quite unconscious of the interest which his de- parture from the gilded gaming-den had occasioned, Gilbert Chertsey sat down at an unoccupied table out- side the well-known cafe, and ordered a nightcap. Then, lighting another cigarette, he gave himself up to idle sight-seeing. There was plenty to occupy his mind. The night was early for Paris it wanted another twenty minutes to midnight and the spacious boulevard was crowded. All the arresting types which go to make up the endless stream of humanity in perhaps the most fascinating city of the world, were to be seen strolling past the immaculately-dressed boulevardier, with an ever-ap- preciative eye for a pretty face (and there were many such on this sparkling early autumn night) ; the loose- HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CHANCES 3 lipped apache, prowling like the human wolf he was, side by side with the type of pretentious art-student whom Chertsey had imagined was clean out of fashion ; the trim-ankled, saucy- featured midinettes walking arm-in-arm, their day's work forgotten, greeting Life with a merry, pealing laugh and ever ready to embark upon an adventure. There were many nationalities besides the native French. A tall, blond Russian had for his neighbour an inscrutable Japanese; sallow-tinted South Ameri- cans rubbed shoulders with Magyars and other brood- ing figures from the Central European States. Now and then, to add a splash of sombre colour to an already richly-variegated human palette, a loose-trousered Senegalese came lounging past, his rolling eyes avid with excited interest. The most intriguing woman in that varied parade was a half-caste negress. A stimulating scene, and Chertsey was sitting in the front row of the stalls. Yet he frowned. "Each one has a thundering good story tucked away inside him," he muttered, regarding the shifting crowd with steady eyes ; "but how to get at it? Good Lord ! In the heart of Paris . . . and I haven't an idea worth a damn ... !" It seemed a melancholy reflection to this lean, fit-looking man of thirty, and he yawned, as though existence had become for him a desert of in- tolerable dreariness. "Your pardon, M'sieur," remarked a voice at his elbow. Chertsey turned to find that the other two seats 4 THE BLACK HEART at the small table were now occupied. The man who had addressed him was evidently the ponderous person with the huge black beard cut square. This man seemed to possess the typical Gallic quality of being a striking combination of mental alertness and physical strength. Beyond that summing-up, as the result of a quick, casual look, Chertsey didn't allow himself to speculate. True, his glance also took in the ponderous person's companion, but as the latter seemed a thoroughly non- descript individual, having nothing at all remarkable about him, he paid no further heed. After muttering a polite platitude in reply, he re- lapsed into his former brooding attitude. If he had not been so completely indifferent, he might have moved to another table. In the tumultuous days that fol- lowed, he often speculated why he had not done so. "Your pardon, M'sieur, but have I not the pleasure of your acquaintance?" It was the bearded man again. These garrulous Frenchmen. . . . "It is my misfortune, but I am afraid you haven't !" replied Chertsey, somewhat bluntly. What did this fel- low want? "Ten thousand pardons, M'sieur ! It was my friend who suggested to me that he had seen you at play in the gaming-place which M. de Virgen le proprietaire is pleased to call 'The House of a Thousand Chances.' ' Chertsey was too indolent-minded, and too indif- ferent to be offended. He smiled faintly upon the speaker. "Yes, I played at 'The House of a Thousand HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CHANCES 5 Chances' to-night. But I did not observe your friend there." The bearded man laughed deep down in his stomach. "Thibau," he said, looking at the pale shadow of a man who sat on his right; "he is not one that is seen. But this Thibau, he notices; he is a rare one for noticing. ... A million pardons if I offend again, M'sieur but Thibau has told me that you lost heavily to-night?" The words were put in the form of a ques- tion, with a rising inflection of the voice. A flush crept slowly into Chertsey's face. The in- fernal impudence. . . . Then he smiled: if this fel- low wanted to talk, let him talk. He might be amusing. "I was quite cleaned out," he replied; "I left with just two francs. It will be sufficient to pay for my drink and a tip to the waiter. 'The House of a Thousand Chances' was not rightly named in my case." The ponderously-built man with the square-cut beard looked at the pale shadow who was his companion. The latter's eyes flickered momentarily. "It is possible, M'sieur, that although 999 chances went amiss in that house to-night, yet one and, per- haps, who knows? it may be a very good one from M'sieur's point of view was provided." This was puzzling, and what was even more puzzling to Chertsey was the extraordinary look of absorption on both the faces confronting him. He noticed with amazement that there were tiny beads of perspiration on the forehead of the big man, which hadn't been there a minute before, whilst the nostrils of his insignificant 6 THE BLACK HEART companion were distended through, no doubt, the same mysterious sense of excitement. Perhaps the most re- markable feature of the whole business was that he actually felt himself being raised from the slough of unutterable boredom which had made his life for the past week an almost intolerable burden. "You talk in riddles, M'sieur," he remarked, coldly. Although on the brink of being interested, he de- termined not to evidence any concern. By this means he would the more speedily get an idea of what was in the speaker's mind. The man leaned farther forward. "M'sieur, I will speak more frankly. If you are offended, believe me, Thibau and I mean no offence. So! I will tell you." He put both elbows on the table, his eyes gleaming and his very beard seeming to crackle with excitement. "You have already said that you lost all your money at 'The House of a Thousand Chances' to-night; that you were what is the phrase? 'cleaned out': ah! that is good ; 'cleaned out.' " He laughed. "Well, my friend Thibau and I have a suggestion to make whereby you can replenish your empty pockets. I trust you are not offended, M'sieur?" Chertsey laughed. The man's earnestness was really comic. And yet he wanted to bestow largesse, not to receive it ! There must be something rummy in this. He would stay to listen. "Certainly you haven't wounded me very deeply HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CHANCES 7 yet, my friend," he replied; "tell me, briefly, what is your proposition?" Again the bearded man looked at his companion, and again the eyelids of that pale shadow flickered momentarily. "M'sieur is young, handsome, no doubt of a roman- tic disposition?" "Well?" encouraged Chertsey, half satirically. The other rubbed his hands. "Now we begin to understand each other. I have a proposition to make which will, I hope, appeal to you, M'sieur. It will be well paid, and you may Thibau thinks it is highly probable have certain adventures." "In other words, the job is a dangerous one? There is even death in it, perhaps?" The bearded man drew back before this very blunt comment. "M'sieur has a quick mind," he replied, after an- other look at his silent companion; "but it travels too far. Death ! That is an ugly word, M'sieur ; I pray you not to use it. All we Thibau and I propose for you to do is to go to London and take up your residence in a certain house there that we shall name. For that, M'sieur, we pay you at once the sum of ten thousand francs." Chertsey lit another cigarette. Really, this was getting better than he had supposed. "And then what?" he asked. "I mean, what hap- pens after I set up residence in this house? Do I just live happily ever after ?" 8 THE BLACK HEART "That is just what we shall desire you to do, M'sieur. And now," putting his hand into his pocket and pull- ing out a wallet, "may I have the pleasure?" "One moment; you are in too much of a hurry." Gilbert Chertsey held up his hand. "I should rather like to know," he said, "before we go any further, why you have sufficient trust in me, a perfect stranger, to hand over, for the most flimsy of reasons, the sum of ten thousand francs?" "M'sieur is a man of honour." This time it was the pale, insignificant Thibau who spoke. He said the words with a note of finality, and as though there was nothing more to be added. The man who had been paid the compliment, bowed. He had already made up his mind, but he did not think it would be politic to appear too anxious. "M'sieur," he said, turning to the bearded giant, "I never come to a decision rashly. I will now go back to my hotel, sleep on your proposition, and meet you here again at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning, if that is agreeable?" The bearded one tried to hide a look of chagrin^ but Thibau replied: "That will be entirely agreeable, M'sieur. At eleven, then come, Lefarge." As the two walked away, Gilbert Chertsey, just to be on the safe side, pinched himself to make sure he was awake. Chapter II THE GIRL IN BLACK IT was half-an-hour after midnight when he re- turned to his hotel. This expensive caravanserai was not the lodging that the average person would have selected for a ruined gambler, but Gilbert Chertsey appeared to have no qualms as he entered the lift which would take him to his room. He was entirely master of himself. There was only one other occupant of the lift. This was a girl whose figure was enveloped in a long black, chiffon velvet cloak, cut very full. The collar of this, he noticed, was made of a soft black fur, and was so large that the girl's face, snuggled into it, looked like a tender bud protected by sheltering leaves. One other thing Chertsey noticed : although so little of her could be seen, this girl was not only very beauti- ful, but she possessed a magnetic charm which was in- describable but very potent. Chertsey was particularly susceptible to impressions, and almost immediately he was conscious of this girl's vivid personality. Coming after his strange talk at the Cafe de la Paix, the sight of her completely jolted him out of his former bore- dom. io THE BLACK HEART As the lift stopped at his floor, the girl stepped for- ward. He stood aside, hoping that this entrancing per- son would vouchsafe him a glance. As she was staying in the hotel, he must do his best to get to know her the next day. Far from being a philanderer, and usually somewhat austere in his relations with women, he now felt that he would give almost anything to be able legitimately to make this girl's acquaintance. For once in his life he would not allow an absurd conventionality to stand in the way. And then the girl passed him, looking straight in front! He might not have existed, so far as she was concerned. Feeling hot about the collar rather than crestfallen, Chertsey left the lift. It did not add to his peace of mind to know that the lift-boy was grinning behind his hand. As he stepped out into the corridor, he saw that the girl was ahead of him and passing his room. While he looked, he noticed something white fall from her hand to the carpet. She hastened on, apparently unconscious of her loss. Chertsey rushed forward. Here was the very chance for which he had been praying ! Picking up the envelope for this it proved to be he overtook the girl. "Pardon me, but you have dropped this." She turned. Her eyes reminded him of violets with the morning dew on them. He felt a deep, strange, but wholly delightful thrill as she looked at him. She took the envelope and glanced at it. THE GIRL IN BLACK n i "But this does not belong to me," she said; "it is addressed to a Mr. Gilbert Chertsey." "But I thought in fact, I was practically positive, that you had dropped it," stammered Chertsey. "You can see for yourself ..." She broke off to add: "I am not in the habit of carrying about letters which belong to someone else. I suggest that you in- quire at the office for this Mr. Chertsey." With that, and a very brief and cold smile, she was gone. Chertsey, feeling very much of a fool, was left holding a letter which was addressed to him- self! Entering his room, he switched on the electric fire, lit a pipe and sat down to think. He was still bewildered, almost breathless with astonishment. The girl certainly had dropped that letter. Then why should she have temporised ? He was glad she had not deliberately lied : to have proved her a liar would have been like a smack in the face. Yet He looked at the envelope, Gilbert Chertsey, Esq., was written on it in small, but bold handwriting, which was full of character. Had the girl written it herself? She must have, he decided ; otherwise : ( I ) why should she be carrying it, and (2) why should she drop it out- side the very door of his room? There were a good many other questions. How did the girl know his name ? He had never seen her before that night. Why should she wish to write to him? 12 THE BLACK HEART And, once having written, why did she endeavour to disown the act? The first thing to do, he now decided, was to read what she had written to him. In a fever of impatience he tore open the envelope. Inside was a small square white piece of paper. On this was written in the same handwriting, the words Do not go to London. Great danger. Destroy this. That was all. There was no signature; nothing by which the writer could be identified. Chertsey put the paper down and softly whistled. This was Blind Man's Buff with a vengeance. Life, with a fine, calculated irony, had got back on him: only an hour or so before, he had bitterly complained that all the tang had gone out of existence; now he found himself the central figure in a veritable maze of mystery. He fell to putting questions to himself again. It seemed a fool's trick, and a shocking waste of time, but nevertheless, he was compelled to do it. These were the further questions he asked: (i) How could the girl possibly have known his name? (2) How could she have known that he was con- sidering going to London? (3) What connection could this radiant creature possibly have with the bearded Lefarge and the pale shadow of a Thibau? THE GIRL IN BLACK 13 (4) What- and then he gave it up. His brain was weary with so much surmise, and the top of his head throbbed in the same way as when he had been sticking to work too hard. The enigma must wait until the morning. Then he would see the girl and demand an explana- tion. No, not demand, hang it ; he couldn't imagine her delivering up anything on demand. He would ask her ever so nicely and politely what she meant by sending mysterious warnings to complete strangers? Just before he fell off into an uneasy sleep, the memory of the girl's voice came back to him. She was not French; she was English or American. He was glad of that : it seemed a sort of bond between them. Breakfasting early and lightly, after the admirable French fashion Chertsey signalled to the head waiter. He described the mystery girl, and asked her name. Jules was desolated, but he could not recall such a one. Was Monsieur sure she was staying at the hotel ? "Almost as sure as that you are lying," was the swift reply. The head waiter looked confused. "Perhaps Monsieur will accompany me to the bureau," he said. At the hotel office, Chertsey, stiffly determined now, repeated his description of the girl. The clerk in charge shook his head. "There is no one of that description staying with us, M'sieur," he said. i 4 THE BLACK HEART "But I tell you I saw her in the lift last night. I saw her on the fourth floor " The clerk's face expressed astonishment, but he kept to his story. "I regret exceedingly, M'sieur but there is no lady of that description staying here. I will make inquiries and let you know." The manner of the speaker, re- spectful as it was, suggested that Chertsey must be suffering from a left-over impression of a wine-laden night. Having apologised to the head waiter, Chertsey roamed the public rooms of the hotel until 10.30. Then, fetching his hat and stick, he strolled forth into the brilliant sunshine. But for the letter reposing in the inside breast pocket of his coat, he might have been inclined to think, so far as any actual evidence of her existence was obtainable, that the girl he sought was merely a creature of his over-excited fancy. But that note of dramatic warning was real enough. The two men he had arranged to meet were already at the Cafe de la Paix when he arrived. Lefarge rose and beamed expressively. "It is delightful to see M'sieur again," he said, crook- ing a finger at a passing waiter. "Now, I confess, I am all impatience to hear your decision. Thibau here, he says you will accept ; but I I have my doubts. M'sieur will be kind enough to remove that doubt?" "I have decided to accept your offer, strange as it is," he replied. The Heavily-Bearded One clapped his hands. THE GIRL IN BLACK 15 The Head of the important firm of London publish- ers a tall, slim man, whose manners were most charmingly urbane looked across the table at his visitor. "There should be every inducement for you to write and to keep on writing," he said ; "as you know, your last four books have all been tremendous suc- cesses, not only with us but also with Mortlakes in America. The Colonial editions alone would satisfy the average novelist. You are still quite a young man, and you have the world at your feet. As a teller of roman- tic adventure tales, you have no equal : a big statement to make, considering how the bookstalls are groaning with so-called 'thrillers.' As your friend, as well as your publisher, Chertsey, let me ask: why are you so abominably lazy ? Your next novel should be already in my hands and you confess you haven't written a line of it! This is shocking sloth!" The speaker, whose greatest joy in life was to work at least sixteen hours out of every twenty- four, frowned as he lit a cigar. The visitor laughed. It was not the laugh of a guilty person. On the contrary, it was the laugh of a man with a perfectly clear conscience. "The fact is, Sir William," he replied, "I've been stuck for an idea for months now. It seemed to me that practically everything in the sensational business had already been done to death I couldn't get a line on anything that even looked like being new." "How many plots are there?" asked the publisher, sententiously ; "did not someone once say seven?" 16 THE BLACK HEART "I know all about that, but until I feel a story, I cannot begin to write it." "Which, of course, is why the sale of your novels has reached such highly satisfactory figures. But, all the same, I do implore you to start working again. If you could only get a start " "I think I have that," was the comment. "Look here, Sir William," the speaker went on, to the astonished publisher, "if anything should happen to me " The cigar dropped from Sir William Leverston's hand on to the handsome mahogany table. "My dear boy, what on earth do you mean ? What can happen to you?" "That's just what I am not very clear about my- self. But, in case anything does, I should like you to know that I have appointed you my executor. Good- bye ! Before long I hope to get down to work again." Ignoring further appeals for enlightenment, the ex- tremely popular young writer of highly-coloured fic- tion walked down the stairs into the teeming Strand. The house or rather, the flat the address of which had been given him by the two mysterious men of Paris, was in a quiet Bloomsbury street. As he walked slowly down this peaceful-looking thorough- fare, Chertsey recalled the remark once made to him by one of the greatest imaginative writers of the day Peplow, the American novelist: "This Bloomsbury of yours, Chertsey, is one of the most fruitful fiction-fields in the world. Not only is THE GIRL IN BLACK 17 there a novel in every house of it, but in every room of it!" No doubt it was true. Forty-eight hours before, he would have laughed the suggestion to scorn, however. He had roamed the greater part of Europe in search of an idea for his next novel, and had failed. He had failed so badly that the horrible fear which haunts every writer had come to him. Was he written out? Was he dried up? A dreadful thought for the author of only four novels, good-sellers as all of these had proved. He had been a desperate man on the night that he went to "The House of a Thousand Chances" in the Rue Napoleon. To any one who had come up to him and suggested an acceptable idea for a novel, he would cheerfully have given one hundred pounds. Instead, those strange persons, Lefarge, the Pon- derous, and Thibau, the Pale Shadow, had suggested that he should live a drama instead of writing one. That was the sole reason why he had accepted the bizarre proposal which had been made him. It was not the ten thousand francs : he had a sufficiency of money. Arrived outside the house, he looked up at the win- dows. The flat he was to occupy was on the second floor, he understood. These windows three in num- ber were neatly curtained. There was an air of almost ultra-respectability about them. On the way up the stairs, he took from his pocket the key which Lefarge had given him. The door at the flat was painted a deep green again that note of re- spectability ! i8 THE BLACK HEART He had been told that there would be no one in the flat by the time he arrived, but he rang neverthe- less. When the second peel was negative of result, he inserted the key, opened the door, and stepped inside. A pleasant smell of fresh flowers met him, and the first impression he had was that this place had recently been lived in ; it had not been shut up and neglected. He found himself in a small entrance-hall a space just large enough to contain a table, a chair, and a hat-stand. Leading from the hall were two doors, one on either side. Having taken off his hat and light overcoat, which he hung on the hall-stand, Chertsey proceeded with his investigations. Turning the handle of the door on the right, he walked into a small apartment, furnished in quiet, good taste as a dining-room. Two comfortable leather chairs flanked the hearth, and the other furni- ture appealed. He felt that, given no unruly interrup- tions, he might be very comfortable in this place. It compared quite favourably with his own chambers in Clarges Street. Going out into the hall again, he crossed to the room on the other side. This, as he supposed, proved to be a bedroom. This room also was agreeably furnished. The wal- nut suite was of good quality and the bed looked clean and inviting. Leading from the bedroom was a small bathroom, the appointments of which were pleasing to the eye. THE GIRL IN BLACK 19 From the window of the bathroom he caught sight of a fire-escape in the form of a long iron staircase leading down to the garden, which was a large one for Central London. The investigator hummed as he lit a cigarette. So far the adventure had been pleasant enough. A hun- dred questions pressed on his mind, but he decided to dismiss them for the present, at any rate. Returning to the bedroom, he took a cursory glance through the drawers in the dressing-table. They were all empty. "The former owner has evidently cleared out," Chert- sey told himself, as he went over to a large wardrobe which stood along the wall to the left of the inviting- looking bed. He opened the door nonchalantly, but the next moment he drew back, his heart thudding against his ribs. Huddled in a corner of the wardrobe was a man. A look of indescribable horror was imprinted on his face. Unmistakably he was dead. As Chertsey bent to look more closely, the corpse, disturbed by the opening of the door, tumbled forward and fell with a crash at his feet. Chapter III THE MYSTERY MESSAGE CHERTSEY stood motionless. He could hear his heart beating. The small room was filled with a silence that each second grew more impressive. From the two-hundred-yards distant Rus- sell Square came faintly the sounds of Life : the hoot- ing of taxi-horns, the muffled roar of the city's traffic : striking contrasts to the Thing sprawling at his feet which was Death ! He was still unable to move. Horror had gripped him. The quickened flow of blood thundered in his temples. This was the first time he had ever seen a murderer's victim. Who was this man? What was he doing in the flat? Was he the former occupier? Who had killed him? and why? The questions nearly swept him off his mental balance. Then a healing calmness came. His sense of man- hood reasserted itself. A man had been foully mur- dered, and it was his duty to see that justice was done. But what was he to do? The obvious thing, of course, was for him to rush out into the street, seize THE MYSTERY MESSAGE 21 the nearest policeman by the arm and drag him back to that room of horror. But Chertsey sat down. He felt stunned and inclined to be sick. He realised suddenly that he couldn't in- form the police. He had no desire to be identified with this Thing whose face stared up at him horrifically. Unable to look at it, he conquered his nausea with an effort, and placed the corpse back in the wardrobe. Then he tried once again to think. But any coherent thought proved impossible. Only one fact emerged clearly from his rioting emotions: that, if he were discovered there, he would probably be charged with the crime. In any case, an explanation would be demanded and what explanation could he give? Would the amazing story he proffered be be- lieved ? Now that the body was out of sight, his wits slowly returned. Since he could not inform the police, he must remain in the flat and await developments. That there would be developments was certain. It seemed im- possible to doubt that the murderers would come back. This had been no ordinary crime; nothing in the flat had been disturbed, for instance. Burglary or robbery could not have been the motive. Then, what ? Very distinctly came a knock on the flat door. Chertsey braced himself. Now that some action promised, he felt more able to cope with the situation. Carefully shutting the wardrobe door he walked into the hall. 22 THE BLACK HEART "Who is that?" The answer was commonplace. "The hall-porter, sir." Still he hesitated. "What do you want?" "I have a letter for you, sir." With that Chertsey opened the door. A man in a dark uniform stood outside. He had an envelope in his hand. This he extended. "Who gave you this?" "A young lady, sir. Very handsome, sir got out of a taxi." Chertsey's head was whirling, but he kept his voice steady. "The young lady didn't give you any name?" "No, sir. Just handed me the letter which she said I was to give to you at once, and then got into the taxi again, and drove off." Chertsey put his hand into his pocket and pulled out half-a-crown. "Thank you, porter," he said. "Thank you, sir." "One more question : How did you know my name?" "Mr. Betterson, of the firm of house-agents, Messrs. Ross and Winson, came round this morning to tell me that a gentleman by your name, sir, had taken this particular flat." "I see." The remark was merely mechanical. As a matter of fact, he was more befogged than ever the THE MYSTERY MESSAGE 23 mystery had deepened instead of clearing. "That is all, porter." "Thank you, sir." Touching his hat, the man turned away. Freshly bewildered, Chertsey closed the door and went into the sitting-room he preferred the sitting- room! and looked at the letter. On the envelope, in a script that was full of char- acter, and which seemed vaguely familiar, were written the words : Gilbert Chertsey, Esq., He tore it open and read : "Never mind anything. Tell the porter you are tired with your journey, that you are going to bed that you must on no account be disturbed. "Outside your bathroom window is a fire-escape. Leave by this, and take a 'bus to Piccadilly Circus. I will meet you at six o'clock outside the Ophir Steamship Company's offices, in Lower Regent Street. "I am still doing my best to enable you to escape from your folly. "The Girl Who Warned You." Chertsey leaned back, the piece of notepaper hanging from his fingers. No wonder the handwriting had seemed familiar. "The Girl Who Warned You/* Presumably, she ex- pected him to remember her. Although she had made such an impression upon him in those few fleeting 24 THE BLACK HEART moments two nights before, he wondered whether he would definitely be able to recognise her again. He had seen so little of her face, although her figure had been noticeable for its bewildering grace. Then she had dropped that note of warning in the corridor of the Hotel Vendome. But why had she dissembled? It was difficult to think that a girl of such charm and distinction could be an adventuress. Yet, was this second note just a trap? Perplexed, he found him- self disturbed at the thought that the girl he had met in Paris was in any way connected with this baffling and sinister mystery. Then swiftly, Chertsey shrugged his shoulders. He was becoming absurdly sentimental over a perfect stranger. But, as he stood up, he experienced a sense of excite- ment which struck him as being odd. He thrilled to a memory a memory of a rounded cheek and the un- forgettable beauty of a pair of violet eyes. . . . The next minute he was talking to the hall-porter. "I am going to bed and do not wish to be disturbed. I crossed from the Continent to-day, and I am very tired." "Very good, sir. If anyone should call?" "Ask them to fix an appointment. In any case, I do not want to be bothered until to-morrow morning.'' "Quite so, sir. What time would you like breakfast? And I do a little valeting for the other gentlemen should you require it." THE MYSTERY MESSAGE 25 "I will remember that what is your name, by the way?" "Parks, sir." "Well, Parks, I'll have breakfast served at nine o'clock to-morrow morning until then I do not wish to be disturbed." "Very good, sir." The man gone, Chertsey locked the flat door on the inside, put the key in his pocket, took down his hat and coat, and then, mastering that profound sense of nausea, walked through to the bedroom. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he quietly opened the window and stepped out upon the iron stair- case. For a moment he hesitated, and then, as the autumn darkness closed about him, he went his way slowly down and down. It seemed a long way to the ground. He, a writer of romantic frivol, was going himself into an adventure an adventure which had started with meeting the corpse of a murdered man, and would end, God only knew where. But a girl's eyes were leading him on. Chapter IV BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET CHERTSEY, having traversed the neglected garden and climbed the wall at the other end, found himself in a long, straggling, narrow lane. This was in darkness, but, looking to the right, he saw the reflection of a street standard; and, using the faint illumination as a guide, he shortly emerged into the purlieus of Russell Square. A glance at his watch showed that he had only ten minutes in which to keep his appointment. One advantage of London is that there is always a superfluity of taxi-cabs. The latter are cumbersome, un- profitable to run, and, consequently, the charges are abominably high ; but the man in a hurry has a certain consolation : he need never be kept waiting. This was Gilbert Chertsey's experience now : he had been standing for only a few seconds before a cab, with a driver at the wheel who might have been a lineal descendant of Tony Weller, swooped down upon him. "Taxi, sir?" inquired a hoarse voice out of a monstrously red and mottled face. 26 BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 27 "Ophir Steamship Company's offices, Lower Regent Street quickly, please !" "Right y'are, sir!" The next moment the car glided smoothly away, the mottled god in the machine showing that marvellous skill in avoiding collisions which is such a marked characteristic of the London taxi-driver. "'Ere y'are, sir!" Tony Weller's blood relation an- nounced proudly, five minutes later. After tipping the driver with such liberality that the man actually expressed gratitude a sufficiently un- usual occurrence in London Chertsey looked around him. A hundred yards to his right, Piccadilly Circus frothed and seethed the centre of the world was hav- ing one of its rush-hours but he enjoyed comparative quietude where he stood. Heavily laden 'buses rumbled and thundered past, cars sped by at breathless speed; but, compared to the traffic-din a short distance away, this was an oasis of sound. To his left stretched Pall Mall, and, beyond again, the stately dignity of the Mall and St. James's Park. It was a familiar enough scene. He must have saun- tered down this same street hundreds of times. Noth- ing exciting or even eventful had ever happened to him in it. One of his favourite booksellers, Hugh Rees, was just opposite, and behind him, as he stood waiting, was the huge emporium for American magazines, which he was in the habit occasionally of visiting but these 28 THE BLACK HEART formed the only sources of interest he had ever found in this matter-of-fact thoroughfare. It struck him that he must have changed into an- other personality this man waiting could not be his ordinary self. And not only himself, but the spirit of this accustomed scene, must have changed. This could not be the London he knew stimulating enough, but certainly not dangerous. Dangerous? The idea was ridiculous. And yet, against this prosaic and familiar back- ground of humdrum, hurrying city life, he saw with startling vividness the distorted face of the dead man he had left behind in the wardrobe of that Blooms- bury bedroom. He half turned to the left. A short walk would bring him to the Headquarters of the London Police. Scot- land Yard might look at him suspiciously after he had told his story, but surely they would not charge him with the murder of that unknown man? There were persons of position in London Sir William Leverston, for instance who would willingly testify that he was incapable of committing such a crime. He had actually taken a step forward when a taxi swerved swiftly towards the pavement, and a passenger stepped out. Instantly the resolve which had possessed him a moment before, vanished. For, directly, he had an amazing revelation: this girl of the Hotel Vendome had become an integral part of his future life. She BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 29 was necessary to him; future existence was impossible without her. So real, so convincing was this impression that he did not consider how absurd such an hypothesis really was : he only knew that this feeling was intuitive, and that it sprang from some inner consciousness of which he had been entirely unaware before. It was a vital truth. He went impulsively forward to meet her, as she turned after paying the taxi-driver. "Thank God, you've come!" he heard himself say- ing. He did not know why he used these words aston- ishing words in the circumstances. The only con- sciousness he had was tremendous pleasure in seeing this mystery-girl again. Apart from that one circum- stance, his thoughts were so confused at the revelation which had come to him that any coherent reasoning was impossible. "Something has happened to you? Something seri- ous?" Her voice was low, grave, but it had a musical intona- tion which made it very fascinating. Chertsey could not keep his eyes off her face a perfect oval of womanly beauty, strengthened and redeemed from mere mechani- cal charm by character and personality. Utterly femi- nine, yet holding a quality which he had never noticed in the face of any other woman he had ever seen. He stammered whilst he still looked at her. "Not to me to someone else." 3 o THE BLACK HEART His companion gave a quick glance round. "We cannot stay here we may be seen. I will take you somewhere " The rest of the sentence was lost, for she had swiftly turned. Together they crossed the wide street, the girl a little in front. Already she had assumed control, and taken command. She led the way to Jermyn Street a thoroughfare which now appeared to Chertsey for the first time to have a subtly-sinister atmosphere, with its mixture of expensive hotels and restaurants and mean little shops and then turned down an alley-way which led to that curious region beyond. Suddenly she stopped. Over a basement-entrance hung a sign Lavonia: Teas. Who, or what, Lavonia might be, Chertsey had no chance of inquiring, for his companion, with the briefest glance at him, led the way down the basement steps. Directly he passed the main door of the place, Chert- sey was greeted by a blast of warm, perfumed air. It titillated his senses and excited his curiosity. Then he saw that a woman was standing in front of his companion, and that she was smiling a set smile. The face of the woman was hard and repellent, in spite of its pretence to some sort of beauty. She was dressed neatly and becomingly in a blue coat- frock. The BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 31 skirt of this was startlingly abbreviated; it reached barely to the knee. Below the knee Chertsey noticed with a stare of bewilderment were a pair of extremely shapely legs, exquisitely hosed. Yet this woman, who apparently managed this tea-room, was no flapper; she was forty if she was a day. Two younger women presumably waitresses passed: these also specialised in extremely shapely limbs. "Will Moddom please follow me?" inquired the woman. She led the way forward. Chertsey, following close at the heels of the mystery-girl, noticed that this under- ground cafe consisted of a number of very secluded alcoves, all dimly illuminated. He followed his com- panion's example in seating himself in one of these. "Coffee?" the manageress repeated; "certainly, Mod- dom." The shapely legs, so generously displayed, glided away, leaving Chertsey stupid with astonishment. He knew that such dens as "Lavonia: Teas" existed, not only in the West End but in the city but that this girl should be apparently familiar with a cafe of this char- acter and that she should have selected such a rendezvous . . . "My time is very short, and I have a good deal to say. Please, Mr. Chertsey, endeavour to look a little less startled, and tell me everything that has happened Since I saw you in the corridor of the Hotel Vendome 32 THE BLACK HEART at Paris. But first, please, why did you not take my advice ?" Her mode of speech, thrilling as was her voice, stung him. "If I remember rightly, you denied dropping that note." She swept the statement away with a little im- patient gesture. "How can I hope to convince you?" she replied, quickly; "but don't waste any more time tell me what I want to know!" "You have me rather at a disadvantage," he started to plead, impressed in spite of the warning of his native common-sense. The girl leaned across the small table. There was a light in the violet eyes. A truant wisp of chestnut hair, escaping from the bondage of the small black hat, brushed the rounded cheek. "Do you realise that by your foolhardly action you have placed yourself in the power of the most dan- gerous men in Europe ?" she said, in a voice tense with feeling. Chertsey leaned back. On the surface it was all so fantastic, so preposterous. This was the atmosphere of Bagdad, not of London. Yet the girl regarding him with those steady eyes was vitally real: he was conscious of some of her magnetism passing through him. "Who are these men? and what should they want with me?" he asked. BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 33 "Tell me first what has happened since you left Paris," she parried. Only a second's doubt remained with him. Then the personality of the girl swept any mental questioning aside. "I " he started. His companion lifted a warning finger. A waitress brought a small tray, on which were cups, a pot of coffee and a jug of hot milk. She flashed Chertsey a mischievous glance as she placed the things on the table. "Drink some it will allay any suspicion." Chertsey had ceased to wonder by this time. He helped his companion, then poured out a cup for him- self. He sipped the hot drink while impatience gnawed him. "Now," said his companion. "I am a novelist," Chertsey replied; "a writer of romantic, highly-coloured nonsense. It is popular, how- ever, and it enables me to live the kind of life I like. "Recently I should have started a new novel. But a central idea eluded me; everything in the sensational line had been exhausted. I could not get my plot. "It was annoying because I am under contract to my publishers most delightful people and I like to keep my obligations. Day after day passed, and still I could not find anything in my imagination worth wast- ing paper on. Does this bore you?" he stopped to ask. He received a totally different reply from what he expected. 34 THE BLACK HEART "I am very interested," the mystery-girl said; "please don't break off again." Momentarily, the tension had gone out of her voice and face. "Paris is popularly supposed to be a city of queer happenings. I went there to soak in some atmosphere, and to endeavour to pick up a thread of that very elusive plot I wanted. Paris, however, seemed a desert the papers were dull, the people I met were duller, and the private detective to whom I was introduced by a French journalist, the dullest man I ever met and I despaired. "Then, the hall-porter in my hotel came to my res- cue, giving me the address, and what was more im- portant, a card of introduction to a gaming-house in the Rue Napoleon, not far from the Grands Boulevards. "The place had such a picturesque name it was known as 'The House of a Thousand Chances' that I began to have some hope; but, beyond losing nearly twenty thousand francs, nothing happened to stir my torpid mind. I was bored stiff. "But, leaving the place, I must have been shadowed " Into the face of his companion came that tense ex- pression again. "I know what followed," she said. "At the Cafe de la Paix two men got into conversation and made you a certain offer." "Yes. It was the most amazing proposal I have ever heard. If I agreed to go immediately to London and take up my residence in a certain Bloomsbury flat, I BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 35 was to receive the honorarium of ten thousand francs, the promise of much subsequent wealth, and possible adventures." Chertsey broke off to smile grimly. "And you have had an adventure?" inquired the girl. "My God, yes ! Almost the first thing I saw when I reached this flat at 712, Guildford Street, was the body of a dead man concealed in a wardrobe. By all appear- ances he had been poisoned." "Describe this man, please," breathlessly commanded the girl. "His age, I should say, was roughly about forty- five. He was dressed in a well-cut blue suit, but be- yond one facial characteristic, there was nothing by which to distinguish him from ten thousand other middle-aged men." "What was this facial characteristic?" Chertsey gave her back look for look. She met his scrutiny steadfastly. "It is vitally important that I should know," she said. He hesitated no longer. However mysterious was the atmosphere by which this girl was surrounded, he had to believe in her. "The man," Chertsey explained, "had a curious deep cleft or dimple in his chin. It reminded me of the core of an apple something which I wanted to cut out. Horrible notion, considering the man was dead, no doubt " "One cannot control one's thoughts. You say you 36 THE BLACK HEART found this man dead in a wardrobe in the bedroom of the flat. Was anything disturbed?" "No that was the curious part about it. Everything in the place was in perfect order, even to freshly- arranged flowers ! But, so far as I could see, all the be- longings of the former owner if this dead man was he had been moved out before I arrived. Tell me, Miss " He paused, but she did not supply the name; "what does it all mean?" The girl poised her chin on the palm of a beautifully shaped left hand. "I have an idea," she replied, abstractedly, "but it is too early for me to say yet too early " The voice trailed away as the speaker's thoughts obviously occu- pied her full attention. "You can surely tell me something more than that," persisted Chertsey. "You see," he went on, "this thing on which I started more or less as a joke has turned out unexpectedly tragic. I thought this adventure, absurd and bizarre as it sounded, might give me an idea for my novel." The girl interjected the remark: "And now, in- stead of writing mystery, you are living it?" "I am by Jove!" Then there was silence, as both became occupied with their own thoughts. Chertsey, still in a maze, felt some doubts returning. The girl had purposely refrained from mentioning her name or giving him practically any confidence in re- turn. Had he been too precipitate? BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 37 "Listen, Mr. Chertsey." His companion had broken in upon his reflections. "When you were in Paris, I gave you that warning because I felt that you were running blindly and foolishly into a position of great danger. Although you were a complete stranger, I felt it my duty to try to save you. But now "Yes?'' said Chertsey, eagerly. Every word this girl uttered increased his impatience and stimulated his already overwhelming sense of curiosity. "The present situation is this," resumed the mystery- girl, with a note of finality. "England perhaps the whole of Europe is threatened with a great peril. Chance has placed you in the position of possibly being able to avert a tremendous catastrophe. The question is : are you willing to take the enormous risk which such a task would necessarily involve?" Chertsey leaned towards her. "I must know something about you before I answer that," he rejoined; "forgive me, but what connection have you with this business which sounds like an opium-smoker's delirium?" She shook her head. "I cannot tell you that. It is natural that you should ask, I know but all I can say at the moment is that I am possibly the only person in London to-night, out- side the men who are endeavouring to bring political ruin to the nation, who realises to what extent Eng- land is in danger. Will that satisfy you?" "It must, if you won't tell me any more." 3 8 THE BLACK HEART "I can tell you this." The speaker's eyes glowed, and her voice became quietly resonant. "One of the greatest conspiracies against the peace of the world is now being hatched part of it here in the West End of London, part in Paris, part in Berlin, with ramifica- tions, no doubt, in many other capitals of Europe. "You doubtless wonder at me, a mere girl, knowing this. Let my answer be that, for a reason which I do not intend to explain now, I am interested in a great many things which are closely guarded secrets. Other- wise, how should I have known of the offer which those two men in Paris who called themselves Lefarge and Thibau made to you? How should I have known, also, of the moment of your arrival at 712, Guild ford Street?" The listening man nodded. "You mystify me," he confessed, "but I will not interrupt by asking you any unnecessary questions. Tell me something more about this conspiracy?" His companion withdrew a small gold case from the costly handbag she carried, and lit a cigarette. "I have only shreds of evidence upon which to go," she replied, "but I feel sure I am right. For months past I have been travelling, to try to confirm my suspicions. In a flat in the Ragensburger Strasse of Berlin, I heard something which set me thinking; this received corroboration in an underground dance hall of Vienna. From there I went to Munich, and from Munich to Trieste. The trail here narrowed and I rushed back to Paris. It was there I saw you." BAGDAD OFF JERMYN STREET 39 Chertsey pulled at the cigarette which he had ac- cepted from the small gold case. "And this plot, you say, is directed against Eng- land?" he asked. He received an astonishing reply. "Don't let this man coming towards us see you!" the girl whispered, tensely; "drop something and be a long time picking it up !" The novelist's fountain pen fell to the floor. Chapter V CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO SO MAGNETIC had this girl's influence become that Chertsey had obeyed the strange request un- hesitatingly. His fingers as he stooped touched the fountain pen, but he pushed it farther under the seat, so that a moment or so later he was on all fours endeavouring to retrieve the emblem of his trade. "That will do," he heard a voice say; "you can look up now." He emerged from his semi-retirement, looking hot and feeling something of a fool. "You rather overdid it," was his reward, "but the essential thing was the man in question did not notice your face. If he had seen you talking to me, it might have been very awkward for you subsequently." Chertsey contrived a smile. "You make me feel like a very small boy," he pro- tested; "can't you stop doing that?" "I was serious when I said that. The person who just passed is, without any exaggeration, the worst man in London a creature of infinite evil. Incidentally, he owns this place. He doesn't know me at least," with 40 CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 41 a determined flick of cigarette ash, "I hope he doesn't but I know him." The lines of her mouth hardened. "Has this man anything to do with my possible future employers ?" His companion sent him a swift glance. "Does that mean that you are going to carry on?" she asked. "Yes, of course. You see, I happen to believe what you have just told me, incredible though it sounds ; and if I can do anything, naturally I'm going to have a shot. It would help me, however, if you were able to give me just a hint of what you think these gentry's game is with me." "I am afraid I cannot do that. You must discover it for yourself." He frowned. "There is the question of that corpse to be con- sidered ; I had thought of going to the police." She answered sharply, almost impatiently. "This is beyond the police. It is entirely out of the region of the ordinary detective. These men would laugh at the police." Her tone was decisive. "There is not sufficient evidence to take to the police, even if that course was advisable which I do not think." She continued: "Remember, I myself have only the slenderest of clues, and it is solid facts that are wanted. "But you have a wonderful opportunity; you will be in the heart of the conspiracy. You can watch and 42 THE BLACK HEART learn. Above all, if you hear any mention of The Black Heart "The what?" asked Chertsey. "The Black Heart," repeated the girl in a whisper, and then sat bolt upright. From somewhere near came the sound of a woman's scream; then some shuffling, and after that a murmur of deep voices. Her short skirt tossing wildly to and fro, the woman who had greeted them upon entering now rushed into the alcove. In spite of its make-up, her face was sickly and pallid. "Get out!" she cried. "Quickly! or they'll nab you!" In that moment of fresh perplexity, Gilbert Chert- sey looked at his companion. That astonishing girl did not fail him. "The police must have made a raid," she said, with remarkable calmness ; "we shall have to get away." She stood up, and caught his arm. "If we follow that woman, we ought to be all right." Even now there was scarcely a ripple of excitement in her voice, and Chertsey marvelled afresh. There were scurrying sounds from the adjoining alcoves. Suddenly, like the falling of a tropical night, a tense blackness enveloped them a hireling of the place must have turned off the main electric light switch. In front of them they could hear the pattering heeltaps of the fleeing woman; behind them came the CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 43 deep curses of the police officers as they stumbled awkwardly in the darkness. Used to sensations as he was by now, Chertsey felt that this was another mo- ment robbed from a nightmare. "Quickly!" . . . A hand, cool, reassuring, firm in its clasp, was slipped into his. Thus united the mystery-girl and him- self blundered forward. After a few minutes that seemed hours, Chertsey blinked. The light was on again. "There's two ! get at 'em !" In a second, Chertsey's mind had been able to sum up the situation. He stood in front of the girl, at the back of whom was a door. This was resisting all her efforts to open it. Two heavily-built men, unmistakably police officers in plain clothes, sprang forward at the bidding of the sergeant-major-like individual who had barked the com- mand. Behind him, Chertsey could still hear the girl en- deavouring to open the door. He might have been mistaken, but he imagined that his companon had uttered a short cry of despair. The sound, imaginary or real, played havoc with his usual equable temperament. He felt like a man driven mad through desperation. The first police-officer was now so near that he could see the coarse texture of his skin. Beneath the bowler hat trickled beads of perspiration. The man's lips were 44 THE BLACK HEART parted in a snarl, showing broken and discoloured teeth. Chertsey felt not only mad, but disgusted. Acting on an impulse he could not control, he hurled his clenched first into that unpleasant face, heard an oath being snapped off short, and then, to his surprise, the man staggered back and crashed to the floor. The next moment he felt himself seized violently from behind, and jerked backwards. There was a rush of cold air, and a clanging sound as though a heavy door had been hurriedly slammed. Then came a nauseating pain in the head. After that oblivion. The next thing he remembered was opening his eyes to see a man staring fixedly at him. Of all the astonishing events of the last few hours, nothing seemed quite so remarkable as looking into the face of this man. The latter was perhaps sixty years of age, but his skin had the clear, fresh look of one in the very prime of life. Immaculately tended hair of a startling white- ness, abundant in growth, surmounted a high classical forehead. It was the face of a saint, all but the eyes but, as he looked into these, Chertsey felt that the man before him must be a fiend. . . . Those deep-set eyes were sinks of iniquity. . . . The worst man in London! The description which had sounded so incongruous CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 45 when it fell from the lips of the mystery-girl, now seemed aptness itself. In spite of the striking beauty of the rest of this man's face, those eyes could not lie. . . . "In endeavouring to save you from what might have been an embarrassing situation, I, unfortunately, caused you to knock your head. You will forgive the clumsi- ness, I trust?" It was a remarkable voice, clear and sweet in utter- ance. It reminded Chertsey in some curious way of a silver bell. "But you have fully recovered now !" continued the speaker ; "the inquisitive persons who so crudely forced an entrance have gone, and you will be able to depart without apprehension." In spite of the blow he Had received, the situation made Chertsey clear headed. "To whom have I the pleasure of speaking?" he asked. "My name is Sylvester Lade," responded the other. "You own this place? Sylvester Lade nodded. "It is one of my commercial undertakings," he re- marked with a brief smile. Chertsey rose, preparing to go. "Well, I have to thank you, Mr. Lade. I must admit I didn't altogether fancy being hauled into a police- court." He did not add that he was innocent of any crime himself. He was curious to hear what the other would reply. 46 THE BLACK HEART "What was the object of the raid?" he asked, when Lade kept silent. The man with the evil eyes shrugged his immacu- lately-clad shoulders. "They made me some paltry excuse to the effect that they were looking for a notorious criminal. Just now, London, it seems, is the chosen meeting-place for a number of dangerous characters." Again a fugitive smile passed over the aesthetic face. Sylvester Lade then stepped forward. "One moment before you go, Mr. '* "Gilbert Chertsey is my name." "The novelist?" Chertsey bowed. The worst man in London extended his hand. "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Chertsey. I have long been an admirer of your bril- liant work." He paused, and over those dreadful eyes the lids closed like hoods. "And you are staying in London now?" he went on. "Yes at 712, Guildford Street." Chertsey decided to risk a great deal by one bold stroke. But the only reward he received was an enig- matic smile. "Indeed! I am very fond of Bloomsbury myself; I regard it, in spite of its faded splendour, as one of the most interesting districts of London." "Look here, Mr. Lade," said Chertsey, spurred by sudden recollection, "I % want to ask you about the lady I was with. Did she get away?" CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 47 The lids opened. "To my regret, she did," was the reply. "To your regret? She was a friend of mine we came here together." "Quite so. But you were not aware that she was a police-spy, I hope, Mr. Chertsey?" "I certainly wasn't !" The novelist felt hot about his ruined collar. His hands were opening and shutting. He had an overwhelming and almost insane desire to seize this human reptile by the throat and squeeze the noxious life out of him. "London is a strange place, and we learn many things in time, Mr. Chertsey." There was not only a subtle if suave sarcasm in the words, but they seemed to carry warning. Chertsey went hotter. "I absolutely refuse to believe that the lady in ques- tion has anything to do with the police, Mr. Lade." His instinctive hatred of the man made him speak with some heat. The other asked in his flute-like voice: "A criminal then, perhaps?" "No! nor a criminal! Excuse me, but I must be going." The air had become stifling; delicate per- fumes such as only women should use were wafted to him with every movement made by Sylvester Lade. "I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again, Mr. Chertsey," said the latter. He fondled a ring on the little finger of his left hand as he spoke. "Are you interested in stones?" he asked, holding 48 THE BLACK HEART up this hand ; "personally, onyx has always had a special appeal to me." Chertsey, had he used less self-control, would have been bound to make some exclamation of surprise ; the stone in the ring shown to him was black in colour and was shaped like a heart. He mastered himself. "A black heart," he commented; "does it represent anything?" Sylvester Lade came nearer. "Perhaps," he said; "perhaps, soon, you may be given an opportunity of learning what it represents. But," the gentle voice became steely "in any event, believe me, it would be very inadvisable for you to have any further association with the young lady we have been discussing." "Good advice is always valuable, Mr. Lade." The irony in Chertsey 's voice caused the other to stare. But he made no comment, opening a door which led from this room, that apparently served the purpose of an office. Outside was a short passage, and at the end of this a flight of stone steps led upwards. , A couple of minutes later, Chertsey found himself in the street. He took off his hat to wipe his forehead. It was still only seven o'clock, and he had the rest of the eve- ning before him. The first thing to do was to get a bath. After that, a change of clothes, and then something to eat; the CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 49 strain to which he had been subjected during the past hours had made him ravenously hungry. It was because these feelings of the primitive man; predominated, that he turned instinctively towards Piccadilly. In that moment, he longed for the seclusion and comfort of his own rooms in Clarges Street. Arrived outside his chambers, he let himself quietly in, and ran lightly upstairs to the first floor. As he looked round the well-remembered scene, after enter- ing, the thought of his recent experiences took on the character of a disordered dream. Although he had sent no message home, everything was in its usual admirable order, and it was with a sigh of contentment that he turned on the hot-water tap to fill the bath. It was while he was luxuriating in the steaming "tub" that a knock came on the door. "Is that ever you, Mr. Chertsey, sir?" The voice belonged to the estimable Mrs. Chandler, who com- bined the duties of housekeeper, landlady, and foster- parent, with such marked credit to herself and enviable comfort to the novelist. The sound plunged Chertsey so far back into his normal life that he chuckled. "It's all right, Mrs. Chandler. I came back unex- pectedly, and didn't want to disturb you. I'll tell you a secret: I'm fiendishly hungry, but I hurried home because I prefer your cooking to that of any chef in London. You've got something in the house, I hope?" There was the sound of a little snort. 50 THE BLACK HEART "As though I should ever allow meself to be out of food, Mr. Chertsey sir! If you can give me twenty minutes, I'll promise to have a real tasty morsel ready for you." The man in the bath shouted : "Splendid! But not too much of the morsel, Mrs. Chandler!" "Very good, sir." Mrs. Chandler smiled as she went her way ; Gilbert Chertsey had always been a favourite of hers, in spite of "all them papers that was always littered about." Twenty minutes later, Chertsey sat at his ease. A wood fire blazed cheerily on the open hearth ; the small, round dining-table glittered and glistened with fine linen and well-polished cut-glass ; a pint of good claret was on tap, and from beneath the shining cover there came a most appetising odour. Lifting the cover, he found that the worthy Mrs. Chandler had surpassed herself; a mixed grill of the most tempting variety was before him. A real nobleman of a chop was flanked on either side by a succulent, sizzling kidney, whilst round and about, as it were, nestled what Chertsey himself had many times called the trimmings a small piece of steak, done to a turn, a fierce fellow of a sausage with a burst waistcoat, a curly rasher of bacon and, giving the whole picture a touch of colour, two bright-hued tomatoes, also succu- lent and ditto sizzling. Chertsey did justice to this kingly dish, and when CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 51 Mrs. Chandler unexpectedly appeared with a jam omelette, he made no more to do than to catch her round the waist. "Mrs. Chandler, you're one of the greatest women that ever lived !" he declared. His landlady beamed. "I wanted to make quite sure that you had plenty, sir; Chandler will be bringing up the coffee in five minutes." The omelette was a worthy successor to the mixed grill; the coffee was Mrs. Chandler's best, and Mrs. Chandler could make coffee and the cigar he had just lit rounded off everything that had gone before. Chertsey had achieved, for a brief while, a state of beatification. One of the mockeries of life is that one's mood changes so quickly. Especially is this true with a man gifted with any imagination. Now that his body was fed, Chertsey found himself thinking of that welter of melodrama from which he had so recently emerged. Was he going on with it? Was he going to be fool enough to exchange a life of comfortable ease for one of shattering shocks and very real danger? A small voice said : "Don't be an ass !" But he shifted in his chair as the words passed through his mind. Then he sprang up, so quickly that the ash from his cigar spilled on the red Turkey carpet. Good God! He had his plot! . . . Real life had given him what his imagination had sought in vain for so long! 52 THE BLACK HEART Eagerly he went to a drawer of the big desk standing in the recess of the window that overlooked the street, and pulled out a handful of large-sized writing paper. The more he thought about it, the better it became. There were at least ten thousand words of ripping narrative in what had happened to him since leaving "The House of a Thousand Chances" in the Rue Napoleon, and if he couldn't build on to that start, he was a bad craftsman. Why, the people he had met already in that bizarre adventure were better characters than his imagination could have conjured up and the situations were really wonderful ! That man Lade . . . the curious ring he wore . . . the that Thing in the wardrobe . . and The Girl. . . . Whilst his pen hovered over the paper for a smash- ing, opening sentence, his features became taut. There was a picture facing him, and his eyes must have been playing him false, for, instead of Millais' Portrait of a Child, what looked out at him from the frame was the magnetic face of the Mystery-Girl. So strong was the illusion that he got up and walked across the room. But even as he verified how he had been deceived, he fancied that the girl's image had merely receded. . . . She was still watching him. He clenched his teeth. A word an ugly word framed itself in his mind. It was "coward!" He hadn't realised it before, lapped in the comfort of that room, but he had been in danger of going back CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 53 on his word. It had been a preposterous pledge, no doubt but still, he had given it. He had promised the girl to carry on. A new wave of resolution whipped him as he recalled the look in the girl's face. She had regarded him as a poorish sort of adventurer, without a doubt, but since chance had thrust him into the position, she had made her appeal out of what had seemed sheer desperation. That talk about Europe being threatened with chaos, and the hint that Great Britain was in peril, might be so much clotted nonsense the hysterical outpouring of an over- wrought mind but Yet now that he came to think about it, she had shown no hysteria whatever ; from first to last she had proved herself to be one of the coolest and most level- headed persons he had ever met. That made it worse ; if by any conceivable chance she was right, then he had a double obligation. As he flung the end of his cigar away, he was honest with himself: he wanted to see the girl again and, when he saw her, he wanted to be able to look her straight in the eyes. A quarter of an hour later, he was prepared to start. He had changed into a very old suit of tweeds since he was supposed to be a ruined man, he might as well dress the part and then rang the bell. "I find I have to go away again, Mrs. Chandler. Please keep any letters that may come. I have a little 54 THE BLACK HEART business to attend to, and I shall be back as soon as possible." Mrs. Chandler was always being surprised in the ways of her young men. With that nice fire, and a good dinner inside him, one would have thought that Mr. Chertsey would have been content where he was and if he wanted something to occupy his mind, he could have done a bit of his writing. But Mrs. Chandler knew her place. "Staying with friends, Mr. Chertsey?" she asked, politely. "Er yes, of a sort," was the reply, as he got into his oldest overcoat and picked up the small handbag. Chertsey did not like the look of the patrolling figure : possibly the murder had been discovered, and the house was being watched. With some difficulty he found the noisome alley, climbed the wall, and dropped into the neglected gar- den of 712, Guildford Street. The thought of what he had left in the room above sent a cold shiver passing through him. Then calling upon his resolution, he started to mount the iron staircase that stretched gaunt and spectral-like in the wan light of the moon. Hesitating for a moment, to see if he could catch any sound, he pushed open the bathroom window and passed inside. Still he could not hear a sound. The flat seemed as deserted as when he left it. CHERTSEY PLAYS THE HERO 55 He examined the two rooms, but nothing appeared disturbed. The dead man ! He did not like the idea of sleeping with that ghastly presence in the room. Cautiously he opened the wardrobe door. He stood stupefied. The corpse was gone! Chapter VI A ROOM IN BERKELEY SQUARE THIS room in the very heart of Mayfair, Lon- don Society's most fashionable quarter, was half in shadow. Still, there was sufficient light to disclose its rare charm, an elegant standard-lamp of antique silver diffusing a soft glow through its parchment-coloured vellum shade. The room was L-shaped, long, with a deep recess to the right at the far end. The walls were covered with a rich, old-gold paper, which formed an artistic back- ground to the Gobelin blue carpet and heavy velvet curtains of the same tone. Several rare pieces of Chippendale stood about; and in the recess where the man was writing, a magnificent bookcase rose almost to the ceiling, entirely covering the three walls. A room, it seemed, for quiet reflection the room of a student and of a lover of the beautiful. Yet the light which fell from the small lamp on the writing-table showed a face malignantly distorted. "The cursed fools !" The words fell from his lips in three separate spasms of anger. 56 A ROOM IN BERKELEY SQUARE 57 Sir Luke Benisty was angry because some subordin- ates had blundered with one of his plans. Although this was a sufficiently rare occurrence, he objected fiercely to any of his schemes miscarrying. Signing his name at the bottom of the letter he had just written, he rose. Sir Luke Benisty was a striking personality. Over six feet in height, the grace of his slim figure and the aristocratic cast of his features singled him out. He was said to be the best-dressed man within a mile of St. James's Street, and he certainly carried his clothes with marked distinction. He was clean-shaven except for a small, immaculate, iron-grey moustache. It was not until one had been in his presence for some time that the secret of the per- petual sneer he wore was explained by the drooping of the mouth. But the expression of habitual contempt had now been wiped away by the rage which possessed him. He was interrupted in his pacing of the floor by a faint click. Turning, he saw a section of the bookcase moving inwards. From the aperture thus made stepped a man. It was Sylvester Lade. Benisty had swung round quickly, although the noise made was hardly audible: the cabinetmaker who had done this job was a craftsman. His face became more composed when he recognised his visitor. "I should have given you the signal, Benisty," the caller said in a tone of apology, "but I was in a hurry." 58 THE BLACK HEART While the other man looked at him curiously, he went on : "I've just seen your man." "Chertsey?" The word was snapped. "Yes." "Where?" Lade gave a ghost of a smile. "In my tea-rooms off Jermyn Street. By the way," he broke off quickly, "he was keeping bad company." Sir Luke Benisty raised his eyebrows. The act was a question in itself. "He was with the girl Trentham. Don't ask me why, because I don't know. It was a damn risky thing for Thibau to do, it seems to me, sending over a man about whom he knows nothing." The bell-like voice had lost something of its silvery quality through the force of the speaker's feelings. Sir Luke Benisty raised a slim, carefully-tended hand to his moustache. "Thibau takes the responsibility," he said, in a note of finality. "I have never discovered the Frenchman to be wrong in his estimate of human character." The other persisted. "But what do you intend to do with him?" "I shall find a use for Mr. Chertsey," was the re- sponse ; and with that, the worst man in London, who not only knew the speaker, but feared him, had to be content. "Where is Chertsey now?" Benisty 's manner was anxious. "I almost forgot to tell you that the police raided A. ROOM IN BERKELEY SQUARE 59 the tea-rooms to-night. No, they didn't grab friend Chertsey I saw to that. As a matter of fact, they didn't grab anyone. I'm rather at a loss to know what it means except that the girl Trentham was sitting with Chertsey at the time." His look at the other was understood. "That young lady is certainly becoming rather troublesome; I shall have to see about it," commented Benisty. "But Chertsey where is he?" "He left me with the intention, I understood, of returning to 712, Guildford Street." "He said that?" "He made a particular point of saying it." A pause followed. "Those fools blundered the job with Simpson !" was Sir Luke Benisty's next startling sentence. "If Chertsey found Simpson's dead body in the flat, the probability is, I suppose, that he would have informed the police." Sylvester Lade gave a short laugh. "I don't think friend Chertsey will be bothering the police for a while," he rejoined: "there was a rough and tumble at the tea-rooms to-night and Chertsey knocked out a detective-sergeant in a very workmanlike fashion." Sir Luke Benisty shrugged his shoulders as though relieving them of a burden. "Sometimes," he remarked, "I really think that I may be developing nerves; Simpson's body is now elsewhere and there," lightly dusting his hands, "we will leave it." 60 THE BLACK HEART Three rings, soft but vibrant, sounded. They came from the direction of the recess. "That's Snell," announced Benisty. The speaker walked to the wall facing him and pressed an electric button. The next moment the aperture in the bookcase glided open to admit another caller. This man looked as though he had been born out of his age. He had the manners and something of the dress of an eighteenth-century fop. His overcoat was waisted and extravagantly skirted. An immense black stock afforded a striking contrast to a large, heavy face that hadn't a vestige of colour. Harrington Snell was a well-known, not to say notorious figure in the life of the Metropolis. He was a man whom all disliked and many feared. From an actor he had become a writer of scandalous paragraphs for disreputable papers. The mystery was that at least two clubs allowed him to remain a member; and at twelve o'clock each morning his startlingly pallid face, with the dull, fish-like eyes, and the loose, flaccid mouth, could be seen in the bow window of a Piccadilly club, looking out upon the world. Many stories were told of Barrington Snell and the more extravagant and in- credible these were, the greater probability had they of being true. It was only in a great capital that such a man could have lived; and it was in the multiple wickednesses of the hidden parts of London that he exercised his dubious callings of blackmailer and loath- some parasite. A ROOM IN BERKELEY SQUARE 61 Although he had left the stage, Barrington Snell retained his actor's voice. "Good evening, Sir Luke, and you, Sylvester," he said, in rolling tones. Strolling to a huge antique silver bowl containing chrysanthemums of beautiful autumn tints, he selected a bloom and placed it in his button- hole. "What's your news, Snell?" asked Benisty, per- emptorily. He used this man, but Snell's presence was always physically offensive. "The information I have been able to gather to- night," replied Barrington Snell, "is to the effect that our friend from across the water is to be expected quite soon on Wednesday, in fact. He is travelling incognito as 'Mr. James Forbes,' a buyer of woollen goods. The ship is the Morengaria." Sylvester Lade broke in. "Are you going to deal with this American here?" he asked Sir Luke Benisty. "No Paris!" snapped the other. Chapter VII INTRODUCING NAPOLEON MILES A I HOUR after Sir Luke Benisty had said the words, two men settled into their places at Rimini's. The table had been reserved, which accounted for it not being already occupied. As the maitre d' hot el walked away with an apprecia- tive smile for the dishes chosen, the Hon. William Summers ("Billsum" to his intimates) turned to his companion. "We can talk here," he said; "that is why I tele- phoned to Pauli to keep this particular table. Well, you dear but eccentric ass, what is your latest escapade?" The man addressed, smiled. He was about thirty years of age, having that clean-cut, slightly ironic, determined appearance of the best type of young American. The challenge of the somewhat penetrating grey eyes was relieved by the whimsical shape of the mouth. "You're very disrespectful," he replied. That rising young politician, William Summers, resorted to slang. "Come off it, Nap !" he urged ; "spill the beans !" 62 INTRODUCING NAPOLEON MILES 63 The young man who rejoiced (and suffered) under the curious cognomen of Napoleon Miles, made an apologetic laugh. "Under the name of 'Paul Lorenzo/ I am engaged to sing a few songs every night to my own guitar accompaniment," he replied; "you should come and hear me." The son of the Earl of Darthaven forgot his recent worries and burst into a laugh that drew attention to the corner table in the balcony. "My sainted aunt, Nap, what's the idea? Where do you do this troubadour stunt?" "At the Cafe of the Rosy Dawn," gravely replied the other; "it is a good engagement; they are paying me thirty pounds a week. If I do well, it may lead to a music-hall engagement." The speaker paused. "What the hell are you laughing at?" he inquired, politely. Billsum went off into a fresh roar. "Why 'Paul Lorenzo' ?" he managed to gasp. "Why not?" came the imperturbable response. "And why not the saxophone?" persisted Summers. "It's an ill wind that blows the saxophone," retorted Miles ; "that's not mine it's too good for me I read it somewhere." "I thought I knew a considerable bit about you, Nap," now said Summers, "but I'll be hanged if you haven't given me a fresh shock. I wasn't aware that you played the guitar." "I do," remarked Napoleon Miles, modestly; "and I also sing quite nicely. Come and hear me to-night." 64 THE BLACK HEART "All right, I will," replied Summers, and then went off into a third fit of laughter. The situation was preposterously ludicrous. The man sitting next to him was the possessor of five million dollars at least, and yet he was hiring himself out as a sort of twentieth-century troubadour! "What made you do it ?" he now inquired. "Got fed up with things at home. Thought I'd like to see Europe again before I die ; decided with the high cost of living and all that sort of thing, that I had to pay my hotel bill somehow; met a man in Wash I mean New York who told me how and here I am." "You're stark, raving mad !" retorted Billsum, coldly ; "feed your face!" for by this time the first course had arrived. The Hon. William Summers continued to chuckle as he ate. In spite of his promising rise in politics, he had a well-developed sense of humour years after he went down from Oxford, that dignified seat of learning told stories illustrative of this but the good-looking, young American millionaire, with whom he had struck up a warm friendship three years before, when on a visit to Washington as an assistant private secretary to the British Foreign Secretary, Sir Frankland Fordyce, was the greatest practical joker he had ever met. A fellow with the equivalent of a million English pounds, strumming a guitar in a club that was nightly filled with a jazz-mad crowd ! It was beyond him. "Never mind my insignificant self," said Napoleon INTRODUCING NAPOLEON MILES 65 Miles, pouring himself out a glass of wine; "what about you, Bill you look worried to me?" "I am worried," he confessed, in a low tone, after looking round; "we are all worried the Government, I mean. I can talk to you, Nap, because I know you can be absolutely trusted, and because, being an American, you are outside of this hurly-burly that is going on." "Hurly-burly?" Summers was not looking at Miles, or he would have noticed that the other's expression had changed. The eyes were still penetrating, but the whimsicality had gone from his mouth. The Hon. William Summers laid down his knife and fork and leaned across the table. His voice, when he resumed speaking, was anxious. "There's a devil's brew being mixed in Europe," he said; "and England, as usual, will be dragged into it. I'm not sure," he went on, "that we* re not already in it and up to our neck, too! You understand, old man, that I'm going outside my province, and that I'm exceeding my duty in talking to anyone in this strain, but you're an American, and " "When the time comes, Bill," said Miles, with so much gravity that the Foreign Office official stared wonderingly, "you will find that America will recognise that the two nations are composed of men who are brothers. One of my uncles is at Washington that's why I know," he added, rather confusedly. "Thank God for that!" replied Summers, fervently; "the future peace of the world depends on a union be- 66 THE BLACK HEART tween the two great English-speaking nations. They talk about the League of Nations," an infinite contempt had come into his voice, "but what does it all amount to? So much newspaper dope! We have ex-ministers of the Crown broadcasting their opinion that a new era of peace on earth and goodwill towards nations is coming, when my God! if everyone in this country only knew the truth !" Summers broke off to stare. "Don't think me melodramatic, Nap," he said, "but if I had sufficient moral courage, I should shoot that man down there on sight. And I should be a far better patriot for doing it." The American followed his gaze. "You surely don't mean that fellow who looks like the whole of Debrett rolled into one?" he asked. He was looking at a tall, noticeably-distinguished man of fifty-five, who moved across the crowded lower floor of the restaurant with effortless grace. "I do !" was the blunt reply. "That man is the blackest traitor that the mind can conjure up. His name is Sir Luke Benisty, and he is an Englishman. As a matter of fact, he used to be attached to the Foreign Office himself, being employed as a King's Messenger. There was some scandal I don't exactly know what, because everyone is so deucedly reticent about it but, anyway, Benisty left the Service. The story he told was that he resigned, but the truth was that he was hoofed out. "Now the curious thing is this: when he was a King's Messenger, he was known to be a comparatively poor man, but during the last three years he must have INTRODUCING NAPOLEON MILES 67 made money at an astounding rate how, no one seems to know but he lives in one of the best houses in London, a sumptuous place in Berkeley Square, and cuts any amount of a dash. "A great many people, my own Chief amongst them, are practically certain that he is a dead wrong 'un, but you know what we British are we always give a fel- low like that no end of rope and, beyond being under suspicion, this precious swine is allowed to carry on pretty well as he likes." "What's his particular game?" asked Miles. "It seems far fetched," was the grave answer, "but my own opinion is that he makes his money through selling national secrets." His companion softly whistled. "But how does he get the information? You say he is out of the Service now." Summers savagely cracked a walnut between first finger and thumb. "I wish to God I knew !" he said ; "one day I intend to know, and then " The sentence was not com- pleted, but a second walnut was cracked with such force that the politician might have harboured a personal grudge against it. There was silence for a few moments. During this time, the American wore almost as thoughtful an ex- pression as his friend. "You make me rather interested in the fellow," he confessed; "does this Sir Luke Benisty take any part in the night life of the Town ? Because if he does, and 68 THE BLACK HEART he wanders into the Cafe of the Rosy Dawn whilst I'm doing my Blondel act, I'll keep my eyes skinned." The words were uttered jocularly enough, but they had an underlying gravity. "It's funny you should say that, Nap," rejoined Summers, "but only this morning a newspaper man I know vouchsafed the information that one of this swine Benisty's pet cronies is Sylvester Lade." "Sylvester Lade? Why, that's the fellow I'm under contract with. Isn't he the Big Noise of the London Night Clubs?" Summers smiled rather grimly. "He's something more than that," he supplied; "Sylvester Lade has the reputation of being the vilest thing in human form that even London can produce at the present time. He's run very close by another skunk called Barrington Snell, but if half the stories I have heard are true, Lade can give the other fifty yards, start in the hundred and still beat him easily. Lade is a kind of human fiend : there is no form of vice which he cannot supply, providing the devotee has the necessary cash. He runs opium joints in the East End, and unmentionable dens in the West End. To the world, of course, he is the proprietor of several bona fide night clubs; and it is in this connection that you will meet him." "You seem to have an interesting lot of guys amongst your acquaintances, Bill," commented the American; "tell me, old lad, how shall I know this Lade person when I see him?" INTRODUCING NAPOLEON MILES 69 Summers looked his questioner straight in the face. "You won't be able to mistake him," he said; "Sylvester Lade has the face of a saint and the eyes of a devil." "And you say this guy is an associate of Sir Luke Benisty?" "I am told so by a man who generally knows what he is talking about." Napoleon Miles looked at his watch. "I must be pushing off," he announced; "thanks for a very interesting hour, Bill, my boy. I'll store away all that you've told me, and if ever I get the chance to do the dirty on either of the gentlemen in question, trust little Napoleon to be on the job !" The smile with which the American had uttered this sentiment quickly vanished as his eye caught someone in the brilliant, shifting crowd below. "Now I'll be sensational !" he declared ; "there walks the most beautiful creature I have ever seen! Bill, who is that wonderful girl?" Forgetting his usual impeccable manners, he pointed below. The Hon. William Summers looked as directed. "Her name is Ann Trentham," he replied. "Her father was a King's Messenger but he shot him- self." His tone did not encourage even Napoleon Miles to pursue the subject. Chapter VIII CHERTSEY HAS A CALLER CHERTSEY had not spent a restful night. This sleight-of-hand business with the corpse was inconducive to untroubled sleep. That dead man, although vanished, held his atten- tion. Who had come to snatch the body away? And where had they taken it? One fact emerged fairly clearly: that was that he had not been intended to see the handiwork of the poisoner ! It was inevitable that his thoughts should return to the girl. But for her, he would have dismissed the whole affair, apart from utilising the facts as fiction material. She fascinated him. There were a charm and a tang about her which were irresistible. Even if it meant his death, he knew that he could not abandon his connec- tion with this business until he had solved the mystery which surrounded this girl. When that was done, he would tell the Unknown he loved her ask her He smiled ruefully in the darkness. Only a modern d'Artagnan could hope to claim such a vital creature 70 CHERTSEY HAS A CALLER 71 in marriage. What chance would he possibly have ? She would look at him in polite pity, and shake her small, glorious head. That would be the end of his ridiculous dream. Would it? Not if he could help it! Something was stirring within him something which he had not ex- perienced before. Up to the time of being accosted by that stealthy duo, Lefarge and Thibau, at the Cafe de la Paix, when sitting at the corner table that overlooked the Boulevard des Capucines, life for him had run along very easy lines. The jars had been few and the cushions many. Most of the things Gilbert Chertsey had desired he had been able to obtain, and those which proved elusive, he did not bother a great deal about. Existence, in the main, had been a matter of drifting down a pleasant stream. Now he had been bumped with a vengeance! The shock had been literally staggering. He wondered him- self how he had rallied until he sought for the reason. This found, there in the darkness, he resolved that, although this girl of mystery was bound to shake her head, he would one day ask her to be his wife! Heaven knew how he was to sustain the role but she was essential to him; so he must hazard his chance. Win or lose, Life could never be the same for him again. The very fact of meeting her had been a suf- ficiently thrilling experience, which could never be for- gotten. He had tasted of a joy which left him dazed and breathless : henceforth, he would be like a slave to an intoxicating drug. 72 THE BLACK HEART What could be the mystery of this girl? Although he did not believe a word the man with the hooded eyes had said, yet it certainly was a curious fact that the police raid should have coincided with her visit to that underground den. And why had she gone there in the first place? He considered now his own position. His action in trying to save the girl from arrest had placed him in a situation of some danger. Scotland Yard, from what he had heard and read, was not partial to having its officers pelted on the jaw, no matter how unpleasant were the faces which the same officers possessed. From now on, no doubt, he would be under suspicion, if not actual surveillance, for there were two ugly facts recorded against him. One, being found on raided premises, and, two, offering violent resistance to police- officers in the execution of their duty. The old Gilbert Chertsey would possibly have felt a cold wave pass down his spine at the very thought ; the new experienced a sense of something like exaltation. Ridiculous, no doubt, but hadn't he got himself into this trough of trouble through service to the lady whose liegeman he had become ? The reflection was satisfying, for he fell into another fit of slumber which lasted until eight o'clock. With the murky streaks of light coming in through the window over the neighbouring house-tops, Chertsey sprang out of bed. A cold tub gave him the feeling that he was ready for anything which might crop up. In fact, the change CHERTSEY HAS A CALLER 73 which had taken place in his mental processes now in- spired in him a definite longing for action of some sort. Passing through the hall into the sitting-room, he noticed that a morning newspaper had been pushed through the door. Kindly thought! He showed his appreciation by picking it up, and perusing it from front page to last, in front of the gas-fire in the sitting- room. He had mastered the news sensation of the day, and had smiled as he compared its anaemic qualities with his own adventure the night before, when there was a ring and a rumbling sound. Chertsey wondered what new development this might be, until he saw an array of dishes arrive on the service lift. Breakfast ! That, certainly, was a cheering thought. The idea did flash across his mind momentarily that the same fate might have been prepared for him as for his prede- cessor, but a rapidly increasing sense of hunger ban- ished this melancholy reflection. The unseen power in the kitchen had not spared her labours : Chertsey, when he had set the dishes out, found porridge, bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade, await- ing his attention. The coffee was piping hot, and, with the rest of the viands, smelt delicious. Three quarters of an hour later, with the tobacco in his pipe burning evenly, Chertsey wondered what was going to happen next. He would have liked to 74 THE BLACK HEART ask that obliging hall-porter a series of searching ques- tions, but did not consider the procedure discreet. But what was he to do? Was he expected to stay in until someone called? He was not given much more time to speculate, as a few moments later the flat door-bell rang. With that quickened sense of excitement which had now become so familiar, he went into the hall. Outside the door a tall, distinguished-looking man, of late middle age, stood smiling. "Good morning, Mr. Chertsey!" The novelist replied in kind. "So charming of you to look me up won't you come in?" The words had the effect of relieving the other man's face of much of its geniality, but the caller im- mediately accepted the invitation. Chertsey maintained his attitude of casual banter. "You must excuse the smallness of my present quarters," he remarked ; "the fact is, this flat was taken for me. I only moved in last night." "May I ask at what time, Mr. Chertsey?" "Oh, late-ish," almost yawned the novelist. The visitor seemed about to ask some more ques- tions, but restrained himself, and sat down. "To be serious, Mr. Chertsey " he started. "Certainly ! In the first place, may I open the ball by; inquiring to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?" The caller took out a gold cigarette case and passed it to the speaker. CHERTSEY HAS A CALLER 75 "My name is Sir Luke Benisty," he said; "and if you will be patient with me, Mr. Chertsey, I shall be pleased to explain much that no doubt to your mind requires explanation." Although the words caused the listener's nerves to tingle, Chertsey, made confident by that newly-acquired sense of resolution, continued to play his cards with a certain amount of finesse. "Well I don't mind confessing that the situation, as it stands at present, seems more than a bit rummy," he said. "If I hadn't been cleaned out in Paris, I don't know that I should have taken up the proposition especially as it came from two strangers." The caller smiled conciliatorily. "Those two men were my agents, Mr. Chertsey, and after you have heard my explanation, I think you will agree that they acted only wisely in showing the cir- cumspection which they did." He paused, and the con- viction to which Chertsey came was that although this man conceivably was a liar, yet, with his perfect man- ners and charming bonhomie, he was an artist at the job. "No doubt they showed admirable judgment, Sir Luke," replied Chertsey; "but will you excuse me if I say that I am anxious to know what it all means. The ten thousand francs which the worthy Thibau or was it the estimable Lefarge? I really forget paid me was very welcome, but I understood there were other benefits accruing if " he tried to make his pause sound significant "I exercised tact and discretion." 76 THE BLACK HEART The caller's frown softened. Some trace of his former geniality returned. "Thibau it must have been Thibau told you that!" "He certainly did," said Chertsey, warming to his subject ; "and very welcome it was to hear it, Sir Luke. I don't mind admitting that when your two agents spoke to me at the Cafe de la Paix, I was feeling rather desperate." Sir Luke Benisty inclined his head. "These periods of misfortune have come to all of us," he said, sympathetically. "You are a novelist, I believe, Mr. Chertsey?" he continued. Gilbert Chertsey 's imagination was now in full fiood. At the risk of overdoing it, he persisted in his banter. "A novelist! Paugh! It sounds impressive, Sir Luke but what does it really mean? It meant when I was in Paris that I had exactly two francs in my pocket." "I have heard it is only to a few writers that riches come," commented the caller, in that same tone of sympathy. He looked keenly at the younger man. "However," he added, "if you really prove to possess the necessary qualifications of tact and discretion, coupled, perhaps, with a certain amount of physical courage, your troubles may prove to be at an end. I am willing to help you." "That's awfully good of you, sir." Chertsey this CHERTSEY HAS A CALLER 77 time endeavoured to make his voice sound as sincere as possible. Sir Luke Benisty carefully knocked the ash from his cigarette. "What I am about to say, Mr. Chertsey, may startle you perhaps, but nevertheless I wish you to understand that I am perfectly serious. I am rich, and I have a hobby, or perhaps it would be more truthful to say, a vocation, which causes me to enlist from time to time the services of just such young men as yourself. Now, if you will continue to give me your attention, I will explain in more detail. "Briefly, I am dissatisfied with the manner in which the police and the allied branches of order conduct their business. Their methods, in my view, are too lax. Consequently, at enormous expense to myself, I have effected an organisation of my own which, from time to time, and as I think fit, takes the law into its own hands and administers justice according to my own idea." "That's mighty interesting, sir," commented the listener. Chertsey did the other this honour : he might be a liar, but certainly he was an ingenious one. As Benisty kept silent, he ventured another remark : "But, surely, it's very risky?" The caller raised a white, slim hand to caress the end of his immaculate moustache. "Certainly, it's risky; that's what makes it so inter- esting. And, because of that fact, I am willing to pay 78 THE BLACK HEART big salaries to the men whose services I engage. Let me tell you this, Mr. Chertsey : that the work I am doing is of the very highest importance to the nation, although the authorities with their official blindness could not be made to recognise the fact." Chertsey affected an eagerness which was not wholly assumed. "When can I start?" he asked. Sir Luke Benisty smiled in what he might have sup- posed was an ingratiating manner. White teeth showed beneath that trim, iron-grey moustache. "You confess you are interested, then?" This time it was Chertsey who smiled. "By Jove! yes!" he declared, and again his eager- ness was not wholly assumed. "There are some preliminaries to be undergone, Mr. Chertsey," now said the caller. "I mentioned just now that one of the qualifications necessary for you to possess in order to join my shall we call it staff? was a certain physical courage. Are you a brave man, Mr. Chertsey?" The smile by this time struck the candidate as being wolfish. Not only was Sir Luke Benisty showing his teeth, but his eyes, beneath their lids, were giving off a decided gleam. Chertsey was repelled, but that newly arisen sense of manhood came to his rescue. "I don't profess to be anything wonderful," he re- plied ; "but, given the chance, I think I could stick most things as well as one here or there." CHERTSEY HAS A CALLER 79 The smile deepened. "You shall certainly have the opportunity," replied Sir Luke. It must have been his imagination, but Chertsey felt that the room had suddenly become cold. Chapter IX "THERE IS DANGER" CHERTSEY stiffened at the tone. The man appeared to be mocking him. "I am entirely at your service, Sir Luke," he said. The face of the visitor resumed its mask of geniality. "That is delightful, Mr. Chertsey. Very well; you shall do me the honour of paying a visit to my house in Berkeley Square to-night. I will send someone to bring you." He turned to go. Chertsey felt that the air was cleaner directly the door closed. Sir Luke Benisty was a plausible person, but, unless he was wrong in his guess, he was also a remarkably dangerous person. That tale he had told ... it might have done for the plot of a sen- sational drama, but he had been strongly tempted to laugh in Benisty's face. The only part of it which rang true was the statement that Benisty went outside the law. He was fully prepared to believe that. But as for the rest That night he might learn more something of the 80 "THERE IS DANGER" 81 real truth perhaps; with this reflection he had to be content : there were not many hours to wait. Yet the waiting was very much more trying than he had imagined. He could not get Sir Luke Benisty's smile out of his mind: the man, for all his exquisite polish and perfect manners, when he bared his teeth in that mocking grin, was plain wolf. After lunch he decided to go out. His appointment with Benisty was not until the evening, and it was a delightful day, crisp yet bright. Chertsey thought longingly of a sharp walk in the Park. He had closed the flat door when an unmistakable sound made him pause. The telephone! Who could be ringing up? He had better answer, he supposed. But he would have to be careful: it might be a pal of the dead man's. Which reminded him: one of the questions he proposed putting to Sir Luke Benisty at the first opportunity was in reference to the mysterious appearance and disappearance of that corpse. But in the meantime, the 'phone-bell was ringing loud enough to rouse the whole house. "Yes ?" he snapped, and then : "It's you!" The girl's voice at the other end disregarded the two last impassioned words. "Who is that speaking?" she asked, coldly. "Chertsey CHERTSEY!" he roared. "Yes," after a pause "I recognise your voice now. But you will understand that I had to be certain." 82 THE BLACK HEART "Of course! I understand that!" The man's voice was eager, clamant : the fact that the girl had rung up re-established the bond which he had persuaded him- self existed between them. "I say, I have some news for you," he continued, quickly. "Are you sure you are alone? that no one can hear you?" The words of caution sounded strained. "Quite sure. But, look here, can't I see you again now, I mean, this afternoon ? I was just going out for a walk in the Park when you rang up." There was another pause. Chertsey thought that they must have been disconnected, or that the girl had quietly rung off. "Are you there?" he almost shouted. "I was thinking," came the reply ; "if you are care- ful, it might be all right. Look at your watch and tell me the time, please." "It's twenty minutes past two," he replied. "You are a minute fast. Now the probability is that you are being closely watched. If you find you are, on no account come; but if you decide, after leaving the flat, that you are not being followed, come to Lancaster Gate Tube Station. I will be waiting just inside the Park Gates on the other side of the road. Do not be there before a quarter past three and, even if you think you are not being followed, come by a circuitous route. Change trains as many times as you can use up the time that way." There was a click after the last word. "THERE IS DANGER" 83 Chertsey remained by the instrument, softly caress- ing his chin. If any other woman he had ever known had rung off in that abrupt manner without saying good-bye, he would have exploded. But he admired the mystery-girl for her acumen. Whether she was right or wrong and the evidence so far in favour of her being right seemed overwhelming she certainly left nothing to chance. As Chertsey shut the flat door behind him, he thrilled at a thought: in less than an hour he would be with this girl again. He would be able to look into her eyes, to watch her lips framing words. . . . Had anyone else told him to hop from train to train in the eccentric manner of the next forty minutes, he would have calmly but thoroughly told them to go to the devil, but it was with the air of a schoolboy success- fully practising a prank that he emerged from the lift at Lancaster Gate Tube at fourteen minutes past three o'clock. "Were you followed?" asked the girl, a few seconds later. Chertsey retained the small gloved hand which she extended. "I don't think so. I had a good look round when I left the flat, and I couldn't see anyone who appeared suspicious. And I seem to have got in and out of every Tube train in London since then. Please don't worry about that." The girl did not reply. She led the way to a smart two-seater coupe car which stood by the kerb. 84 THE BLACK HEART "We will drive through the Park," she said; "we shall be less noticeable." She handled the car with an expert's touch on the wheel. Beautifully dressed as usual, her profile fasci- nated Chertsey, sitting engrossed by her side. "Tell me your news," she said, when they were com- paratively clear of traffic. She listened without interruption until Chertsey had come to an end. Then: "There is still time for you to leave this affair, Mr. Chertsey," she said. He turned. "Of course, I shall not leave; apart from anything else, I want to see this fellow, Sir Luke Benisty, smil- ing on the other side of his face." The car slowed down. "There may possibly be considerable danger at- tached to your visit to-night," the girl replied. "Benisty is a dangerous man I doubt if there is such another in the whole of the country and," she lowered her voice instinctively, "you know something which you were not intended to know." Chertsey nodded. "I arrived at the flat before the proper time, I'm thinking ; something in their time-table must have mis- carried. Still, it seems to me that if Benisty and his crowd wanted to polish me off, they would show a little more subtlety than inviting me to his house to be "THERE IS DANGER' 85 poisoned. That sort of thing went out with the Borgias." "Yet the dead man you saw in the flat was poisoned, you say ?" "I believe so. I understand very little about such things, but the poor devil's face was horrible, and it was certainly my impression at the time that he must have been poisoned." "Sir Luke Benisty has an Oriental strain in him," was the girl's comment. "I feel bound to warn you again, Mr. Chertsey, that your visit to his house to- night may be attended by considerable danger." To cover his real feelings, he endeavoured to be flippant. "If within forty-eight hours I do not make a char- acteristically dramatic reappearance, please inform Sir William Leverston, my publisher, that I died in the execution of my duty." An answering smile did not appear on the girl's face, which remained very grave. "It was because I was afraid that something serious might have happened that I rang you up," she said. Chertsey could have hugged her for the solicitude. But he controlled his voice sufficiently to reply : "That was awfully kind of you." This time he made no pause, but the girl must have read his mind. "My name is Ann Trentham," she said. Ann! 86 THE BLACK HEART She did not look an Ann and yet she did, he de- cided, after another glance at that clean-cut profile which was so provokingly near him. "Thank you," he replied. A slight flush coloured her cheeks, but she made no other sign that she had heard. Quickly he had a fear not for himself but for her. It was a genuine spasm of dread. "These men know you, Miss Trentham. They warned me against being seen with you. I must tell you that. At least, that underground cafe specialist, Syl- vester Lade, did. What a beauty he is : like an archangel who's taken to cocaine." "When did he say that?" "Before I left the place last night." "I haven't thanked you yet for saving me a great deal of indignity, Mr. Chertsey. If it had not been for you, the police might have worried me." He looked straight into her eyes. The car had stopped near the Serpentine. "May I say something?" he asked, and when she had briefly nodded, her eyes questioning: "I cannot imagine you doing anything which would cause the police to annoy you, Miss Trentham." The reply was prompt and somewhat startling. "I might in certain circumstances." He did not pursue the matter because he could see that she did not mean him to follow up her remark. But his conviction remained unaltered. "I will add, however," Ann Trentham went on, "that I'm not what Sylvester Lade probably called "THERE IS DANGER' 87 me a police-spy. Far from enlisting the aid of the police, I intend to follow this thing through on my own." She was speaking her thoughts aloud, it seemed to Chertsey, rather than conversing with him; and, that being so, he did not venture further. Girl of im- penetrable mystery that she was, he yet knew her name. It was something, a great deal to him in his present mood. "You would like to know what happens at Sir Luke Benisty's house to-night?" he asked, after a short pause. She fumbled with the gauntlet of her glove, show- ing the first sign of agitation. "I would give a great deal to know," she replied, "but " "Yes?" he encouraged. "I still feel that I am asking you to undertake too much. No, wait, please," as he was about to interrupt, "last night, I know, I made a certain appeal to you. Be- ing a man, you accepted my challenge for challenge it was but now I see quite clearly that I had no right to ask you to run such a risk. Mr. Chertsey, forget all that I have said. I will find out the truth the in- formation I am seeking for myself." "You'll do nothing of the kind!" he rejoined, in a voice he scarcely recognised as his own: "for years now I've been living a supremely selfish and useless sort of life. You say big things hang on this business " 88 THE BLACK HEART "Tremendous things!" The words were breathed tensely. "Very well, then!" said Chertsey; "I, a useless idler, have been given a chance to prove that I can be something more than a mere scribbler of high- falutin' nonsense. I'm going to take it. Only," he stopped "I want to feel that I shall be working with you." "I will give you all the help I can." The simple words made him buoyant. "That gives me a personal interest. But I should have had that before in a way, although to nothing like the same extent. The four people I have so far met have certainly not been very attractive, and it will give me a great deal of pleasure to do them one in the eye. Especially friend Benisty. He smiled at me this morning in a manner which I particularly disliked. Of course, I did not believe a word of that yarn he pitched, but from his subsequent remarks I rather gather that he and his cronies are going to ascertain to-night if I am a fit and proper person to be admitted into the exclu- sive fellowship of The Black Heart." "The Black Heart. . . ." His companion had repeated the words in that low, tense voice. "Find out all you can about The Black Heart," she now said. "We mustn't be seen together re- member, they have already warned you about that but I shall find a way." "Won't you give me your address your telephone "THERE IS DANGER' 89 number?" he asked. The thought of being a comrade to this girl sent the blood surging through his veins. "Can you remember? You had better not have any- thing on you in case you are searched." "My memory is the only reliable part of a notoriously weak intellect," Chertsey assured her. She gave him an address and a telephone number. "Perhaps it will be better if you write," she ad- vised; "one can never tell when telephoning, and, un- less I am very much mistaken, Benisty has his spies everywhere. And now," with a quick change of tone, "I had better drive you back part of the way." Chertsey was set down in an unfrequented spot, and, acting on his instructions, he strode quickly away without looking back. He felt he was leaving his heart behind him. Chapter X INITIATION I HAVE called to accompany you to Sir Luke Benisty's house." Chertsey stared at the speaker. The two men connected with the exotically-named Society of The Black Heart he had already met were sufficiently arrest- ing in their separate style, but this caller was the queerest fish of the lot to his thinking. The gross face of this mincing-voiced giant, with the remarkable man- ner of dressing, was sickeningly repulsive. "My name is Barrington Snell," announced the caller ; "like you, Mr. Chertsey, I have written. Memoirs and things of that description mainly. Fleet Street has known me knows me still. . . . Do I bore you ?" he inquired, languidly, fixing a monocle in his fishy right eye. Chertsey came out of his temporary stupor. "On the contrary, Mr. Snell; you interest me tre- mendously. You are a friend of Sir Luke's?" "A personal friend," declared the other, with an emphasis which, for some reason he could not define, Chertsey found odious. "But, excuse me, we had bet- go INITIATION 91 ter be going. Sir Luke is the soul of punctuality him- self, and he cannot bear being kept waiting." "Two minutes, and I shall be ready," replied the novelist. He was as good as his word. His chief feeling upon alighting from the car out- side the palatial mansion in the famous square, was one of suppressed excitement. He rather hoped some- thing dramatic or startling would happen. The recital of it would give him an early opportunity of meeting Ann Trentham again. A footman in a neat livery opened the door and, with the stoop-shouldered, gigantic Snell by his side, he passed into the house. Snell seemed familiar with his surroundings. He led the way into a brilliantly-lit room, handsomely fur- nished in exquisite taste. "Sir Luke will be here shortly, Mr. Chertsey. I am desolated to leave you, but I have to go. But first you will do me the honour, I trust, of joining me in a glass of wine? It is our host's express wish," he added. "I shall be very pleased." Chertsey spoke without reflection. He was not think- ing about this man; his mind was concerned with the master or employer he served. A footman brought two glasses of sherry on a silver salver. "To our better acquaintance, Mr. Chertsey," toasted Barrington Snell. Chertsey raised his glass, drained its contents, swayed unsteadily and then crashed to the floor. 9 2 THE BLACK HEART He returned to consciousness slowly. Darkness a gloom deep and impenetrable surrounded him as he opened his eyes. Not only was he unable to see, but he could not move. His hands were bound and his body was in a vice. He was naked to the waist. "Gilbert Chertsey!" From out of the blackness, a voice called his name. He thought it belonged to Sir Luke Benisty. "Yes," he replied. He tried and almost succeeded in keeping his furious rage out of this single word of answer. His eyes were becoming more accustomed to the gloom now, and as he looked about him, he noticed two facts which caused a wave of apprehension to pass down his spine and threatened to unman him. The first circumstance was that he was surrounded by a ring of hooded figures. These recalled instantly to his mind the horrific stories he had read as a boy of the Spanish Inquisition familiars. Through the slits in the hoods, the eyes of the watchers gleamed maliciously. . . . That sinister ring of spectators was disturbing enough, but the second fact was far more unnerving. Bound hand and foot, he had been placed in some sort of long, tight-fitting box a coffin. . . . "Gilbert Chertsey, you are now upon your trial," announced the voice which had spoken before. Simultaneous with the word "trial," a bright light INITIATION 93 erupted, to shine full upon Chertsey's face. His eyes were dazzled. "Are you willing to undergo the test necessary before you can be admitted to the Fellowship of The Black Heart?" continued the voice. "I am." To whatever this amazing procedure might lead, he had to go on with it. Argument was futile, helpless as he was. And if these pantomimic gentlemen thought they could make him squeal, they were due to be mistaken. Something else showed up out of the darkness now; it was a phosphorescent human skull. This illumined death's head had a set, mirthless, mocking grin. "Are you willing, Gilbert Chertsey, to take the oath required of each and every candidate for the Fellow- ship of The Black Heart?" A rustling sound accompanied the question, and Chertsey realised with a fresh start of astonishment that one of the hooded figures had left the circle of watchers and was now bending over him. In his right hand the man held a long-bladed poniard. "Gilbert Chertsey, you are now very near to death !" the voice announced. "Should your courage fail you in this, the moment of your trial, the dagger which you see will be plunged instantly into your heart for you will be deemed unworthy to become one of us." Chertsey could distinctly hear the furious beating of his heart. This might be mummery, but it was so real as to be positively terrifying. It might be, of course, that Sir Luke Benisty, actuated by some mental per- 94 THE BLACK HEART version, had decided that this should be the way in which he was to die. The thought caused him to make a slight move- ment. Instantly he felt a prick over his heart; the poniard had pierced his skin. "I have already warned you!" The voice was now terrible. "Let me take the oath !" he answered. The suspense was bathing him in perspiration. He gritted his teeth, calling upon a fresh reserve of mental strength. "Very well. You will repeat slowly after me the fol- lowing words : I, Gilbert Chertsey, do hereby solemnly declare and promise that if I am elected to the Fellow- ship of The Black Heart, I will keep secret and hold inviolate to my dying day all information of any de- scription whatever which is vouchsafed to me. Fur- thermore, I promise strict and unquestioning obedience to the Chief of the Order, Sir Luke Benisty." What else was there for him to do but to repeat the words? If he refused, or even faltered, undoubtedly he would be killed. And then Ann Trentham would be left alone. . . . Time enough for him to debate the matter with his conscience when he was a free man again. Thus he rapidly reflected. "Gilbert Chertsey, you have taken your solemn oath. By that sign of death," an arm pointed to the phos- phorescent skull, "I warn you that the least sign of treachery will be met by your instant annihilation. You have already been witness to the fate of a man who INITIATION 95 played us the traitor. Your predecessor in the flat at 712, Guildford Street was a member of The Black Heart. He developed treacherous tendencies, however, and we had to remove him. Let his miserable end be always a warning to you ! "And now," the voice continued, "in order that you may never forget your obligations to us, and so that wherever you may be, we shall know you for a member you are forthwith to be branded with the symbol of the Fellowship." His eyes swimming, Chertsey noticed there was a glowing brazier by the side of the speaker. He watched a hooded figure lift a red-hot rod from the flaming heart of charcoal, saw this man draw near, felt a sear- ing pain in his left shoulder and then quietly swooned. The man's face stared at him but of the morning newspaper. Chertsey allowed his coffee to grow cold whilst reading the startling announcement that accom- panied the photograph. "A sensational discovery was made early last evening by a farm labourer, named George Walsh, who lives near Dymchurch, Kent. "Whilst walking from his work over the Romney Marshes, he stumbled in the darkness against a man's corpse. "This was afterwards identified as being the body of Mr. C. R. J. Simpson, a junior official in the British Foreign Office. THE BLACK HEART "It was subsequently ascertained, as the result of enquiries, that Mr. Simpson had been in bad health of late, and had been granted a month's leave in consequence. "From the fact that an empty phial of poison was discovered clutched in his right hand, it is surmised that this brilliant young Foreign Office official took his own life. Mr. Simpson had lately been under treatment for neurasthenia by a Harley Street specialist. "An inquest will be held." Chertsey had barely finished reading when the tele- phone bell rang. "You understand you are to know nothing concern- ing the unfortunate gentleman whose sad fate is chron- icled in the morning's newspapers," said a hard, cold voice, which he instantly recognised. Before he could reply, he heard Sir Luke Benisty ring off. As he walked back to the breakfast table, Chertsey felt that slight wound in his left shoulder throb again. The previous night, after returning from Berkeley Square, he looked in the glass to see an inflamed circular patch of skin. He had been really branded. It did not require the slight stab of pain to make him register yet another vow : somehow or other, he would reverse the tables on this master mummer and he would do so whilst respecting so far as was possible the oath he had been forced to take. INITIATION 97 In the meantime, breakfast had lost its savour: Sir Luke Benisty had been proved a person of his word. The photograph printed in the Morning Mail was that of the man he had found dead not forty-eight hours before in the adjoining room. Chapter XI AT THE CAFE OF THE ROSY DAWN EE most other capitals, London has a special interest in the unusual. When some newspaper gossip printed the story that Paul Lorenzo, the "gay guitarist" from America, who was to appear nightly at the Cafe of the Rosy Dawn, was really a rich man in search of novel experiences, that section of mid- night carousers who set the fashion for Mayfair, flocked to the well-known night club off Piccadilly Circus. Sylvester Lade, the man who had made a fortune by supplying the unusual, smiled his characteristic wel- come to them all. Immaculately dressed, charmingly mannered, those evil eyes discreetly hooded, he made the announcement that the gossip-writer's paragraph was substantially correct. "No, dear people, I must absolutely refuse to tell you his real name!" he replied, suavely, to all inquiries; "you must be satisfied with Paul Lorenzo surely that's attractive enough?" This second night of the much-discussed entertainer's appearance saw the principal salon crowded. Every- 98 AT THE CAFfi OF THE ROSY DAWN 99 one in the fashionable set wished to see Paul Lorenzo the man, it was stated, who had more money than he knew what to do with, and yet who amused himself by playing a guitar in a cabaret. Paul Lorenzo proved to be a debonair, good-looking man of thirty. Quite apart from the very interesting stories that were being bandied about, his smile in- stantly won all hearts. That, in spite of his supposed wealth, he was a talented performer on his particular instrument, was soon demonstrated : to his own accompaniment he also sang several songs in a pleasing baritone voice. The "turn" was an instantaneous success. Among the visitors to the Cafe of the Rosy Dawn that night was a girl whose striking beauty attracted many eyes. Men came to her table, flattering homage on their lips but to one and all Ann Trentham ex- pressed regret, but she was not dancing. She was not in the mood for any form of merriment. Her thoughts were sufficient company, and they were grave. That afternoon she had rung up the flat at 712, Guild ford Street, but after a long wait, Exchange had given her the ominous message: "No reply." Had she done right in sending that man headlong into such a maelstrom? Young, successful she had verified this fact from a leading bookseller with much in life to hold him, he had gone at her instigation to what might well prove his death. She knew these men; who else could know Sir ioo THE BLACK HEART Luke Benisty as well as she? Was it not Benisty who had caused her father to lie in a suicide's grave? Hugh Trentham, D.S.O., had been a trusted King's Messenger in the years following the war. He gloried in the work, and honoured the trust which was placed in him. He was respected and admired by his superiors. Then how laboriously she had had to work to get the details her small world had been shattered by a terrific scandal. Her father, sent on a secret mission to the Continent, with documents of the highest import- ance, had been found shot in a questionable gaming- house at Buda-Pesth. A revolver with one chamber dis- charged was lying by his side. Not only the State documents, but the large sum of money in English banknotes he had carried for his country were gone. The affair was hushed up, of course ; practically every friend of her father's had said that some insoluble mystery was at the back of the disaster but the sordid, unclean, unmistakable facts remained : a man who was believed to be the soul of honour, had failed, on the strongest circumstantial evidence, in his trust. Like most girls of her class, Ann had not previously given a great deal of thought to religion, but a month after the tragedy, Destiny apparently appointed her to a task. An aged aunt of her father's died in Baltimore and her fortune of 400,000 dollars was left in its entirety to the girl who was prostrated with grief. Instantly, Ann, who had aged many years during these four weeks, saw herself selected as an instrument of Fate. She would devote this money which had so AT THE CAFE OF THE ROSY DAWN 101 unexpectedly come to her, to one end the tracking down of the man who had been the means of her father taking his life. This task, which would have appalled by its im- mensity the ordinary girl, presented itself to her merely in the light of a long and difficult inquiry which might tax her patience to the uttermost. Beyond that she would not see: she allied her relentless purpose to the con- fidence of youth. At twenty- four, moreover, she had the worldly knowledge and experience of many women of thirty. Left motherless when quite a child, her father had made a pal of her ; it was his pet joke to call her "Sonny." ... In that scene of glare and glitter, the memory caused her to stare across the room with fixed, unseeing eyes. Telling no one, using her native wits unceasingly, spending money lavishly, in order to gain the slightest clue, mixing with the queerest people, often at the gravest risk, undertaking long journeys, always alone, she had slowly and laboriously formed a theory. She knew almost to a certainty her father's enemy, but this knowledge was valueless without actual proof. It was in pursuing this proof that she chanced upon the gigantic conspiracy against the peace of Europe, which this same man the arch-fiend, Sir Luke Benisty was organising. "You are alone, Miss Trentham ?" She looked up to find the odious eyes of Sylvester Lade fixed malevolently upon her. In the search for the facts she required, she had become a frequent visitor to 102 THE BLACK HEART many night clubs, for amongst the knowledge she had gained was that this controller of cabarets was a close associate of Sir Luke Benisty. "I do not care for ladies to come to my establishments unaccompanied, Miss Trentham," continued the sneer- ing voice. The words alone were an insult, and the girl flushed vividly. "Consequently, I am afraid I must ask you to leave." Ann stood up. She was conscious that everyone around her was staring. It was a public humiliation of the worst description. "You are an abominable cad!" was the reply she made. Sylvester Lade, his face venomous, caught the girl by the shoulder. Nap Miles found the scene very amusing, very stimulating and after a while very interesting. That girl, sitting alone in the corner surely he had seen her before? Then, quickly, he remembered : it was the girl whose remarkable beauty he had commented upon when lunching two days before in Rimini's restaurant with Bill Summers. What was she doing here? Had she fallen captive to his manly beauty and wonderful personal charm as demonstrated in his newspaper photographs and the descriptive matter that had been written by the gossip paragraphists ? The smile faded from his face : the girl had risen as AT THE CAFfi OF THE ROSY DAWN 103 though she had been insulted. That quite remarkable swine, Sylvester Lade, was evidently bullying her. A few seconds later, Miles was across the room. Before he could reach the spot, however, he saw Lade do an unpardonable thing, gripping the girl's white shoulder with what seemed brutal force. Instantly the offending arm was knocked up. "I think there must be some mistake," Miles said, coldly; "this lady is a friend of mine. She came here at my invitation to-night. I am profoundly sorry you should have been upset, Miss Trentham," addressing the girl. He saw a look of gratitude flash into her face. Ann Trentham smiled. "There has been a mistake, as you can see, Mr. Miles," she replied ; "your performance was delightful, I enjoyed it tremendously but I must go now." He stepped between her and the crowd of staring spectators. "I will see you home, Miss Trentham, if I may." Someone caught his arm. It was the furious Lade. "You can't leave the club," he stormed; "you are due to play again in ten minutes." "I'm not playing here again to-night," said the "gay guitarist," very distinctly, "so you had better make some other arrangements. I do not stand for my friends to be insulted." He offered the girl his arm and led her away. "I know you must be wondering all sorts of things, and so I will give you the explanation now, Miss 104 THE BLACK HEART Trentham," remarked her escort, as he handed her into the taxi-cab a minute later. "I saw you at Rimini's restaurant in the Strand the other day. I was lunching there with a friend of mine Bill I mean the Hon. William Summers, of the British Foreign Office I'm an American myself. "I it was very rude of me but I transgressed to the extent of asking Bill who you were. He told me your name. When I saw that rotter worrying you to- night, I felt that I knew you indirectly and I had to take a hand in the business." Ann Trentham held out her hand. "I am very much indebted to you, Mr. Miles. The man Lade insulted me. I was quite alone and I wanted a friend badly just then." "You needn't worry about being friendless as long as I'm about, Miss Trentham," he told her with Ameri- can directness. "Here's my card if ever I can be of service to you, kindly give me a ring. I shall be in London for a while yet unless," he added reflectively, "something unexpected crops up." As he turned away, Napoleon Miles felt there was more than one reason why he should like to see this girl again. He did not return to the Cafe of the Rosy Dawn. Sylvester Lade had to be taught a lesson, he decided; and, in any case, he was bored. What was more, he had far more important things to think about a coded cablegram received that afternoon from Washington was one of them. Even to Napoleon Miles's volatile and AT THE CAFE OF THE. ROSY DAWN 105 somewhat eccentric temperament, playing the guitar to a set of wine-flushed, midnight revellers, seemed an incongruous proceeding whilst that cablegram was wait- ing for his further consideration in the locked drawer at his flat. In the Cafe of the Rosy Dawn, the incident which had caused so much attention at the time was forgotten. Dancing continued; the flow of wine increased as the hours sped; laughter became a trifle more strident, speech rather more blurred but that was all : everyone was happy, or pretended to be, and those who could never achieve real happiness again almost suc&eded i& forgetting. Mingling with his patrons, Sylvester Lade looked as tmuffled as ever. He smiled, nodded, flattered. Yet a girl paying her first visit to the Night Club, and seeing him for the first time, whispered to her escort: "That man makes me shudder!" The speaker was something of a psychologist. Black Hell ruled in Sylvester Lade's heart that night. Chapter XII THE LOCKED BOOK THAT trans-Atlantic greyhound, the Moren- garia, was twenty- four hours distant from Southampton, when the passenger, who had registered as Mr. James Forbes, and who in the few conversations he had held with his fellow travellers on the way from New York had let it fall that he was going to England to buy woollen goods, received a wireless message. Anyone looking over the shoulder of Mr. James Forbes at the moment the latter was reading his mes- sage, might have smiled : Cissie Sends Her Best Love. Papa Happy. To such a person it would have seemed a wicked waste of money to flash those seemingly fatuous words through the ether. But such an onlooker could not have read in the message what caused Mr. James Forbes to bite his lower lip, whilst the rest of his face was expressionless. Five minutes later that is, after he had allowed sufficient time to stultify the curiosity of any possible 106 THE LOCKED BOOK 107 prying person the self-confessed buyer of woollen goods walked slowly to his cabin. Once inside, and having carefully locked the door behind him, his manner changed to such an extent that he might have become within the space of a single minute an entirely different person from the stolid, somewhat gauche passenger which the general com- munity on the Morengaria had considered him to be. With every sign of eagerness, he seated himself in a chair facing the bed, and drew from his breast pocket a small book. It was a curious volume, for Mr. Forbes's manner of opening it was to insert a tiny key hanging from his watch-chain, in the equally tiny lock that held the two stiff covers together. The buyer of woollen goods commenced to turn the pages of his little book very rapidly. In the meantime, the wireless message was laid out on the bed. Mr. Forbes's procedure was to look at one word of the message, and then proceed or so it seemed to see what his little book had to say about this particular word. In twenty minutes, he achieved a surprising solu- tion. As the result of the information received from the locked book he wrote several words beneath those of the original message. These, in their entirety, ran: Plans changed. Instead of London, proceed direct to Paris, stay Hotel Charles VII. LOGAN. "Well, I'm damned !" said Mr. Forbes. His astonish- ment did not lead him to be less cautious than before, io8 THE BLACK HEART however, for, striking a match, he burned the paper on which he had decoded the words, and even then scat^ tered the ash through his fingers. That done, he re- locked his book of mystery and placed it in his breast pocket. The captain of an ocean-going liner of the class of the Morengaria is a somewhat difficult personage to be approached by an ordinary passenger, unless the latter's business is both important and urgent. Mr. James Forbes's business must have come under both categories, for within ten minutes of leaving his cabin, he was alone with the Captain in a private room and his host's manner was attentive. "I have just had a wireless from the President, Mor- rison; I am to go to Paris instead of proceeding to London. What do you suggest?" Arthur Morrison, Captain of the Morengaria, was quick in his reply. "Nothing can be done until we reach Southampton, Mr. Rinehart. We are due in port in twenty- four hours say three o'clock to-morrow after- noon. There is a boat leaves Southampton at 1 1 .45 the same night, arriving at Havre at seven o'clock the next morning. What I suggest is, that you leave the arrange- ments to me. You can stay in my own quarters when we reach Southampton, until it is time for you to catch the Havre boat. You need not worry about your trunks." "Perhaps it would be as well to wireless for a prome- nade deck cabin," suggested the man who had two names. THE LOCKED BOOK 109 "Certainly. I will have that attended to immediately." "I'm awfully obliged to you, Captain." The face which was remarkable for its immobility slipped into a companionable smile: Mr. James Forbes alias Mr. Washburn Rinehart, could be human when he tried, it seemed. The Captain accepted the proffered hand almost deferentially. "I am merely doing my duty, sir," he replied; "so long as you are aboard my ship, I hold myself re- sponsible not only for your safety, but for your per- sonal comfort." Once out of the Captain's room, the man addressed became the matter-of-fact prospective buyer of York- shire products. The world bounded by the steel walls of the Morengaria would have marvelled had it known the truth : being that, physically disguised, just sufficiently to deceive the average person, the name of Mr. James Forbes concealed the identity of the man who, next to the President himself, wielded most power in that most powerful nation, the United States of America. At rare intervals, Washburn Rinehart smiled at the fact that each morning a trusted valet who, ostensibly had no relation with him arrived at the cabin to change the contour of his face. Dwight had the trick of make-up. It savoured of melodrama, this business but it had been necessary God knew how necessary! His present mission was the most fateful one of all his career and every possible precaution was essential. Back in America the papers had been told that Wash- no THE BLACK HEART burn Rinehart, "the Power behind the Capitol," was holidaying in the Far East. Some of the Opposition papers had unleashed a gentle gibe at the expense of the Statesman in the White House, inferring that now the President would be able to govern without gaining the consent of his "sleeping-partner," or before signing his name to any measure. Washburn Rinehart was the human enigma of America. One could understand one of the world's richest men desiring power, but it was difficult to appre- ciate why such an individual as Rinehart, possessing both in almost terrifying quantities, should keep him- self resolutely in the background. Ever since he had made his influence felt in national affairs, he had re- fused to take any office whatever but it was common knowledge that the President made no move unless first he "talked it over with Washburn." It was what the Purser a sour-looking man with a ludicrously red nose styled a pig of a night. The Havre boat slithered and rolled in the contemptuous grip of an angry Channel. The dark decks were de- serted; and as Rinehart had no wish to show himself in the smoking-lounge that was a blaze of electric light, he kept to his cabin. Always a bad sailor, he decided to get straight into bed. He thought longingly of the comfort of the Savoy Hotel in London, where Dwight was already estab- lished by this time awaiting his return. What had caused Logan, his life-long friend and the President THE LOCKED BOOK in of the United States, to send that message at what was practically the last moment, he could not tell. Of course there was a very sound reason, but what? He must wait for the answer to that until he reached Paris, where he was due to arrive at 11.56 the next morning. One thing was certain : he would not be in Paris very long; the Business was to be done in London: that had all been definitely arranged. As soon as possible, he was going to pay his young nephew, Gilbert Chertsey, a visit. Ever since he had first seen this son of his only sister now, like her husband, dead he had taken a great interest in the young man's work. Like many other enormously busy men of affairs, Rinehart dearly loved a shocker and he had not only read every book that his nephew had written, but he had thoroughly appreciated them. Gilbert did not know of his arrival in Europe; he would take the young rascal by surprise. This grave man of affairs chuckled. The last time he had heard from his nephew, Chertsey had complained that he had run dry of ideas, and that he was afraid he would never be able to write another book. "I shall have to give him a bit of a line on this present business only all his readers will swear that the plot is too fantastic to be believed," he told himself. Making sure once again that his cabin door was secure, and that the small book beneath his pillow was safe, the man from America sank gently off to sleep. He awoke drowsily, to the sound of a winch rattling, ii2 THE BLACK HEART and realised that he was at Havre. With the whining of tackle from the quay side, the stertorous snoring of funnels and the excited cries of the French porters, came a knock on the door. It was the steward with his morning coffee. The weather was brilliantly fine, and Washburn Rinehart ate his breakfast with a hearty appetite: the murk of England had been replaced by the sunny smile of France. As he lit a cigar, Rinehart decided that Fate had not dealt with him so badly after all. It was five years since he had been in Paris, and, if his luck held good, he was due to arrive with the sun shining. Light- hearted, pagan Paris with the sun shining. . . . In that moment Washburn Rinehart did not feel his age. What man would have done ? Chapter XIII MOVES IN THE DARK SYLVESTER LADE, apart from running his Night Clubs, had a hand in many enterprises. Nothing came amiss to this shady character; dope-addicts could have their craving supplied by him at a price; foolish Society girls, thirsting for hectic excitement, could have their wishes satisfied also at a price. Amongst Lade's heavy correspondence fre- quently were letters from men in South American ports, who referred in their communications to "goods re- ceived, and quite satisfactory." The night or rather the morning after the incident at the Cafe of the Rosy Dawn, Sylvester Lade's thoughts turned towards two of these correspondents in particular. If it could be managed and he saw no reason why it should not he would be effectually rid of a girl who had become a nuisance. It could not be said that Sylvester Lade possessed a conscience, but he wished London rid of Ann Trent- ham. There were two reasons why he desired this, but the chief was that, wherever he turned, he found the girl present, and evidently keeping her eye upon him. 113 ii 4 THE BLACK HEART The bare fact of being watched meant nothing very much in his life. For years he had been one of the most observed men in London. It amused him to know that Scotland Yard kept a perpetual surveillance over him : there was nothing in being watched, provided you covered your tracks sufficiently well. But there was a great difference in being watched by clumsily-disguised detectives and by a girl whose eyes were a constant reminder of something he would like to forget. It was difficult to understand why Benisty had not moved in this matter himself. The possibility of Ann Trentham discovering anything was negligible, of course, but so long as she was in London, she con- stituted not only an annoyance, but a certain risk : she might make the acquaintance of men who, attracted by her beauty and inflexibility of purpose, would take up her case. That she suspected him was obvious; and if his con- nection with her father's business was once discovered, it might be extremely awkward. For that went beyond ordinary crime ; it was a State affair. The girl would have to be got rid of: he had told himself so many times before, and last night's affair increased his determination. After what had happened, he wasn't quite certain of that guitar player. The yarn the fellow had pitched about being a friend of Ann Trentham's might have been an invention concocted at the moment, but it was highly probable that if they were not acquainted before, the girl would now make MOVES IN THE DARK 115 a friend of the man. A friend, and perhaps a con- fidant. And then there was the other man Chertsey. How xn the devil had she got to know him? Benisty could be relied upon to control Chertsey, no TR. WASHBURN RINEHART blinked his |%/l eyes several times before he could really *-* assure himself that he was not still in that curious dream-state from which he had just emerged. He was in bed but this was certainly not his room at the Hotel Charles VII. This apartment was smaller, was differently shaped and the furniture was entirely strange. He had other curious impressions. The first was that he felt very weak so weak that, although he wished to get out of bed, he felt unable to do so: the effort would be too much. The second impression was that his head must have grown to several times its normal size and it ached abominably. Rinehart put up a hand and felt a bandage that commenced on his forehead and continued round to the back of his skull. What the devil ? And then he remembered: in a succession of vivid scenes the events of the immediate past became unrolled ; it was like the experience of watching a film of sensa- tional character. 194 RINEHART AWAKENS 195 The following five minutes was an exceedingly un- pleasant time for Washburn Rinehart. The first fact that burst upon his consciousness with stunning force was that he had fallen into the hands of enemies. That false swine, Rene de Guichard! He had been the tool employed. When he got away from this place wher- ever it was he would acquaint the American Embassy with the true character of this particular specimen of the French aristocracy. It was easy to recall everything painfully easy ! He had been standing at Gilbert's side in the baccarat room at Le Sport when de Guichard made him a sign. Not wishing to break in upon his nephew's pleasure no doubt, Gilbert was memorising the dramatic scene for later professional use he had moved quietly aside. Away from the throng, de Guichard took his arm. "Your Ambassador has rung up, Monsieur Rine- hart," said the Count ; "he left a message with me ; he wishes to see you immediately at the Embassy." He had not been suspicious for two very sufficient reasons. The first was that he was hourly expecting a summons from the American Ambassador in Paris, and the second was that he knew de Guichard to be a close friend of Hector Morrison. "Very well," he had replied; "it's a nuisance because I was enjoying myself here splendidly. But I must inform my nephew." M. le Comte raised a hand. "Permit me to do you that service," he urged. "I will give Monsieur Chertsey any message. And, pardon me, 196 THE BLACK HEART but Monsieur Morrison asked that you should go to him at once." By this time they had reached the cloakroom and an attendant, at a sign from the Count, had handed Rine- hart his overcoat, hat, stick, gloves and white evening scarf. "That's very good of you," the American replied; "I don't want to be a spoil-sport and Chertsey is having a thoroughly good time here thanks to you. My nephew is a novelist and " "He is always looking for 'local colour,' " supplied the other, with a flash of white teeth; "well, he should find it here. Permit me to have a taxi-cab called, monsieur." The man in bed ground his teeth. What a scoundrel that hound of a Frenchman had proved! "Will you kindly tell my nephew how sorry I am to have been forced to rush away like this?" he remem- bered saying to de Guichard; "if I am not back here within an hour, I shall return to the hotel." "I will tell Monsieur Chertsey immediately," had been the reply; "and, of course, I will make myself responsible for the entertainment of your nephew whilst he remains in the Club." "I am much obliged," he had answered. He had not been in the taxi-cab many minutes before he became vaguely uneasy ; the driver was either taking a very roundabout route to the Embassy, or he was going in an entirely different direction. RINEHART AWAKENS 197 When he rapped the window to attract his attention, the man, already driving recklessly, increased his mad speed. In a narrow thoroughfare the name of which he had not recognised, the cab momentarily slowed down, and he had seized the opportunity to open the window. "What the devil do you mean by not stopping?" he had demanded. The taxi was now proceeding at a mere snail's pace. The driver not replying to his question, he leaned farther out of the window of the cab and endeavoured to touch the man's shoulder. Before he could do so, however, the door on the other side had opened. The next moment he had felt himself seized violently, from behind, a woollen scarf which smelt atrociously had been thrust over his face and a crashing blow descended on the back of his head. He had remembered nothing clearly between that and the moment of his recent awakening. There had inter- vened a peculiar dream-state, in which he had exper- ienced or imagined? many curious sensations. One of these was that his nephew, Gilbert Chertsey, had come to see him, that he had recognised him, and had wanted to speak, but was not able to do so. What the thunder was the meaning of this mystery? He sat up, but the weakness in his limbs was dis- turbing. For the present he would be unable to leave this place unassisted. The door opened, and a man walked towards the bed. Instantly Washburn Rinehart recognised him. This man had been one of the persons playing a part in the i 9 8 THE BLACK HEART dream-state through which he had recently passed. He was a thin, insignificant, pale shadow of a man. "I say " started Rinehart, when the man held up a finger in warning. "You must not excite yourself, Monsieur Rinehart. You have met with an accident, and are still very ill. It is inadvisable for you to talk." Rinehart exploded. "Talk !" he exclaimed ; "don't be a fool ! I must talk ! Where am I and who are you ?" The pale shadow of a man remained imperturbed. "I am Dr. Thibau, a Paris specialist," he replied; "this is the Chateau de Montais, at Valcluse, twenty miles from Paris. It is owned by M. le Comte Rene de Guichard." De Guichard again ! But he must keep calm. He was gaining valuable information from this phantom of a man. "How did I get here?" he asked. "The last thing I remember was being attacked in a narrow street in Paris late last night, when I was on my way to the American Embassy. My friends there very influential friends they are will be making inquiries for me." He watched the other closely to see if the words had any effect, but the listener remained as imperturbable as before. "You were discovered lying unconscious in the mid- dle of the road just outside Valcluse," he answered. "The English gentleman, who is now renting the Chateau, was motoring home. He stopped the car and had you brought here. The local doctor was called in at RINEHART AWAKENS 199 once, but to be on the safe side, I was summoned by telephone from Paris." "I must say it was very kind of this gentleman what's his name?" "Sir Luke Benisty." A quiver that was caused by something more than excitement passed through Rinehart. His first impres- sions had been correct; it was into the hands of an enemy the most deadly and dangerous man in Europe that he had fallen. He looked at the pale face of the self-proclaimed Paris specialist and found himself hating the man. "How long have I been here?" "Exactly forty-eight hours. When found, you were suffering from a bad wound on the back of the head. This induced concussion and unconsciousness but you are making rapid progress." The patient contented himself with nodding. He was doing some hard thinking and what the other told him was merely a side-issue. The main fact was that this place belonged to the man whose malignant scheming in the underground channels of European politics he had been sent from America to denounce to the Gov- ernments of Great Britain and France. And that Benisty, the renegade Englishman, knew his true identity, was proved by this washed-out doctor if he was a doctor calling him by his real name. "Where is Sir Luke Benisty? I should like to thank him." Better a fight with the gloves off than this sparring in the dark. 200 THE BLACK H EART "I will inform Sir Luke." He bowed and left the room. As the door closed, Rinehart heard a click. He was locked in without a doubt. With the man gone, he made another effort to get out of bed. A very real fear attacked him as he found that the incomprehensible weakness in his limbs could not be overcome. Forty-eight hours of lying in bed could not of itself account for this peculiar lassitude. It was useless to waste time in self-revilement. Directly this man Benisty appeared he would demand from him certain things. The first was that he should be placed in instant telephonic touch with his nephew, Gilbert Chertsey. The boy, no doubt, was in a state of distraction owing to his disappearance. The door opened. Rinehart, even if he had not guessed his identity, would have been interested in the man who walked into the room. This International plotter bore unmistakable marks of distinction: he had an "air." The American envoy noticed that Sir Luke Benisty was tall, im- maculately groomed, and that, in spite of his supposed pure British descent, there were traces of an Oriental strain in him. The man's movements alone furnished proof of this; he glided with an incomparable grace rather than walked. What was more, he was a man who smiled only with his lips and not with his eyes. Nothing could have been more gracious than the manner in which he spoke. "I am delighted to hear from Dr. Thibau, the Paris specialist, that you are so much better, my dear Mr. RINEHART AWAKENS 201 Rinehart," he said; "may I assure you myself that this Chateau and everyone in it are entirely at your service?" In spite of the caution he knew was necessary, the American's voice was a trifle harsh as he replied. "If you are Sir Luke Benisty " the other bowed "I am very much indebted to you for your kindness. That doctor-man you call Thibau assures you that I am getting on fine, eh?" "I am very pleased to say that he gives a most favourable report of your condition, Mr. Rinehart." "Well, if that's so, I should like to know how he accounts for the fact that, although according to his statement I have only been laid up for forty-eight hours, I feel so weak that I cannot even get out of bed. I know what I am talking about," he added, truculently, "because I have made three separate attempts and have had to abandon each." Sir Luke Benisty's face wore an expression of com- miseration. "You need not be alarmed about that, Mr. Rinehart. You may have every confidence in Thibau, who has expressed to me his satisfaction in your condition. I will mention your complaint to him, however." "Please do. I need scarcely add that I am not anxious to intrude upon your very kind hospitality a moment longer than is necessary." "I assure you, Mr. Rinehart, it has been a real pleasure to me to have the opportunity of playing, in however slight a degree, the Good Samaritan." "Nevertheless, I wish to leave the Chateau at the 202 THE BLACK HEART earliest possible moment. Well, or ill, I must be in Paris as quickly as conveyance can take me. Will you please telephone the Hotel Charles VII and ask for Mr. Gil- bert Chertsey ? He is my nephew and I wish to speak to him." His host looked pained. "I will certainly ring up the hotel, and you can com- mand me in any other way you please, Mr. Rinehart, but I am quite certain that, in your own interests, Dr. Thibau will not sanction you leaving the Chateau so shall I say, precipitately? You must remember that those footpads " "Footpads?" Rinehart's voice was sharper. "Who else could have been responsible for your un- fortunate condition? When my chauffeur and I picked you up a mile from here along the Valcluse road, at five minutes past twelve the night before last, your clothes were torn and your pockets picked clean. Who else but footpads could have done such a thing?" "Well, let it go that they were footpads. That doesn't alter my decision to get to Paris with the least possible delay. I am very grateful to you, Sir Luke, but I am also very determined. If this Thibau man doesn't give his sanction, I must dispense with it. And now if you will kindly do that telephoning, I will try once again to get up and dress." His host bowed. "I should hate to feel that you remained my guest against your will," he said, coldly, turning to the door. Directly he was alone, Rinehart made his fourth RINEHART AWAKENS 203 attempt to get up. He swore in baffled rage upon find- ing that the strange lassitude of which he had com- plained still gripped him. Was he paralysed? So much strength had gone from his legs that he could scarcely move them In the bed. It was an intolerable position, and his face became bathed in perspiration as he realised its true significance. To all intents and purposes he was a prisoner. The whole thing, no doubt, had been subtly planned. If he had listened to Gilbert . . . but the papers were safe, at any rate: at least, they hadn't been on him at the time he was attacked. If Gilbert had any sense, he would immediately put them in a safe place after the remark he had made to him before leaving for Le Sport. His further reflections were cut short by the return of the man who posed as his host, but was really his jailer. Benisty was accompanied by the so-called Paris specialist. "I have put in a telephone call to the Hotel Charles VII," stated Benisty, "and when I get connection, I will inquire for your nephew. I should explain, how- ever, that Mr. Chertsey was not only informed im- mediately of you being here, but that he actually came to the Chateau yesterday. He was shown into this room by Dr. Dupont, the local medical man, who has been treating you under the supervision of Dr. Thibau, but as you were still unconscious he was not able to speak to you." Rinehart frowned. How did Benisty know Gilbert? |Ie did not like the thought. 204 THE BLACK HEART "Who informed my nephew?" "Le Comte Rene de Guichard is the owner of this Chateau. I am renting it from him. When you were brought here two nights ago, your identity was revealed by a visiting card the only thing the thieves had left and when I rang up de Guichard at his Club for him to recommend a doctor, he told me he was greatly dis- tressed because an American guest of his, a Mr. Wash- burn Rinehart, had disappeared unaccountably that evening after leaving his Club, Le Sport. De Guichard added that he had received from his friend, the Ameri- can Ambassador, some time earlier, a message asking for this Mr. Rinehart to go to the Embassy at once. Can you remember," the speaker broke off, "exactly where you were attacked ?" "Yes," replied Rinehart, curtly ; "so it was de Guich- ard who informed my nephew. I must thank him for that." He resolved mentally to let his gratitude take an unexpected form. Benisty remained silent, but Thibau now took the stage. "Sir Luke has informed me," he said in perfect Eng- lish, "that you wish to return to Paris immediately." "I do." "I regret that in your present weak condition, I cannot sanction you being moved. Monsieur Chertsey, when he comes, must act upon his own responsibility." Before Rinehart could reply, Sir Luke Benisty broke in. RINEHART AWAKENS 205 "Doctor," he remarked to Thibau, "Mr. Rinehart's bandage has slipped." "Pardon! Permit me, M'sieur." Thibau hurried to the bed. He re-arranged the bandage, and then felt for the patient's right wrist. "Let me see what your pulse is now, M'sieur." The grip which the man used was like a steel vice. Helpless to move through his weakness, Rinehart felt his skin punctured by a sharp prick. An hypodermic needle ! . . . They had drugged him again ! He tried to clasp Thibau by the throat with his free hand, but, with startling rapidity, an overwhelming nausea seized him, and everything swam blackly be- fore his eyes. Like a blown-out candle, consciousness went from him. Chapter XXI THE CLOAKROOM TICKET AN TRENTHAM, before she read the note the second time, made sure that the door was securely fastened. Since that attack two nights previously, she had scarcely stirred out of the hotel, and, apart from meals, had stayed mainly in her own room. She had recognised the writing on the stout en- velope instantly this was the second letter Gilbert Chertsey had sent her and, feeling positive that it was an important message, she went straight to her room before opening the letter. Now, with the single sheet of paper tightly held, she looked straight at the opposite wall, whirled out of her immediate surroundings by the words Chertsey had written : "Ann" (the note ran), "I am sending you this ticket because I dare not have it on me where I am going. It is a receipt for a small bag which I have deposited at the Consigne at the Gare du Nord. There is an oilskin packet in the bag, containing papers of the most tremendous im- 206 THE CLOAKROOM TICKET 207 parlance. L. B. and his crowd must not get th?.se. I am sending you this ticket in case anything should happen to me. "In great haste, "Gilbert." Now that the first shock of surprise had passed, she read the lines a third time more calmly. The phrase- ology was that of a man rendered almost incoherent by anxiety. No address was given, and the handwrit- ing was scarcely legible. Chertsey must have been very mentally disturbed when he wrote. She placed the commonplace cloakroom ticket away safely in her purse, before deciding what action she should take. The natural thing would be for her merely to keep the thing safe until Chertsey returned to claim it. But a phrase burned itself with vivid relentlessness into her brain : ". . . in case anything should happen to me." Why had he not told her where he was going? Was it in pursuit of his uncle, the American envoy, Wash- burn Rinehart? If so, why had he not said so in his letter? Then, looking at the hurried scrawl again, she realised that Chertsey, in his desperate haste, had con- centrated on the one important matter the safe custody of the ticket. Her mind ran swiftly on. "L. B." was Sir Luke Benisty, of course; and the papers "of tremendous importance" probably dealt with the complex Inter- national situation existing in European politics, and 2 o8 THE BLACK HEART concerning, possibly, the giant conspiracy she was out to defeat. She would assuredly see that her enemy did not obtain possession of them. But, with the resolution, came a haunting dread, a terrible fear : if Chertsey had been observed deposit- ing his bag at the cloakroom, the watcher would im- mediately report the fact to Benisty, and the latter with that subtle, scheming, Oriental brain of his, would in- stantly guess at the truth. It was certain that he would take immediate steps to obtain possession of the bag. It should not be difficult, seeing that he and Sylvester Lade who was also in Paris could employ between them some of the most dangerous criminals in the French capital. She must get that bag herself! Ann took a very careful survey before she walked across to the Consigne. The big departure station was crowded, as usual, and she might easily be watched; detectives were often interested in people who claimed l u gg a g e from the railway-station cloakrooms, and crooks shared this taste. It was possible that she might have to run the gauntlet of both, for Benisty, with his freakish mind, had possibly lodged a complaint with the police as well as instructing his creatures. Yet she had to take the risk, she decided, and, wait- ing until there was no one near the cloakroom, she walked quickly up to the attendant. The latter took the ticket, which she handed him, and went away in search of the article to be claimed. THE CLOAKROOM TICKET 209 "Merci, m'selle," he smiled, as Ann gave him two francs tip. "Pardon," said a voice behind the girl, "but that bag belongs to me! I dropped the ticket just now, and I saw this lady pick it up. She is a thief!" The man's French was cultured. He was furiously angry. Ann wheeled. She saw a man dressed in the height of fashion, and who had every appearance of being a gentleman. It was a cunning move a gendarme would be called, the charge of theft repeated and she would be arrested. The man, in the confusion and excitement, would seize the bag and disappear amongst the crowd. "You are lying," she retorted; "this bag never be- longed to you. You look like a gentleman, but you are a crook !" By this time a crowd had gathered; and, with a Paris crowd's infallible sympathy for a pretty woman, the throng commenced to mutter darkly. The man refused to be alarmed, however. He looked round, presumably seeking a gendarme. "I repeat that the bag belongs to me, m'selle," he said ; "I regret to have to make a charge against one so charming, but the ticket with which you have just claimed the bag dropped from my pocket-book a few moments ago, and you were seen to pick it up. I do not know what purpose you have in endeavouring to obtain possession of property which does not belong to you, but I must insist upon you handing over that bag im- mediately." "Pardon, messieurs and you, mademoiselle," broke in another voice; "I am from the Surete Inspector 2io THE BLACK HEART Levaigne. Will you please tell me what is happening here?" The accuser pointed to Ann Trentham. "I charge m'selle here with trying to steal that bag which belongs to me." "And your answer to this serious charge, m'selle?" inquired the Inspector, who had materialised so quickly. "It is a lie ! The bag belongs to me." "Yet," persisted the police-officer, very gravely, "this is such a serious matter that I am forced to take you into custody." He reached forward and caught the girl's arm. "Bien!" commented the accuser, "I will call at the station later and prefer the charge. In the meantime, Inspector, I am in a great hurry. There is an appoint- ment of the most urgent nature, you understand? that I have to keep. Please be kind enough to hand me the bag." The Surete Inspector shook his head. "That is impossible, I regret, monsieur. The bag must be taken to police headquarters along with m'selle." The thwarted man attempted to bar the way. "But this is intolerable ! The bag is mine, and I de- mand again that it be handed over to me !" "The law must come before your private wishes, I am afraid, m'sieur," was the firm response. "You are at liberty to come to the station now and prefer the charge in person." For reply the other, his eyes gleaming with rage, THE CLOAKROOM TICKET 211 lunged forward. His right hand, holding something bright, was uplifted to strike. Nemesis came swiftly; quicker than the eye could follow, the Inspector had darted under his guard and dealt him a crashing blow on the chin. The man stag- gered back as though he had been struck by a hammer. "Come, m'selle!" said Inspector Levaigne. His tone was so peremptory that the crowd melted before him. It was noticed that in his right hand he carried the small leather bag, over the disputed ownership of which there had been so much commotion. The Inspector signalled a taxi-cab, and, with his captive, was driven rapidly away. Ann Trentham turned to face him. There was a flush in her cheeks. "That was the coolest thing I have ever seen done !" she declared; "are you a magician?" Napoleon Miles quietly laughed. "Not guilty, Miss Trentham! There is nothing of the wizard about me. When we get to a quiet place where we don't stand much chance of being inter- rupted or overheard I will explain the mystery. There is a strong possibility of our being followed our friend behind is rather pertinacious, I am afraid so, if you will excuse me a moment, I will give the driver some fresh instructions." It was not until forty minutes had passed, during which time the taxi-cab performed amazing zig-zags, that the vehicle stopped. "This is the inconspicuous street in Montparnasse, 212 THE BLACK HEART where I am established at present," explained Miles. "I thought it better to stop here than at your hotel. Will you come up to my rooms for a few minutes, Miss Trentham?" The speaker's voice was serious. When the girl was seated in a small room on the second floor of this very unpretentious house in the heart of the old Latin Quartier, the man who had rescued her with such coolness from an exceedingly awkward situation, proclaimed himself. "We are allies, Miss Trentham," he said; "and the time has come for me to show my confidence in you. These are my credentials." He handed over a num- ber of papers which Ann studied intently before pass- ing them back. "I had an idea that you were in the United States Secret Service," she remarked. "As you say, Mr. Miles, we are allies and I'm glad, because I should not like for you to be on the other side." "You mean Sir Luke Benisty and his crowd." Miles' face had not lost its grimness in spite of the compli- ment he had been paid. "They have gained several im- portant tricks, but, as luck would have it, they just failed to gain the best of all." He pointed to the bag which was on a chair. Ann nodded. "Let us exchange confidences," she said. "I am not connected with any official service in England I am just a free-lance but, all the same, I have been work- ing on this thing for a long time now, and I have cer- tain valuable information." THE CLOAKROOM TICKET 213 "Tell me all you know," urged Miles. "Sir Luke Benisty is the head of a highly-organised society of crooks, blackmailers and others, which specialises in stealing and selling International Secrets. Benisty has become a millionaire in the process. He has as one of his principal associates in the British group, Sylvester Lade. Another worker in the same field is a man named Barrington Snell, equally repulsive, but not nearly so important from our point of view. "The trading in International Secrets started this Organisation which Benisty, perhaps because of a twisted sense of humour, calls The Black Heart, but out of this developed a sinister and gigantic con- spiracy " "You mean the alliance between Russia and Ger- many, which had as its purpose the turning of the whole of Europe into a madhouse," supplied her lis- tener. "Yes. Exactly what will happen if this conspiracy is not squashed, I do not know, but it will certainly mean England being engaged in her greatest war. It is the ruin of his country which is Sir Luke Benisty's ambition : he used to be employed in the British Foreign Office, but was dismissed. That was several years ago, but he has never forgotten. Mr. Miles," anxiously, "what did you mean just now when you said Benisty had won several important tricks ?" He looked at her with a face so grave that inwardly she trembled. "America was invited to come into this conspiracy, 2i 4 THE BLACK HEART as you have called it, Miss Trentham. There are seven men who practically control Wall Street and the United States money-markets. Four are German Jews, and their sympathies were with the plotters. Two others are wavering. The seventh Aaron Gumpter said 'No.' I do not want to frighten you, but I have just had a private cable to the effect that Gumpter was found with a bullet through his heart in his library yesterday morning." "Murdered?" "Undoubtedly." Napoleon Miles threw away the cigarette he had been smoking. "Have you heard of a man named Washburn Rine- hart?" he asked. Ann gave a cry. "Yes. He is Gilbert Chertsey's uncle you remem- ber Gilbert Chertsey? and he has disappeared!" "How do you know this?" The speaker's eyes were like slits of steely flame. "Mr. Chertsey told me so himself. It was two nights ago. And now " she stopped, unable to continue. "Where is Chertsey? I must see him at once." "That is what is worrying me," she confessed. "I don't know where Gilbert Chertsey is. All I know is what this note contains." She passed over the sheet of paper. "That came by post this morning," she added. "I don't know for certain, but I should say that Mr. Chertsey has got a clue about his uncle, and has gone off in search of it." THE CLOAKROOM TICKET 215 "Which will mean that in all probability he is, like Washburn Rinehart, a prisoner by this time, in the hands of Sir Luke Benisty!" commented Napoleon Miles. "It was to keep an eye on Rinehart that I crossed to Paris." "Who is this man Rinehart?" asked Ann. "The President's closest friend and the most im- portant man in America!" "And why did he come to Europe?" "To warn the Governments of England and France against the very man who now holds him a prisoner !" Ann gave a convulsive shudder. "And it is to try and save him that Gilbert Chert- sey has left Paris!" she said. "God help him!" "Yes," echoed Napoleon Miles solemnly, "God help him!" Chapter XXII IN THE CELLAR CHERTSEY, slowly opening his eyes, felt he must be dreaming. What was this place and how had he got there? Returning consciousness showed that he was in a kind of cellar. The place was stone-walled, and the cold, damp floor on which he was lying was covered with a foul green deposit. He sprang up quickly, fresh fear chilling his already numbed blood. In his ears beat a sound which he could only determine was sinister : it was the noise of rush- ing water, and it was very near. This cellar or dungeon could easily be flooded ; perhaps it had been used as the drowning-place of many a poor wretch in days gone by. Benisty ! That foul swine! if only he could get his hands upon him for just two minutes ! He would not ask longer than that. Realising how futile such an ambition must be, the novelist started to examine his prison. Now that full consciousness had returned, it was easy for him 216 IN THE CELLAR 217 to remember what had happened he had sat in a chair in a big upstairs apartment a barn of a place fur- nished as a library, which Benisty had said was his workroom and then, through the agency of some mechanical device, he had been hurled, chair and all, down what must have been a chute. Ingenious! The question he wanted answered was what was due to happen now? Quite evidently Benisty intended to keep him a prisoner but for what purpose? Was the arch-conspirator afraid that the disappearance of Washburn Rinehart would compel him (Chertsey) to break his oath and tell the authorities all he knew? Obviously Benisty did not want him roaming at large again. That was why he had been trapped. Pacing up and down that foul, flagged floor, Chert- sey had spirit enough to laugh. After all, the joke was on his side : he had fooled Benisty ! the oilskin packet, upon the contents of which hung the peace of Europe, could not be taken from him : it was safe ! Ann would realise the seriousness of that letter he had sent her she would guard the ticket closely. And as for Wash- burn Rinehart, at least he knew where he was he was in this very same Chateau ; a prisoner, true, but . . . Chertsey clenched his teeth determinedly; sooner or later he would get his chance to make a dash at getting away, and when it came, he felt himself pitying any- one who stood in his way. He looked up. As he had entered this cellar through the roof, there must be the same way out. But although he stood on the partially-wrecked chair, his fingers were 2i8 THE BLACK HEART not able to touch the dungeon roof dripping wet, like the floor. There must be a door. Damn it, he wasn't going to be allowed to starve, he supposed! Yet the only com- munication with the outside world, so far as he could discover after a close examination, was the small square, barred space serving as a window, high up on the right-hand wall. This was nearly two feet above his reach even when he stood upon the chair. The conviction that he would never leave that evil- smelling den alive crept over him like a stealthy- footed terror. "My God!" he cried. Then he felt his heart give a great leap; either his eyes were playing some trick off on him or a por- tion of the wall on the other side of the dungeon was moving ! Yes, there could be no doubt about it : a huge stone slab, reaching from the floor to the height of a man, was slowly widening. What was this? A trick? What did he care? He crouched back, ready to spring. His chance had come to attempt to escape. The blood in his veins commenced to tingle. When the opening was about a foot wide, a man's body wriggled itself through. Chertsey's staring eyes took in only two facts before he hurled himself forward like a human catapult. Thibau ! The visitor was that pale rat of a man who, in com- IN THE CELLAR 219 pany with another, had spoken to him on the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix on that momentous night not long ago. Thibau ! The swine who had been the means of his getting into this devil's stew. . . . That was the first fact his eyes told him. The second had been that the caller was armed: in his right hand was a revolver. This barked as Chertsey leapt. The novelist felt a red-hot dagger stab him somewhere was it in the arm? and then the fierce, unbridled joy of it! his fingers were round the man's throat. The rat squealed, as rats will squeal when cornered, and the sound seemed to Gilbert Chertsey to be the sweetest music he had ever heard. What had happened to him? He was filled with a blood-lust that would have been disgusting and nauseating a month ago but now he wanted to kill this squealing thing that writhed and twisted beneath his hands. Kill and kill ruthlessly. Chertsey had the strength of three men. He knew that the other never had a chance; when Thibau, giv- ing a last animal cry, fell to the filthy floor, the fight, such as it had been, was over. His face the colour of bad putty, this creature of Sir Luke Benisty remained still. The most gloriously satisfying sensation he had ever known came to Chertsey. He had perhaps killed this man what did that matter? and now was free! Free! He had only to slip through that opening, and A gasp broke from him. He was still in his prison. 220 THE BLACK HEART The stone slab had closed to again; in the struggle, either his body or Thibau's must have touched the hidden mechanism, and the barrier had glided back. God ! the bitter mockery of that moment ! He thought he must go mad! He clawed at the stone slab until his finger-nails were broken, and the blood gushed from the wounds. Then he turned to the man at his feet. But Thibau was beyond speaking : all the life had been temporarily squeezed out of him. He sagged like a sack of wheat when Chertsey raised him from that rotting floor. Yet he must make him speak: that was the only chance. Thibau knew the secret, and he must be made to tell it. "Wake up, you swine!" he cried, shaking the un- conscious man again. So desperate was his need that he did not realise how ludicrous the situation had be- come. He was still on his knees, trying to force life back into the man, when a sharp click made him turn. As he did so he realised how he had fooled his one chance away. He should have waited. Now the slab had opened again but the second man who had entered was on Chertsey's back a whole ton- weight of him it seemed and he was raining blows upon his head and neck with a murderous weapon that might be the butt-end of a revolver or an iron bar. The attack had been so sudden, so unexpected, and so silently ferocious that Chertsey was half -stunned be- IN THE CELLAR 221 fore he could rally himself. Then, his head buzzing as though a thousand bees had made it their hive, he con- trived to wriggle from beneath this fresh assailant. He saw a section of a huge, flabby face, topped by a pair of blazing eyes and finishing in a square black beard. M. Lefarge had come to see after his comrade! The man was beastly heavy and inordinately strong in spite of his ungainly girth. Moreover, he had a knife in his right hand, the long blade of which gleamed evilly in that murky light. Chertsey, remembering the revolver which Thibau had dropped, stooped, feeling for the weapon with a groping right hand. With a fierce, hoarse cry, Lefarge sprang at him. His left hand was outstretched to grasp, whilst the other was held back ready to give the coup de grace. Desperately Chertsey flung himself upright, and hurled his left fist into that glowing face. The next moment the two bodies were locked in a furious em- brace again, swaying and straining this way and that. The struggle soon proved unequal. Chertsey did not know that blood was pouring from the wound in the left shoulder where he had been shot by Thibau; all he was conscious of was a sudden alarming sensation of weakness a weakness that was overpowering. In that instant Lefarge must have got his foot behind his right heel, for he tripped; the novelist was unable to save himself, and he crashed to the floor. It was all over ! The terrible, ghastly, bitingly ironic 222 THE BLACK HEART truth flooded through his brain. To die in this cess- pool and at the hands of this bearded thug! . . . Lefarge had him now completely in his power and at his mercy. And the lust to kill blazed from his pig- like slits of eyes. No doubt the man had had his orders ; presently when it was over he would go upstairs to report to his master. . . . Ann! The last vision he had was of the girl's face looking beseechingly, it seemed, at him. Then the relentless pressure of the thick fingers at his throat killed what little life he had left. "I trust you are feeling a trifle more reasonable now and not quite so bloodthirsty?" With the mists lifting, with the triple racking agonies in head, throat and shoulder subsiding a little, Chert- sey looked into the face of Sir Luke Benisty. The Chief of The Black Heart was sitting on the arm of the partially-ruined chair; he was, as usual, immaculately dressed, and was smoking a cigar. On either side of him was a man wearing a servant's uniform, and each was holding a revolver. "Afraid to come on your own, cur?" snapped Chert- sey. The sight of this man, not only his own arch- enemy, but the arch-enemy of everything which was clean, decent, and orderly, filled him with an insensate madness. The smile on the finely-chiselled, aristocratic face be- came slightly more ironic; it was the only indication that the man addressed had heard. IN THE CELLAR 223 "You are a very foolish young man, my dear Chert- sey," he replied. He signalled to the two servants, and the armed men left the cellar. Chertsey strained his eyes to see how the mechanism of the moving slab worked, but was deceived by the quickness of the manipulator's hands. "In case you attempt any further nonsense, Chert- sey," the voice of Benisty broke in, "I must warn you that I have a revolver myself." The novelist did not reply. All the physical strength seemed to have ebbed out of him. His brain was razor- keen, but his body weakness made him sprawl inert. The wound in his shoulder throbbed abominably. The temptation to hurl taunt after taunt into the calm, mocking face of his enemy was almost over- whelming, but he resisted it. As Benisty had said, he had been a fool: it was time he tried to reap some benefit from his folly. Instead of talking he would listen. Coming to this resolve, he endeavoured to settle himself more comfortably, his back against the fester- ing wall. Sir Luke Benisty was not long silent. He blew a thin, reflective, admirably- formed smoke-ring from his cigar, and then looked attentively at his prisoner. "The time has arrived for me to talk of certain things. In the first place, it has become increasingly clear to me that you have played the traitor to my Organisation. This, I need scarcely say, is most dis- tressing. As you were warned at the time you joined The Black Heart what the inevitable penalty for treach- 224 THE BLACK HEART ery would be, however, you can have no just cause for complaint. That you will be severely punished is in- evitable; even if I myself were inclined to show clemency, others interested in this er enterprise, would rule against me." Waiting, perhaps, for a reply a reply which was not forthcoming the speaker continued: "There is possibly one way but one way only in which the Grand Council of The Black Heart may be induced to take a more lenient view of your con- duct." "And that?" interjected the prisoner. Sir Luke Benisty leaned forward. "Where is the oilskin packet which you took from the room of Mr. Washburn Rinehart at the Hotel Charles VII?" he asked. The man was a consummate actor, but now, for once, he was betraying himself. The finely-drawn nostrils were quivering, the hand that held the cigar shook, his whole attitude displayed a consuming anxiety. Chertsey, in spite of the resolve he had so recently made, smiled. "Goto hell!" he said. Sir Luke Benisty took a long, deep-drawn breath. "I am, in the normal course of events, a kind-hearted man, Chertsey," he said, "but I would advise you not to try me too far. An ancestor of Le Comte Rene de Guichard, from whom I am renting the Chateau, was somewhat abnormally-minded. He had a passion of ill- treating any of his peasants who chanced to displease IN THE CELLAR 225 him. A regrettable practice, of course, but in days gone by these things happened. In the adjoining dungeon is a highly interesting collection of well, I suppose the correct term would be 'instruments of torture.' I trust, Chertsey, you will not force my colleagues of the Grand Council to employ certain of these upon you. From what I have seen and heard of them, they are very distasteful implements. It would be infinitely more wise on your part to tell me straightaway where you placed that oilskin packet?" The speaker's tone was suavity itself, but under- lying the words, lurking just behind the courteous man- ner, like a jungle-beast, was a stealthy menace. Sir Luke Benisty at that moment was a human snake, treacherous, evil, deadly. "What do you mean oilskin packet?" His inquisitor shrugged his shapely shoulders. "Since you will persist in being dense, my young friend a stupid procedure, I may add I will explain more fully. When your uncle, Mr. Washburn Rine- hart, arrived in Paris, he had with him certain papers. These, I have every reason to believe, he carried in an oilskin case." "Indeed ! and how do you know this ?" Sir Luke smiled. "I have my means of information. May I proceed? Thank you. My colleagues and I are rather indeed, I can go so far as to say we are very anxious to obtain possession of those papers and we wish you to tell us where they are. I have come for that purpose." 226 THE BLACK HEART "Which is the reason I was trapped here and thrown into this cesspool of a cellar, Benisty ! Well, you have already had my reply, but in order that you shall fully understand, I'll tell you again go to hell!" So much for his resolution: at the sight of that hateful, sneer- ing face, he felt every fibre of his body tingling with rage that seethed and boiled beyond his control. He was only waiting for a little strength to return, and then revolver or no revolver he was going to settle matters once and for all. Benisty gently shook his fine head. He seemed to experience regret at such language. "You are not very polite, Chertsey. But we have means, as I have already hinted. And, quite apart from these interesting implements thumbscrews, pul- leys, boots which but I will not harrow you and that highly-ingenious, old-time instrument called euphemistically 'the maiden/ I would remind you that your uncle is in an upstairs room, and has no means of escape." Gilbert Chertsey slowly, and with infinite agony of body, heaved himself up. Benisty, curious as to what he would do, took his right hand out of his coat-pocket. The revolver which it held twirled idly. "I admit you hold most of the cards at the moment, Benisty," a level voice answered, "but you can't win and you know it! Yes, smile your devil's smile, but I repeat: you know it! Because if you win in the end, everything which is clean and sweet and decent in the world at the present time will perish and, frankly, IN THE CELLAR 227 I cannot believe that. If you win, it will mean that black-hearted traitors like you will triumph over men who believe in their country, and who would die for it if necessary. But you won't win, Benisty," Chertsey went on, his voice rising until the oozing walls flung back the sound, "you haven't the trump card!" The other threw away the stump of his cigar. "On the contrary, my dear Chertsey, the trump card is on its way here now!" he replied. He rose, and gave a sharp whistle. Immediately the stone slab moved aside, admitting the two servants. "I will leave you to more calm reflection, Chertsey," remarked Sir Luke Benisty. With three revolvers pointed menacingly at him, Gil- bert Chertsey realised the complete helplessness of endeavouring to escape. Chapter XXIII THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE AN TRENTHAM continued to look at Napoleon Miles. "What are we to do with this ?" she asked, pointing to the small leather bag that Miles had now placed on the table. "I have a suggestion. It is that we place it in my bank. I would suggest yours only I do not like the idea of you holding the receipt. You have committed your- self irretrievably with Benisty and his crowd, and they are not the sort of people to have any scruples. I should feel much easier in my mind, in fact, if you were entirely out of this affair, Miss Trentham." She dismissed the suggestion with a slight but em- phatic movement of her hand. "That's impossible," she told him, "impossible, for a good many reasons, one of the chief being that I believe either Sir Luke Benisty or Sylvester Lade, or perhaps both, were responsible for the death of my father. No, Mr. Miles, having gone so far, it is useless to try to prevent me being in at the death." She changed the subject. "Do you think we ought to see what is in- side this?" she asked, picking up the bag. 228 THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE 229 "We will give Chertsey another forty-eight hours. If he doesn't turn up within that time, I will take the bag to the American Embassy and tell them the facts. If it's at all possible, however, I should like to see this thing through on my own. To a certain extent I am responsible for Washburn Rinehart's present position; you see, one of the reasons why I came to England was to keep a more or less unofficial eye upon him." "He never went to England. 5 '" "No. My belief is that some spy a member of The Black Heart, of course in Washington, got hold of the President's private code and cabled Rinehart fresh instructions while he was still on the boat. As a con- sequence of that, Rinehart went direct to Paris without going to London, his original destination. And talking about London, Miss Trentham, are you still quite sure you won't return to England ? I understand your point of view, of course, and I admire your spirit you have given me plenty of opportunity to do that, remember ! but you are likely to be a very important pawn in this game. Do you realise that?" "Yes but you cannot persuade me, Mr. Miles, that I should be doing my duty better in London than in Paris." He briefly nodded. "Very well: but in view of the tremendous danger which surrounds you this isn't the time to mince words, Miss Trentham will you agree to keep to your hotel as much as possible? I want you to leave the 23 o THE BLACK HEART active reconnoitring work to me I am used to it, and, moreover, it comes into my job "And when you get a clue something to work on?" she asked, eagerly. "I will let you know immediately." "And then I shall insist upon accompanying you. Haven't I already told you that I intend to be in at the death? Please remember that I'm not exactly a child," she continued; "I have travelled throughout Europe, and had to penetrate places which were not supposed safe for a woman whilst I collected the first information against The Black Heart." Miles appraised her radiant charm in a swift, com- prehending glance. This girl, but for her striking in- dividuality, looked more like a famous Society beauty than a worker in the dubious world of underground intrigue and crime. Heigho! but Life was full of paradoxes and contradictions. "I promise you that," he said; "and now I think we had better go to the bank." She stood up. "Suppose we were followed here?" she asked. Miles went to the window which overlooked the nar- row street. "We must take that risk. I don't think it likely be- cause we doubled on our tracks fairly well, but," putting a hand into his coat-pocket, "I have a revolver and I shall not hesitate to shoot if anyone becomes too inquisitive." As it happened, the journey to the bank, undertaken THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE 231 by taxi-cab, was accomplished without mishap. So far as Napoleon Miles' quick eyes could detect, moreover, no one appeared to be taking any undue interest in them. The manager of the important bank off the Grand Boulevard was most willing to oblige, and Ann and Miles saw the bag deposited in the bank's strong- r oom before they left. "Even if another person should present this," ex- tending the receipt, "you are not to deliver up that bag," Miles said to the manager ; "in no circumstances what- ever is that bag to be surrendered except to myself. Is that understood?" "Clearly," was the reply. Both Ann and Nap Miles unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged into the daylight. "That should be safe now from friend Benisty even if he does try a gigantic bribe," remarked the American. "Yes," agreed Ann. She would have gone alone to her hotel if Miles had not insisted upon accompanying her the short distance to the Rue Caumartin. In the lounge, rilled with English-speaking, matter-of-fact- looking people, they said good-bye. "You will remember your promise?" were Nap Miles' last words as they shook hands. "I will wait for your message, Mr. Miles," was the answer; "should I get any clue myself I will leave a note." "All right but, please, do not be too anxious to 2 3 2 THE BLACK HEART obtain any information yourself; this is essentially a man's job." "Women have their uses sometimes," she replied in friendly dismissal. Alone, Ann went straight to her room. The public rooms of the hotel were over-heated, as usual, and the chatter of the occupants badly jarred her nerves just then. It was with an unconquerable feeling of con- tempt that she regarded her fellow-guests: these prattling, nonsensical women, what hold did they have on real Life? What purpose did even the men fulfil? Suppose she told them of the tremendous events in which she was moving and having her being they would only stare and think she was mad ! Fools ! She was glad to be undisturbed the solitude and quietness of her own room were wonderfully soothing. Reaction had come, and she wished to be alone; she wanted to think. Ann Trentham became very much the woman as she sat in that easy chair, looking dully at the wall before her. She was no longer the reckless spirit who had risked so much High Adventure in pursuit of a purpose that had been the dearest thing in Life to her. She was now just an ordinary girl. Ordinary because, her soul stirred, she was thinking of a man and at the thought of him her heart throbbed within her breast. She could not forget that she had been the means of sending Gilbert Chertsey to what might prove his death. Perhaps he was already dead. The vision stabbing her like a sharp sword, she gave a short THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE 233 moan ! Oh, God, not that ! anything but that ! He must still be alive ! she must see him again ! Her brain tried to give her the assurance that, even without her intercedence, Chertsey would have been dragged into this affair. Hadn't those men, Lefarge and Thibau, approached him of their own account? Wasn't Washburn Rinehart his uncle? Then her heart answered: knowing the terrific dangers attached, she should have used all the means in her power to keep him free from this evil. Instead, she had appealed to the very quality which Gilbert Chertsey, in spite of his innocuous profession, possessed in abundant degree. Sitting there, communing with her soul, Ann tried to satisfy that furious questioning by replying that after all, Gilbert Chertsey had played and was playing a man's part in this maelstrom into which he had been thrown. If a man's country were in danger, dire danger, as England undoubtedly was now, oughtn't he to take a chance, oughtn't he to risk his life if needs be? No, not his life ! Again, as that horrific vision came, she cried out in protest, putting up her hands to shut out the sight. She tried to think of the world which would be hers when this Evil had gone, when Benisty and all the rest of that plotting army had passed into the hands of Justice, and Peace should come again. It would be a world of sweet-smelling flowers and quiet, but wonder- ful joys. Ever since her father's death she had been so obsessed by getting her revenge that she had spared 234 THE BLACK HEART no time or thought for anything else. Now, if Gilbert Chertsey loved her, as she believed he did, existence would take on a new significance. Life would be jewelled with simple pleasures such as she had never known. They would not want for money she had heaps and to spare for the both of them. With a quick revulsion of feeling she was glad now that there was this bond, this tie, between them. It would be a link that would last for the rest of their lives. If only Gilbert was still alive! If only he would be spared from the shambles which might start at any moment ! Dead! She could not think of that would not think of it. . . . A knock sounded on the door, causing her to spring up excitedly. Her nerves were getting the mastery of her: she must guard against that. "Entrez" she called. A uniformed porter, opening the door, bowed. "M'selle is required to speak on the telephone." "Merci. I will come at once." "Bien, m'selle." It must be Napoleon Miles, she decided, as she lifted the receiver, but the next instant her heart leapt into her throat. The voice she heard was that of the man she had feared was dead. "Is that you, Ann, dear?" "Yes! yes! Tell me, are you all right quite safe? I have been so anxious about you thank you for ring- THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE 235 ing me up now!" What did she care if he read her secret; she was too full of joy. There came the sound of a pleasant laugh from the other end. "Yes, darling, I am quite all right you can stop worrying about me. But, listen, I have wonderful news! I have discovered where my uncle is!" "Wonderful, indeed! Can you tell me anything else or is it too dangerous, do you think, over the tele- phone?" "Listen, Ann," came the answer. "I dare not say any- thing more now. But I want you to join me to-night, will you ?" The voice sounded almost hysterically eager. She replied without stopping to reflect. "Of course! Where do you wish me to meet you?" "I want you to get a private car and drive to a vil- lage named Menilmont, which is to the north of Paris about twenty miles out. Any driver will know the route. I am staying at a small hotel, Les Fleur de Lys, and I will be waiting for you. I have some more inquiries to make this afternoon and to-night or I would come to fetch you. If you leave your hotel after dinner say at 8.30 you ought to get here by half-past nine. Darling, I'm dying to see you and to tell you my news !" "I'll be there at half-past nine, Gilbert." She tried hard to keep her voice steady, but it was very difficult. Still, why should she care? In that eager, boyish tone she had grown to love, he had called her "darling." "Gilbert." But no reply came, and she was obliged to hang up 236 THE BLACK HEART the receiver. There were many questions she would have liked to ask him, but no doubt he knew best: it might be dangerous for them to discuss such an im- portant matter as the disappearance and subsequent discovery of an International diplomat over the tele- phone. She must tell Napoleon Miles, however ; in doing so, she was merely redeeming the promise she had made. Yet repeated telephone calls to the flat at Montparnasse elicited no reply. Miles, evidently, was busy in the out- side world, working on whatever clues he might have been fortunate enough to pick up. She would leave a note, as arranged ; no doubt Miles would call that night. Sitting down at once, she explained what had hap- pened. Sealing the envelope, she waited until the last moment before leaving it with the hall-porter at the hotel bureau. The under-porter, when he heard of her require- ments, quickly arranged for a private car to be outside the hotel at eight-thirty ; and, stepping into this, carry- ing only a small dressing case, she abandoned herself to a spirit of joyous anticipation. As the miles slipped away beneath the smooth-running wheels of the well- driven car, her feeling of elation increased. Although the speed of the car was considerable, yet the time seemed interminable. Never once did any doubt assail her : it was Gilbert Chertsey's voice she had heard over the telephone, and she had complete confidence in the man who had called her "darling." THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE 237 Suddenly the car pulled up in the dark road with a jerk. She had arrived. The next moment the doors on either side were flung violently open. A number of men poured in. The scream which had risen to her lips was stifled by a vile-smelling cloth, reeking of some noxious drug, which was thrown instantly over her head. She endeavoured to struggle, but it was hopeless. The last recollection she had was of a man by her side chuckling obscenely as the car moved forward again. Chapter XXIV THE MEET THE wolves who were to ravage Europe, de- spoil France and ruin England, had met. They were seated in the huge, sparsely- furnished room, fashioned as a library, in the Chateau Montais. Sir Luke Benisty, the one-time trusted official of the British Foreign Office, was their host. He had as his assistant his fellow renegade, the over-mannered French aristocrat, M. le Comte Rene de Guichard. God only knew what unexpected strain of vileness had placed the latter in that gallery but there he was : mincing, bowing from the waist, excitedly gesticu- lating. They were a strange company bizarre and terrible. Baron von Gotze was there. You know Baron von Gotze ; at least, you have heard of him seen his photo- graph in the World's Press. His square, Prussian's face was then invariably masked in a disarming smile. "Pity us we are stricken. But we have learned our lesson, and shall not offend again." That was what the disarming smile of Baron von Gotze meant to convey. Von Gotze, you will recall, was at Geneva, also at 238 THE MEET 239 Locarno. At both places he was the mildest-mannered Prussian who ever slit a human throat. See him now, sitting, an honoured guest, in the library of the man who, by every law and instinct, should have been a deadly enemy. He is truculent, gross, brutal, overbearing the hog is showing its bristles with M. le Comte Rene de Guichard bowing and scraping before him. . . . With Baron von Gotze, representing his country, is von Scheidemann. The face of von Scheidemann is not so familiar to you: he is an underground worker. He was highly placed in the German Secret Service during the War. After the Armistice, it was officially stated he had been demobilised from these activities, but actually he was sent to France, there to organise an even more intensive system of espionage. How many poor devils of Frenchmen he snared into his net, only the official records will show. France protested, but von Scheide- mann had a post at the German Embassy and many alibi. Siegmund von Scheidemann, lounging near his superior with a contemptuous grin upon his ruddy face, made a worth-while study. He was a curious mixture of the aristocrat (as they know the breed in Germany) and the complete cad. He affected a tremendous scorn of anyone not born in the purple and yet he stooped daily to acts which would have shamed a common thief or lowest criminal. A man cannot lie in the gutter without having the traces imprinted in his face. Von Scheidemann had a 240 THE BLACK HEART drooping right eye-lid which gave him the manner at times of the slimiest thing that walked. But then, he was that and something more. These were the Germans. On their left were their allies God save the mark! Petronovitch, Sobinov, Zybsco, the so-called Pole: the blood- wallowers, the mass-murderers, the men who had ordered thousands of men, women and even children to be tortured, simply that their sadist-lusts might be gratified. These three ruled Russia, all the same and they were the allies of that secret and plotting Germany which, through the long years, had been preparing under the very eyes of the nations who were supposed to have disarmed her. Coarsely arrogant, Conrad von Gotze now held the floor. He addressed Sir Luke Benisty. "You say the man Gumpter is dead?" he asked. Benisty nodded. "I took it upon myself to give the order," he re- plied. "Good!" was the grunted rejoinder; "the man had been given sufficient time. Now what about Marx and Scholz?" "I have not heard apparently they are still de- liberating." The Prussian smashed his fist heavily down on the table. "Cable immediately you know to whom: the same man who killed Gumpter, if you like. Those who are not with us are against us. I would have sworn by THE MEET 241 Marx and Scholz I know them both; met them only a year ago in Berlin but if they won't come in, they must be got rid of : they know too much." That leader of the world's progress, Zybsco, the so- called Pole, turned Bolshevist mass-murderer, spat noisily. It was a habit he had. "And this man this cursed American, Rinehart doesn't he know too much, eh?" he snarled. A chorus of approval greeted the words. These men, saturated with slaughter, thought only in terms of blood. Sir Luke Benisty lifted a hand. "Mr. Washburn Rinehart certainly knows a great deal a very great deal," he replied, "but I would re- mind you, gentlemen, that he is here, under our con- trol, and that his information is not likely to be dangerous to us in consequence." Von Scheidemann turned his monocled eye to the speaker. "Why did he come to Europe has he told you that?" he asked in a rasping voice. Benisty, keeping his temper with admirable restraint, smiled. "We know why he came to Europe at least, we can guess. Someone Gumpter, perhaps spoke rather too freely of what he knew. As a result, the President sent this Mr. Washburn Rinehart, his most intimate friend, and the 'second most powerful man in America,' as the newspapers are so fond of describing him, to England, with the intention of interviewing my friends 242 THE BLACK HEART of the British Government. You are already aware, gentlemen," with a short but justifiable smile of self- satisfaction, "that Rinehart never went to London. In consequence of a certain cable message, received before the boat arrived at Southampton, he turned round and came straight on here to Paris where I had previously made plans for his reception. If any of you would like to see him, he is only three minutes' walk away." Sobinov leered. So had he leered a thousand times when superintending the good work of the Soviet Cheka. But, while he was leering, the coarse voice of Baron von Gotze broke in. "Where are his papers? He must have brought papers- documentary proofs. No Government, not even those damned fools, the British, would give him credence on his bare word. Invincible in their conceit, they would merely smile in the damnably polite way you have yourself, Benisty and show him the door. Where are this man's papers, I say?" The man addressed was observed slightly to change colour. "When he arrived here he had no papers. The room in his hotel had previously been searched, but nothing was found." Baron von Gotze rose, stamping the floor. "You're keeping something back, Benisty; there's the proof of it in your face! Gott in Himmel, do you think you can fool us ? Why, I would tear the life out of your throat with my bare hands " He started for- ward, as though to carry out his threat. THE MEET 243 Benisty stood his ground. In that moment of crisis, for all his black treachery, he showed his breed. "You're talking damned rubbish, von Gotze," he replied. "Let me remind you that this affair would not be ready to be launched in a few days' time were it not for me. Mine has been the organisation. If this man Rinehart brought papers to Europe, then all I can say is they are not to be found." The answer seemed partially to satisfy the angry Prussian for, growling, he resumed his seat. Petronovitch, an incredibly dirty person with a long, black, snaky beard, through which he ran grimy fingers continuously, threw the cigarette he had been smoking into the fire. "What does it matter?" he demanded; "this man we can always kill him ! We can kill him before we go. But let us have no more empty talk now that we are here, we must discuss the final plans." The chairs of those who hoped to ravage Europe, despoil France, and ruin England, scraped forward. Washburn Rinehart tossed uneasily in his bonds. God! if he could only get his hands free so that he might have a chance of escape. How long had he been imprisoned? It seemed a lifetime an eternity of brain-racking anxiety. The wonder was he had not been driven mad. The whole of Europe was swaying unconsciously on the edge of a tremendous precipice and he was the only man who could avert the disaster! Which 244 THE BLACK HEART was the reason he was in his present predicament, of course. Why didn't they kill him ? They would have to before he would tell them anything. At least, he had the grim satisfaction of knowing that they were puzzled and worried. They knew that he had come to Europe for the purpose of warning the Governments of Great Britain and France against their damnable plotting but they were uncertain as to what he had done with the proofs which they believed he had brought with him. So much was plain. He was very weak they had not only kept him from food, but had injected their devilish drugs but he seemed to have some recollection of having seen Gilbert Chertsey. This idea persisted, although he told himself that it could scarcely be true. How could Gilbert pos- sibly have found his way there? He was still puzzling over this problem when the door opened. Four men entered the room. The first, who walked in front, he did not recognise. He was an enormous figure of a man, with a pronounced stoop, and an exaggerated style of dressing. He wore an extremely-waisted coat with peg-top trousers, and a large fob dangled from a waistcoat pocket. The man looked like a grotesque modern reflection of a Georgian dandy. "Ah ! So glad to see you're awake," this person said, approaching the bed. He spoke with a lisp, and in a voice that seemed weighted with all the boredom of the THE MEET 245 ages. "I've brought someone to see you, Mr. Rinehart. Please do not allow his condition to distress you." Washburn Rinehart, looking beyond the speaker, gave a cry of horror; dragged along by two men, one holding either shoulder, was Gilbert Chertsey! The latter looked a physical wreck, as though he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. There were lines in his pale, worn face, which had not been there a few days before, and his eyes held a look of unutterable horror. "What have you done to him?" demanded Rinehart. "Gilbert don't you know me?" he called to the stricken man, but the reply he got was a blank stare. The tall man with the stooped shoulders flicked a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. "We have been perhaps I should explain first of all, however, that I am the secretary of Sir Luke Benisty. Sir Luke at the moment is much concerned with other important matters or he would be here himself. As I was saying, we have been under the painful necessity of applying a slight measure of force to Mr. Chertsey, who is, I believe, your nephew, Mr. Rinehart. He was stupidly obstinate, and " "You have tortured him, you swine!" The other made a gesture of dissent. "I dislike that word 'tortured': it is so blatant; so crude. As an educated and cultured man, Mr. Rinehart, you will understand my aversion from any word which is in the nature of being crude. You see, I write essays, belles lettres, poems and " 24 6 THE BLACK HEART "Why have you ill-treated my nephew?" broke in the American. Barrington Snell, after delicately wiping the tips of his abnormally long fingers, replaced the silk handker- chief in his coat. "I wish you to understand, Mr. Rinehart, that it was only with the utmost reluctance that we were obliged to resort to ah, certain measures with your nephew. He, as I have already stated, was obstinate, stupidly so : he refused to state what he had done with certain papers papers in an oilskin packet, I understand which were entrusted to his care by you on the evening that you paid your visit to Le Sport." Rinehart saw the trick immediately. But he quickly answered: "You're barking up the wrong tree, you fool ! Mr. Chertsey knew nothing about my papers he never even saw them ! No wonder he did not talk he had nothing to say !" The other seemed impressed. He frowned. "Then it comes back, apparently, to the former situation, Mr. Rinehart," he remarked, in a tone that was full of menace; "you alone know the present whereabouts of the papers and please do not delude yourself any longer that you will not be forced to tell. What has been done to this fellow here," flicking a contemptuous if weary hand in the direction of Chert- sey, "will be a small affair compared to ... but I will leave you to the anticipation." He made a sign, and the two warders dragged Chertsey out of the room. Barrington Snell paused at THE MEET 247 the door to give the American envoy a ceremonious bow. Rinehart cursed as he tugged afresh at the bonds which were immovable. Starved, drugged and now to be tortured ! Well, let the devils do their worst : he would die rather than give them any satisfaction. Chapter XXV FACE TO FACE WELCOME to the Chateau de Montais, my dear Miss Trentham!" She would have known that hated voice any- where; moreover, ever since she had awakened from that chloroform-induced sleep, she had been preparing herself to meet Sir Luke Benisty. The man now stood before her, bowing ironically. Her head was still swimming, but she managed to stand. "Having murdered and ruined my father, you now kidnap me. For what object?" He looked at her intently. Then, shrugging his shoulders: "Since you know so much, my dear Miss Trentham, why should I attempt to deceive you? Your father was a traitor to his country ; and, although I did not kill him myself as you somewhat naively suggest I admit I caused him to be punished. I considered it to be my duty to do so." Although she felt herself shaking from head to foot, Ann kept her voice steady. "I have travelled many thousands of miles, and spent the past eighteen months of my life endeavouring to 248 FACE TO FACE 249 solve the mystery of my father's death," she said so steadily that the eyes of the listener involuntarily flashed her a look of admiration, "and now I have succeeded. If it was not your own hand that killed my father, yours was the mind that conceived and ordered his death. You talk of duty you, the vilest traitor that ever disgraced the name of 'Englishman/ But Nemesis is waiting for you, Sir Luke Benisty. A short time now, and not only your Black Heart organisation, which exists for trading in International secrets, but this conspiracy to plunge Europe into another war will be exposed and your precious plans blown sky-high ! And, thank God, something of the credit will belong to mei I have waited and waited but I can see my revenge rapidly approaching now !" This revelation, it was clear to the girl, had evidently startled Benisty, but he pretended not to be affected. "You are talking melodrama, my dear Miss Trent- ham a deplorable thing to do," he commented. "Let us assume for a moment that there is something in the wild statements you have made; you should not allow it to escape your notice that I happen to hold the cards. Not only is Mr. Washburn Rinehart I presume, since you claim to so much knowledge, that you are aware who Mr. Washburn Rinehart really is? in my safe keeping but so is his nephew, Mr. Gilbert Chertsey. My information, my dear Miss Trentham, is to the effect that of late you have allowed yourself to become very much interested in this young man. Naturally, you will be wondering how you were so foolish as to imagine 2 5 o THE BLACK HEART it was the voice of your may I go so far as to call him lover? that spoke to you on the telephone this afternoon? Since I hate to see so charming a creature wrestling with a perplexing suspense, I will tell you my little secret. Amongst my entourage here is a man by the name of Lefarge. Included in his many accomplish- ments is an ability to imitate in the most realistic manner the voice of anyone he selects. I understand his performance this afternoon was particularly good." "It was clever, Benisty," the girl admitted, "very clever. Yet I do not think it will do you much good." "No?" "No. I'll tell you the reason. You spoke just now of holding the cards. You certainly have many trumps, but the most important card of all is held by a stranger someone quite outside your circle of acquaintances. And you can have this additional information : if Gil- bert Chertsey is not back in Paris alive and unhurt within the next twenty-four hours, this man will act. And he has as much power as you, Benisty !" The man smiled, although the news clearly was not palatable. "Perhaps you yourself, Miss Trentham, are in the position to supply the information we require," he replied; "believe me, if you can, you would be well advised to do so. Especially in the interests of Mr. Gilbert Chertsey," he added, significantly. "The only information I propose to give you, you already know." She would not allow him to frighten her. FACE TO FACE 251 "That is definite?" "It is quite definite." "Very well. Allow me to say, Miss Trentham, that I think you are a very foolish young woman to speak" he paused "to your future husband in that manner." She was shaken out of her defiant mood. "What do you mean?" she demanded, hotly. Sir Luke Benisty made her a ceremonious bow. "I had two objects in having you brought to the Chateau, my dear Miss Trentham," he replied. "The first was to ensure that you should do no further harm, or be allowed to interfere with my plans, and the second was that, having long entertained a very warm affection and admiration for your charming self, I proposed to marry you." Ann looked at him as she might have regarded a snake in a garden-path. "That is the stupidest possible remark you could have made. Don't you realise that I would rather take my life than allow you to touch me?" "Talking of suicide, Miss Trentham," Benisty said, "there are some quite good rocks on the north side of the Chateau. An ancestor of the man from whom I am at present renting the place had rather an ingenious idea : he had a chute fixed up, so that when he wished to get rid of one of his enemies and he had several he merely placed the man on the chute and had him propelled into the valley three hundred feet below. Afterwards one of his servants went down and cut the ropes with which the man was bound, the authorities 252 THE BLACK HEART were informed, and it was given out that yet another unfortunate traveller had met with his death through slipping on the ill- famed rocks at Montais. I only men- tion this because " "Because you think you can intimidate me with regard to Mr. Chertsey. But you are merely wasting your time." "We shall see," replied Benisty, going to the door. A minute later Ann, her reserve strength gone, burst into a paroxysm of weeping. Chapter XXVI AT THE LAPIN BLANC SERIOUS? Yes, it's serious and something more," replied Napoleon Miles; "but don't lose heart, Bill ; now's the time to bite on the bullet, old son." "What exactly is the position so far as you under- stand it?" asked that harassed-looking Foreign Office official, the Hon. William Summers. "I have been sent over to Paris to make some inquiries because there are some damned funny rumours going about Whitehall." Napoleon Miles signalled the wine-waiter they were sitting in the famous Taverne Royale on the Rue Royale and gave his order. Then he turned to his companion. "The rumours are nothing compared to the truth, Bill," he answered; "all the predictions you made at Rimini's that day when we were lunching together, concerning your friend Sir Luke Benisty, have been realised. Here's an item of news you can take straight to your people at the Embassy: England's on the eve of the greatest and most terrible war in her history !" "Good God! What are you talking about, man?" demanded the other. 253 254 THE BLACK HEART "I am telling you the straight, simple truth, Bill. Within the next forty-eight hours anything can happen. The only way in which the disaster can be averted is for us to discover the present headquarters of Benisty he was in Paris quite recently, and he cannot be very far away now." "How do you know?" "I know through people who saw him. Three persons who had either an interest in Benisty or who unfortu- nately interested this precious swine, have mysteriously disappeared one of them being a girl! By the way, you know her." The Hon. Bill put down his glass. "You don't mean Ann Trentham? the girl we saw at Rimini's that day? I heard she was doing some Secret Service work on account of her father, and that she suspected Benisty." "The same. She and I had become allies. She told me definitely she had a reason for trailing Benisty but now she's vanished from her hotel, and the only clue proved false. Benisty has got her, of course but where where? That's the question." The British Foreign Office official rose. "I must get away," he said. "The atmosphere of this place is suffocating. I must go to the Embassy. France is being dragged into this thing, I suppose?" "Yes she will be in such a position that to keep out will prove impossible." "All the police and the Secret Service people must be employed what are you going to do?" AT THE LAPIN BLANC 255 Napoleon Miles smiled. "Get back to your Embassy, Bill I am going to make a few inquiries on my own." The two parted at the Place de la Madeleine. At eleven o'clock that night a man attired as one of the most dangerous types of Paris Apache looked out of a window in a tiny flat at Montparnasse. He gazed long and appreciatively, for the thought came that he might not see this spectacle fascinating and stimulat- ing as it was again. With the million lights twinkling, Paris appeared before him as a jewelled garment stretching further than the eye could see. The watcher took in all the familiar landmarks - the twin towers of Notre Dame, the imposing majesty of the Invalides, the graceful beauty of the Eiffel Tower, the more sombre shadows of the Church of St. Sulpice, and St. Genevieve, whilst, catching the eye almost immediately, was the up-flung black dome of the Pantheon. Reluctantly the watcher turned away. An hour later just as midnight was striking he was in the quarter of the true Apache, and he had only the trustworthiness of his disguise, and the use he could make of the knife and revolver he carried, to save him from a particularly nasty death: the wolves of Paris' criminal underworld are not partial to strangers. They have a freemasonry of their own which is very jealously guarded. 25 6 THE BLACK HEART It was only after much difficulty that the adventurer discovered the place of which he had come in search. This cafe, above which flaunted the sign AU LAPIN BLANC, was his destination. It was hidden in the shadows, and had a furtive, sinister appearance which accorded well with its repu- tation. Miles, after making sure that his weapons were ready to hand, passed through the entrance and down some cellar steps. He adopted the slouch of the Apache he was impersonating as he walked into a long, crowded room. Instantly a battery of keen, inquisitive eyes were directed at him. For all his carefully-considered make- up amongst other things he was wearing a dirty grey sweater buttoned to the chin, and a cloth cap pulled well down over one side of his face he was a stranger and, therefore, a subject of overt suspicion. Napoleon Miles was used to tight corners, but his heart thumped uneasily as he sat down at an empty table. This twenty- foot-long cellar was crowded with criminal riff-raff. Agents of the Paris Surete would have been extremely interested in the men and women dancing in the centre of the room had they been courageous enough to penetrate into this den. Some of those drinking crude alcohol were but boys. These, however, were merely the apprentices the real AT THE LAPIN BLANC 257 craftsmen, the "professors," were the men lounging against the grimy walls or talking round the small round tables which encircled the dancing floor. Most of these men were dressed in black, and, beneath the huge peaked caps, the leaden pallor of their vicious faces showed up in striking relief. The women made up for the sombre dressing of the men by wearing jumpers of every colour in the rain- bow green, scarlet, orange, mauve : these flared vividly in the garish atmosphere. The conversation at the next table became hushed into a suspicious silence as the newcomer, beckoning a coatless waiter whose shirt sleeves were almost as dirty as his face, ordered a glass of that pale beer which is so popular with the Apache who wisely discards the forbidden absinthe or the almost equally potent cognac. With every nerve alert, Miles sipped his beer a vile concoction and stared moodily at the shifting crowd of dancers. He was determined to stay, although his presence might cause an explosion at any moment. Before he was aware what had happened, someone had joined him. It was a girl in a flame-coloured sweater, unmistakable in her type and class, and yet possessing a certain illusive, indefinite charm. "Buy me a drink," she said without preamble. For answer Miles signed to the grimy-sleeved waiter. "Brandy," ordered the girl. Napoleon Miles became acutely conscious that the arrival of this girl at his table had strengthened the 258 THE BLACK HEART original hostility. Btit he was forced to await events. "You do not know this place?" asked the girl, sipping her drink. "No," he answered, "I come from Menilmontant. They do not seem to like strangers here." "There was a police-spy un mouchard here last week. He was dressed as an Apache. They found him out. Of course, he was killed." Blowing a cloud of smoke, she vouchsafed the information. "That is why they look at you with the eyes so hard and cold, stranger," the girl continued. "But so long as I am with you, they will not dare to do anything! Come, let us dance. It is the Chaloupe." He realised it would be dangerous to refuse, although he had very little idea of how to dance the famous Apache measure ; all he knew was that the dancers held each other by the throat and swayed sensuously to the music. The next minute he was out on the floor. The orchestra of two a guitarist and a violin-player struck up a fresh tune, and the dance was on. For a few moments the disguised Secret Service man forgot his worries. His partner was a born dancer, and, being naturally light on his feet, he soon learned the trick. The girl's face was flushed as they went back to their table, followed by a hundred questioning eyes. "We will dance again," she said in compliment. By some weird chance Miles realised that the recognised queen of that underworld den had become AT THE LAPIN BLANC 259 interested in him. This interest might have a sinister interpretation, of course ; the girl possibly had been sent to spy, and try to learn his business. When he looked up again, this view was strength- ened by seeing three men crossing the floor. Their sullen, lowering expressions warned him, and he would have risen from his seat as they neared the table if the girl had not touched his arm. "Do not show any fear," she said; "I am with you." By this time the foremost of the men had reached the table. He was a brute-beast of a man with a hor- rible, bloated face, covered with bristles, and a mouth full of broken teeth. The fellow's coarse lips broke into a snarl as he saw the girl's hand resting on her companion's arm. "Who is your new friend, Germaine?" he sneered. "Find out!" was the snapped answer; "ask him yourself." The unshaven brute leered unpleasantly into the face of Miles. "What are you doing in the Lapin Blanc?" he ques- tioned. "Having a drink. Go to hell!" reolied Miles in the same argot. At the same moment he rose with the swiftness of a panther. Something had snapped inside him. The vile breath of this man was nauseating. Flinging his body forward, he hit the fellow clean on the jaw with his clenched fist. It was the action of a madman, but he felt he did not care. 2 6o THE BLACK HEART The next instant pandemonium broke out. Cries and curses tore the air. There was a rush in his direction. The Apache who had been struck was lying senseless on the floor ; some of those who sought to avenge him stumbled over his body as they ran. But the man who had been standing on his left drew a knife. With a vile oath he leaped straight at Miles. There was a bewildering flash of some bright colour. The sound of a shrill, animal-like scream followed and then a burst of applause that threatened to lift the roof off that reeking cellar. "I told you I was with you," said the girl Germaine. Looking at her, Napoleon Miles was forced to blink his eyes: she was wiping the blade of a long knife, which was dripping blood, upon the inside of her short skirt. The man who had attacked him was retreating across the room, and someone was already bandaging his right arm. "You hear! Papa Faucine, the patron, is cheering me for what I have done," said Germaine, with the air of a pleased child. "There will be no more trouble. They know now that you are my friend. They will not molest you again." Strange as was the situation, the girl seemed to have spoken the truth. Not only was he left alone, but Miles noticed that the crowded company appeared to have a new respect for him. Half-an-hour passed, and then a great shout went up. A man standing at the entrance to the dance- room was ironically bowing his acknowledgments. AT THE LAPIN BLANC 261 "C'est M. le Cure!" announced Germaine, jubilantly clapping her hands. As Napoleon Miles heard the voice, he stiffened mentally to attention: here was the very man he had come to meet ! Chapter XXVII "M. LE CURE" A STORM of applause broke out afresh as the man came into the room. These dwellers in the criminal underworld clustered round, giving him a vociferous welcome. Even the dancing stopped. The girl by Napoleon Miles' side emitted a shrill cry. "Gaudet!" she called. At the sound the newcomer turned in her direction. Napoleon Miles, seeing him now quite clearly, felt a shudder of repulsion this man carried sheer wicked- ness in his face. He bore with him an aura, an atmos- phere of unspeakable evil. And the girl Germaine had called him "M. le cure"! . . . The man was now only a yard away from the table, and Germaine had rushed to meet him. It was a horrible spectacle, but Miles mastered his rising gorge. "This, Pierre, is a new friend I do not know his name " "Bonet Francois," supplied Miles. "And this is" she burst into a rising tide of laugh- ter "M. le cure." The title seemed to appeal to the 262 "M. LE CURfi" 263 speaker as being irresistibly funny. "But, come, this is an occasion Pierre here does not often favour us we must have something to drink." It was Napoleon Miles who paid for the refresh- ment. Vile as this newcomer looked, yet he was the very man for whom he was searching the Paris sewers of crime and he had been fortunate enough to find him without much difficulty. Gaudet poured a glass of brandy down his throat as though it were water. Then he rose. "First, a dance, Germaine!" he said. The girl darted up. Her eyes were blazing. It was sickening, and yet what followed gripped the watcher with an irresistible, if morbid, fascination. The orchestra of two had started another dance- tune. It was a tango this time, and the throbbing, puls- ing strains acted on the habitues of the Lapin Elanc like an intoxicating drug. The dance which Miles saw was not the tango that society drawing-rooms or even the more advanced night-clubs knew ; it was purely elemental and primitive, and the dancers abandoned themselves to its wild emotions. The girl Germaine underwent an astonishing change. Formerly she had been comparatively civilised, but directly Gaudet caught her to him in the first passion- ate ecstasy of the dance, she became a savage. It was no wonder that the almost incredible Gaudet had selected her as his partner. The final revelation came when Miles saw her lips pressed tight to those 264 THE BLACK HEART of her partner as, with their bodies bent double, she and the ex-priest flung themselves into a yet quicker movement. Miles had seen the tango danced in South America and in Spanish ports, where the blood mounts quickly, but he had never witnessed such a scene as this. To give a more macabre touch, the lights constantly changed now they were green, then white a mockery of a colour ! and then again a blood-red which made the swaying figures, uttering hoarse, guttural cries and shrill, hysterical screams, look like denizens in the Bottomless Pit. At last, with a final mad tempo of the music, this devil's dance was done. Panting figures leaned against each other in sheer physical and nervous exhaustion before slouching back to their different tables. "What did you think, my friend?" asked Germaine, with a tantalising grimace. "It was remarkable !" replied Miles. Germaine acknowledged the compliment with another grimace, before bursting into a ringing laugh. "Yet, who would expect a priest to dance the tango?" she said. Miles endeavoured to look bewildered, and no doubt succeeded. "An ex-priest, ma mie," commented Pierre Gaudet. His voice was hoarse and strained. The girl laughed again. "You are a stranger to the Lapin Blanc," looking at Miles, "and so you do not know the story of Pierre. "M. LE CRUE" 265 He was a priest that is why everyone still calls him 'le cure' but, there was an 'accident' . . . He fell in love but why go on, my friend?" Why indeed? Napoleon Miles, hating himself, smirked in hypocritical appreciation. "Come, talk, Pierre ! Why are you so glum ? Anyone would think that you were going to the Knife?" Urged thus by the girl, the ex-priest, who was already half-drunk, plunged into a flood of reminis- cence. Man of the world though he was, Napoleon Miles would have risen and left the place but for a remark which Gaudet made after his fifth brandy. "And there is another job for me to-morrow night/' he boasted. "I who am now in unholy orders, have to go to a certain nobleman's chateau, there to perform a pleasing ceremony for an English milord." "You are to perform a marriage ceremony is that it?" questioned the girl Germaine. "Assuredly!" smirked the ex-priest. "It will not be strictly legal, you understand but what of that?" "And this English milord he will pay you well?" asked Napoleon Miles. His tone, admirably controlled as it was, must have reflected something, for Gaudet regarded him suspiciously. "I don't know you," he said, with a foul, blistering oath; "keep your questions to yourself!" "Sacred name of a dog!" expostulated Germaine. "Have I not already answered for Fra^ois here? Of what are you afraid?" Gaudet emptied his glass. 2 66 THE BLACK HEART "I was not to talk," he said, "and here I am talk- ing . . ." Napoleon Miles leaned across the small table. "I have no wish to know your business, my friend," he said; "that class of thing does not appeal to me. I would rather stick a knife in a police-agent's throat that is more in my line. But the night is young and there is plenty left to drink !" Under the soothing influence of more raw brandy, Pierre Gaudet mellowed to such an extent that he forgot his suspicions. An hour later he and Francois Bonet left the cafe together. Chapter XXVIII THE WIRELESS MESSAGE SLOWLY Chertsey returned to consciousness. The horrors of the past few hours had made him long for death, but the instinctive desire to live reasserted itself as his eyes took in the familiar sight of his prison. They must have flung him back into the cellar like a sack of coal after that damnable torture, for he lay sprawled upon the floor. How much had he told ? Not much, he was convinced, for it had been a case of his will against Benisty's, and he had resolved to hold out. He recalled reading once how much it took to kill a man, and, fired afresh with the desire to live, he felt new strength returning to him every minute. The swine would still have him to reckon with by God! if he only had one real chance A faint click caused his brain to be on the alert. Caution told him to remain still, to feign unconscious- ness. A part of the cellar wall, only a foot or so from his head, commenced to move to open Through this aperture glided a man. Chertsey, look- 267 2 68 THE BLACK HEART ing with half-closed eyes, saw that it was one of the chateau servants. The fellow held a revolver and looked round cautiously. What his object was in coming to the cellar was not plain perhaps he had been sent to ascertain if the prisoner was really dead. But when he saw the still form on the floor, he relaxed a good deal of his caution. "They've killed him!" Chertsey heard him mutter, and then the hireling, as though to make sure, stepped further away from the opening and into the cellar. The next moment the man was bending over him. He had to act quickly, and he dared not fail. Remem- bering a trick that was prevalent when he was a boy at school, he shifted uneasily as though in pain, and then drove his clenched fist into the hollow at the back of the man's left knee. The result of this schoolboy's ruse was entirely suc- cessful : taken unawares, the man pitched forward, and his foot stumbling against Chertsey's body, he fell headlong. Instantly the novelist attacked him, pressing a knee into the man's back and getting a grip on his throat. His desperate need made him ruthless and he remem- bered what he had suffered from Lefarge. The man squealed and struggled, but most of his courage had been knocked out of him by the sudden- ness of the attack, and it was not long before he lay still. The first thing Chertsey did was to secure the re- volver which had dropped from the man's hand. With THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 269 this held ready for use, he slipped through the opening, and, noticing the lever which controlled the mechanism, closed it carefully behind him. He found himself in a long and broad stone cor- ridor, smelling dank and stagnant. What a place to imprison a man ! It was almost impossible to credit that he was really free of that pest-house, and he stopped for a few moments to allow the truth to flood through him. When he moved forward he had two resolves. The first was to reach Washburn Rinehart, and the second to sell his life after that as dearly as possible. There were six bullets in that revolver, and he guaranteed that each of these should find a proper home. But first he had to get into touch with his uncle. He might wait in that chilling corridor and kill six men with a little luck; but that, apart from satisfying his burning sense of personal vengeance, would serve no useful purpose; ultimately it was inevitable that he would be re-captured. Imprisoned in that cellar, he had not been able to count the passing of time, but he knew that every minute was valuable. The enemy must be pushing for- ward their plans, and any moment the blow which was to convulse Europe and turn it into a gigantic shambles might fall. At the other end of the corridor was a small winding stone staircase. Waiting for a few moments, but being reassured by the deep silence, Chertsey commenced his journey into the enemy's lines. He expected every 270 THE BLACK HEART second to hear the thud of footsteps, but the stillness was so intense that the whole Chateau might have been deserted. Reaching the top of the staircase, his questing eyes saw a labyrinth of passages. By the close, fusty smell which prevailed, he guessed he was still underground. He stopped again. There were a dozen ways he could take and each one might lead him into irretrievable danger. Nevertheless, he had to go on. Acting on impulse, he turned to the left. A moment later, he could have shouted : at the end of this passage was a massive staircase leading upwards. Gripped by an exulting excitement, he started to climb. Barrington Snell sidled into the presence of the man who owned him body and soul. "He still refuses to talk," he said. Sir Luke Benisty looked up from some documents he was examining. "I am very much afraid this Rinehart person will have cause to regret his obstinacy," he remarked ; "send Thibau to me, will you?" Ten minutes later Benisty and the pale shadow of a satellite whom he had described as a Paris specialist, stood looking down at the American envoy. "I am reluctant to disturb you again, Mr. Rinehart, but the truth is, time presses. Moreover, I am not concerned alone in this matter; those who work with me have given their vote and I am obliged to carry out their wishes." THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 271 The man bound to the bed glared. "What the devil do you want now?" he demanded; "let me tell you once again, Benisty, that every minute you keep me here against my will, so does your own peril increase. The Secret Services of Great Britain and France will be combing Paris for me." Sir Luke Benisty politely stifled what might have been a yawn. "Permit me to remind you once again, my dear Rinehart, that this is not Paris. In this Chateau, fring- ing a great forest and situated in a particularly inacces- sible region, you are as remote from the Paris, where certainly a search may be proceeding for you, as though you were in the wilds of Newfoundland or Canada. But enough : as I have already said, time presses ; and I did not come here to bandy words." The bound man continued to glower, but he made no further comment. "What you are requested to do, Mr. Rinehart," the voice, silky before, was now almost a snarl "is this. We want a full and detailed account of the exact reason why you came to Europe; together with full data of the proofs you brought. The papers in the now notorious oilskin packet not being forthcoming, you will have to rely upon your memory. Be careful that does not fail you for, by God, if it happens to do so in the slightest degree, you will suffer for the lapse." The answer came in a choking gasp. "You will get nothing from me, Benisty. You have tortured my nephew, and perhaps by this time have 272 THE BLACK HEART killed him, but I can tell from your manner that he has not talked. Like me, he recognises that countries come before men in a crisis like this do your worst, you dog, and be damned to you !" It was a courageous speech for a man of late middle- age, desperately weak through want of food, lack of sleep and previous torturings, to make, and Benisty recognised it. But time pressed, and he had received his definite and very explicit orders from the Germans and Russians who ruled over him. . . . He signed to Thibau, who came quietly to his side. "This man," he told Rinehart solemnly, indicating the pale shadow, "has studied the human anatomy ; he used to be an assistant to a famous Paris nerve- specialist. He knows a great deal about pain how much the human system can stand, for instance and how to inflict it. For the last time, Rinehart, I give you your chance. Refuse, and " "I do refuse!" "You are very foolish. Now it is just a question of time. I have a notebook here, and in it I shall write the answers you will give me to various questions. Thibau. . . ." But before the slinking, pallid-faced torturer could apply his fiendish persuasion, a man burst violently into the room. It was Sobinov. The Russian carried a paper in his hand, and was almost distraught with passion. "Leave this fool now, Benisty!" he cried. "I want to see you on a vital matter." THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 273 The wild light which had been in Sir Luke Benisty's eyes died down. He made a sign to Thibau, who slipped away. A minute later, Washburn Rinehart was alone: Benisty had followed Sobinov out of the room. The American groaned and then remained still. The door was opening quietly and cautiously. A man who looked merely the ghost of his former self came noise- lessly to the side of the bed. "Gilbert!" "Hush!" came the warning reply; "they had me locked in a filthy cellar and I have only just managed to escape. Uncle, I'm going to get help I'm going to get you away." Rinehart answered quickly. "I do not matter, boy what does matter is pre- venting the hell which these devils are brewing from breaking loose. Where is that oilskin packet? Safe, I hope? You didn't have it on you?" "Don't worry about that, uncle : it's safe." "You must send a message to the American Embassy, Gilbert." "Yes but how?" Washburn Rinehart's worn face reflected his eager- ness. "They have wireless near here. I have often heard messages being sent. Seems to come from this direc- tion," glancing to the left. "Wish I could tell you exactly where it is " "Don't worry; I'll find it." "You must not be caught here !" hoarsely whispered 274 THE BLACK HEART Rinehart, in a sudden frenzy of apprehension. "Do you know anything about wireless? how to send a mes- sage, I mean?" "Yes, thank the Lord ! Last year I thought of writing a wireless novel, and I studied the whole business pretty thoroughly. Had a course of special instruction. Look here, what shall I say?" "Bend down : I'll tell you the code words." It was a tense situation. But both forgot the chance of being interrupted in the urgency of the moment. "Repeat what I have said !" said Washburn Rinehart ; and when his nephew had done so, he added the one word: "Good!" "Uncle," said Chertsey, as he rose to go, "I am leaving you this revolver. If the worst comes to the worst " He stopped, before continuing: "Directly I have sent off that wireless message I intend to leave the Chateau somehow or other so that I can get help. But if I don't succeed " Again he paused. "I understand, my boy. But what about yourself?" "I have another gun," lied Chertsey. Half way to the door he stopped. "What a fool !" he said. "I forgot you could not use your hands." He rapidly untied the rope which bound Rinehart's hands and arms. "If they come in, kid them that you are still helpless," he went on; "hide the gun beneath the clothes." "Good-bye, Gilbert." The novelist bent down and touched the speaker's forehead with his lips. THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 275 "I'll do my best, old chap," he promised. Once outside he turned quickly to the left. So far as he had been able to ascertain from observations made during his long climb upwards, he was now in one of the turret towers of the Chateau. Walking down the passage, which was flanked on either side by many doors, he heard faintly the unmistakable sounds of "wireless." That crackling noise fired him with a won- derful buoyancy. He located the door, and quietly opened it. The man with his back to him was so absorbed with his instru- ment that Chertsey was inside the room before the operator was aware of the intrusion. The fellow jumped up quickly, his hand groping for the revolver which lay on the small table to his right. The man's fingers never closed on the weapon, for with a silent but deadly spring, Chertsey leapt. Before the cry which welled to the other's lips could be given utterance, the novelist's fingers, used by this time to such work, closed round the man's throat. Two minutes later the wireless operator lay an inert mass on the floor. Chertsey's first task was to lock the door, and then, marvelling at his self-possession, he commenced to strip the uniform from the unconscious man who was wear- ing the same livery as the Chateau servants. He was reluctant to spare even these few minutes, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that the door he had locked was stoutly made and likely to resist any attack for some considerable time. 276 THE BLACK HEART Before seating himself at the instrument, he looked round the room. There was a large curtained recess in the far corner, and to this he dragged the body of the operator whose upper clothes he was now wearing. By the side of the unconscious man he laid his own clothes which by now had become thoroughly disreputable. The curtains re-drawn across the recess, he rushed to the instrument. Hesitating for a moment to recall the words of the private code, he then sent the message, which was destined to save Europe from a ghastly fate, into the ether. Half way through the message, he started convul- sively. Someone was hammering on the door. To hell with them whoever it was ! He continued at his task. That done, he decided on a bold strategy. The only way out of that room was through the door and that was the route he intended to take! Turning the key in the lock, he flung the door suddenly open. A man whose face was livid rushed in. He was cursing fluently in a foreign tongue, but apart from this was not a pleasant sight. "Why did you not open?" he demanded, fiercely. Standing sideways to the door, Chertsey swiftly backed, pulling the door hard after him. The key which he had been holding in his right hand was inserted in the lock, turned and then withdrawn. The next moment he was racing down the passage, the furious cursing of the imprisoned man lending him speed. A caution born out of the terrible responsibility that rested upon him made him slacken into a normal walk THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 277 as he turned the corridor. The journey to the outside world was fraught with sufficient danger without draw- ing unnecessary attention to himself. Unless he met Benisty or one of his intimates, his servant's uniform should allay any open or casual suspicion. Descending the first flight of a noble staircase, he noticed a tray holding glasses standing on a small table outside a room from which issued the sound of voices. That tray might be valuable camouflage. Picking it up, he proceeded down the winding stairway. He had descended two more flights when, turning a corner, he found himself confronted by a paunchy per- son who was possibly a butler. This man blazed away at him in voluble French. The only part of the tirade that the novelist could understand was why he, the nameless son of a nameless mother, hadn't used the service stairs. His face averted as much as possible, Chertsey walked on with a muttered "pardon!" A hand fell heavily on his shoulder. "You're not Guilliame! who in the name of ten thousand devils are you?" The inquisitor's voice was strained by suspicion. Chertsey felt it was useless to reply in words. There was not time for that. Besides, he realised that any verbal answer was sure to be unsatisfactory: his ques- tioner, who must be the major-domo of the Chateau, had thought at first that he was on the household staff, but had now been undeceived. Chertsey's left knee shot upwards. It met the butler's stomach with agonising impact. The man's hand re- 278 THE BLACK HEART leased his grip on the tray, which fell with a crash to the stone floor. He could not afford to walk any longer: he had to run! And, with the outraged butler shrieking behind him, he took to his heels. The situation might have been comical in any other circumstances. Taking the remaining stairs three at a time, Chertsey knocked aside a man who tried to detain him, and made straight for an open door. Darkness had already come, but through that door he knew lay Freedom. He emerged into a circular space. At some little dis- tance away stood a long, lean motor-car, whose engine evidently possessed tremendous power. A car ! With that he could reach Paris. . . . A man wearing chauffeur's uniform came running towards him, but he swerved like a Rugby footballer, reached the door of the giant roadster and flung himself into the driver's seat. A series of verbal explosions from the chauffeur mingled with the roar of the engine as Chertsey un- leashed its power. The car shot forward like a grey thunderbolt. Nar- rowly escaping a collision with one of the great stone pillars at the end of the drive, the escaping man took the corner on the rims of two wheels, and, with a challenging roar, sped into the narrow road. Chertsey had travelled perhaps ten miles before it occurred to him that he might be going away from Paris instead of approaching the Capital. Preoccupied, THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 279 he failed to notice a warning horn-blast that came from the left of a network of crossroads. The next moment a red-coloured monster tore into the side of the purloined car; he felt himself lifted high above the deafening crash of the impact, and then everything was blotted out. Sir William Bagot, British Ambassador at Paris, looked across the big mahogany table at the group of grave-faced listeners. "We must find these men," he said, impressively. "It is not too much to add that the lives of millions depend on our rinding them and finding them soon. Thank God, we can avert the greater mischief the possibility of our being taken entirely by surprise but who knows what further devilry these people may be brewing ? And there is the fate of Mr. Washburn Rinehart to be con- sidered. Gentlemen, we must act promptly." M. Paul Lenoir, the Chief of the French Secret Service, threw up his hand in a gesture of despair, peculiarly Gallic. "Have we not done everything possible, Sir Will- iam ?" he asked ; "Paris has been combed but there is no trace of any of these men. Perhaps they are all out of the country by this time." The important representative from the American Embassy sprang from his chair. "Rinehart must be found! The President is raising all kinds of hell with us," he declaimed. "And when we find Mr. Rinehart, we shall find the 2 8o THE BLACK HEART keys to all the remaining puzzles," replied Sir William Bagot. M. Paul Lenoir gesticulated animatedly. "One cannot discover what is not there," he declared. From his manner he might have been meeting a charge of incompetence. Without ceremony the door burst open and a man rushed into the room. He was wild-eyed with excite- ment. It was the Hon. William Summers. "I know where the swine are to be found, sir!" he cried, looking at Sir William Bagot. "I've just come from the American Embassy. They've received a mysterious wireless message." The British Ambassador did not forget his early training as a diplomat. "Sit down, Summers," he remarked, quietly, "and explain what you mean." The Hon. Bill remained standing as he burst into a fresh flood of excited talk. Chapter XXIX BENISTY SHOWS HIS HAND FOR perhaps the fortieth time, Ann looked round her prison. This was a small room, perched high up. So much she was able to see out of the one barred window. To the left stretched a dense forest, to the right the cliffs of sinister memory which Benisty had mentioned. And somewhere in this same Chateau was Gilbert Chertsey awaiting a fate so horrible that it revolted the mind. She considered the question : Could she by any sacri- fice save Chertsey's life? No doubt Benisty would listen or pretend to listen but he would be bound to be faithless to his bargain. He was that type. The only chance rested with Napoleon Miles. Had he gone to the hotel in the Rue Caumartin as arranged ? And had he been given her note? If by any chance that note had miscarried or fallen into the wrong hands, then all hope was gone. With so much at stake, Benisty would be entirely ruthless. The thought brought a memory back to her a recol- lection so grotesque and yet so revolting that she felt her heart stop beating for a second. 281 282 THE BLACK HEART What was it Benisty had said? He had had her brought to the Chateau to marry her! ... At the time she had thought little of it the notion was so impossibly fantastic that she could not take it seriously. And then her indignation had kept her courage up to boiling point. But now, there was a locked door, a barred window and a strongly-defined sense of ap- proaching disaster to keep her blood chilled. It was this waiting which was so numbing, so nerve- wracking. She must have been in the Chateau for nearly twenty- four hours, for darkness was now brushing the outside world with its wings. Food and drink had been brought her, but she had scarcely touched either. Rather than be under any obligation to that man she would starve. For all her youth and beauty she was used to dis- appointment, but the supreme irony of this hour gibed at her remorselessly. She had solved the mystery of her father's death only to know that the information would be turned not against the man she had sworn to bring to justice, but against herself and the man she loved! For his own self -protection Benisty would not allow either of them to go. They would all die together Gilbert Chertsey, Washburn Rinehart and herself. But, no, she would not die; she would not be allowed to share the other's fate. Benisty was going to marry her. . . . The fact stabbed her relentlessly a second time. This suspense was unendurable. It would drive her mad. If only she could know something. . . . BENISTY SHOWS HIS HAND 283 As though Fate had decided to answer her appeal, the door opened. Sir Luke Benisty and a pale, insignifi- cant, slinking shadow of a man entered. Benisty was dressed as though for a wedding. "You will wait outside, Thibau," he said to his companion. "So now you know the reason of my call," said Sir Luke Benisty, ten minutes later. "I regret not being able to give you more notice, but events have occurred with somewhat startling rapidity in the Chateau to- night." "They will occur with even more rapidity during the next few hours," Ann replied. She had only her un- conquerable faith to go upon, but she would stand up to Benisty as long as she had the strength. "What do you mean by that?" The words had gone home. Looking at him intently, Ann thought she saw a change, well-concealed and yet unmistakable. Some- thing had shaken the man. He was trying hard to hide it, but even his usual incomparable aplomb was not sufficient disguise. "Mean?" she repeated. "What should I mean but that the arrest of you and your abominable fellow- criminals is now merely a question of time? Didn't I warn you to this effect yesterday? Since then the French police and the British authorities will have been able to effect their plans." She kept her voice steady, her expression brave, pray- 284 THE BLACK HEART ing that Benisty would not realise she was merely bluffing. "All this is very intriguing, my dear Miss Trent- ham," was the comment, "but I would suggest that as you are shortly to be joined to my unworthy self in the holy bonds of matrimony, you should endeavour to cultivate a more amiable view of your future hus- band." She faced him resolutely. "Yesterday I told you I would rather kill myself than allow you to come near me." "Sheer, hysterical nonsense, my dear ! But, of course, you are not yourself; you can scarcely realise what you are saying. Listen, please," he went on, as she was about to voice her further indignant contempt, "I have very little time to spare. Apart entirely from your nonsensical threats which, of course, are based upon fallacy the time is rapidly approaching when this highly interesting house party must be broken up. The campaign which is to change the whole face of Europe, has been planned to the last detail and now the General Staff must separate. "Unlike the others, I intend to take no further part. I have had an active life, and now I propose to rest, idling my time away in the sunshine of some cosmo- politan clime and in the smiles of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He bowed to her before con- tinuing, and Ann, aghast at his effrontery, for the moment could find no words. "I have communicated my wish to my principals BENISTY SHOWS HIS HAND 285 in this affair, and they have signified their approval. They recognise, I am glad to say, the important part I have played in the present proceedings, and not to put too fine a point on it I am now a rich man " "Rich with blood money !" "Come, come ! That is not the way in which to treat your future husband. I have stood a good deal from you, my dear, but I warn you that I have my limit." "Limit! You talk to me of a 'limit!' " The anger which she had endeavoured to check, overflowed. "You my father's murderer stand there calmly pro- posing that I shall marry you ! I warn you now, Benisty, that should the help I am expecting come too late, I shall take the first opportunity to kill you !" "I admire your spirit," he told her. "It is so rarely nowadays that one meets a woman with any real spirit. I confess, my darling Ann, you add enormously to your appeal by displaying so much delightful anima- tion." Swiftly his bantering mood changed. The natural devil now showed in his eyes and face. "Thibau!" he called. Ann sprang forward as the door opened. But Benisty, as though anticipating the action, seized her round the waist. She fought with the determination of a desperate woman, but it was a case of two men against a girl, and the struggle was too unequal to last long. Ann felt 286 THE BLACK HEART something sharp prick her arm, and the power to re- sist died away. "How are you feeling now ?" The voice was undoubtedly that of an Englishman. Chertsey, looking up at the speaker, experienced a feeling of hope that was almost suffocating. Whoever the man might prove to be, he travelled with a big party there were about a dozen other men standing about and he was British! "You crashed into my car was that it?" he asked. "Yes. I'm most awfully sorry. But I am afraid you didn't sound your horn, old chap, and I was in a devil of a hurry." "So was I. It was my fault entirely. Look here," with a sudden impulse, "do you mind telling me who you are?" The other looked at him keenly. "Any particular reason why you should know?" Chertsey sprang up. He might have been killed, but the miracle was that apart from a throbbing in his head, he felt none the worse for the collision. "My God, I have!" he said. "I've just escaped from a chateau a few miles away from here. There is a hellish plot against the safety of England and France being hatched there." The listener seized his arm. "Is your name Chertsey?" he demanded. "Yes but how did you guess ? I had to pinch these clothes off a servant in order to get away." BENISTY SHOWS HIS HAND 287 The other's excitement increased. "A fellow named Napoleon Miles an American Secret Service man has mentioned your name to me." He paused. "Then it was you who sent the wireless warning in code to the American Embassy! By Jove, Chertsey, I'm damned glad to meet you! My name's Summers. I'm of the British Foreign Office." "I was almost beginning to think that Providence had stopped working," replied the novelist. "Where were you going with these men? Who are they?" The Hon. Bill Summers caught him by the shoulder. "We were on our way to the Chateau de Montais," he said. "These chaps are French and British Secret Service Johnnies," he said. "I have been placed in charge of them and given definite instructions to get into the place and arrest everyone inside. If you were trekking to Paris for help, you needn't go any further. It's here: join the storming party!" As Chertsey got into the speaker's car the purloined roadster was more or less a wreck he felt that he had received a Sign from Heaven. Chapter XXX THE PRIEST WHO LEERED BACK at the Chateau de Montais, a heated conference was being held. Sobinov, the Rus- sian, who had not yet recovered from his en- forced sojourn in the wireless-room, was very animated in his criticisms. Most of these were directed at Sir Luke Benisty. The latter allowed the storm to pass over him. "I refuse to take the responsibility for Chertsey getting away," he said; "it was not by my orders that the servant visited him in the cellar. I would remind you all that what I have promised I would do, I have done. Now my connection with this affair ends." Shrugging his shoulders, he rose from his seat and left the room. He might have added that in any case he had a private engagement in another part of the Chateau. In that dim light the Chateau de Montais, perched on its towering height, looked like some evil image in stone. And, regarding it, Chertsey felt a wave of dread sweeping through him : was it a live or dead Washburn Rinehart that he would meet inside? A hand touched his arm. 288 THE PRIEST WHO LEERED 289 "Get a hold of this gun, old man," Bill Summers said, passing him a revolver. "How are we to get in ? They will be expecting some- thing or other." Summers chuckled grimly. "Don't worry about that," he rejoined; "one of the French fellows spent his boyhood in this neighbour- hood and he knows every inch of the ground. What is more, he knows what he says is a secret way in. Ah! Here he is." A dapper-looking but determined man in the early thirties approached and engaged the chief of the storming party in rapid conversation. While the two were talking together, another man a stranger approached Chertsey. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm Dwight Mr. Washburn Rinehart's valet. Can you tell me anything about Mr. Rinehart, sir? Naturally, I'm anxious." "I can only tell you that when I left the Chateau a couple of hours ago, Mr. Rinehart was still alive. I had to leave to get help. How did you come over ?" "I became worried when I received no word from my master, and so crossed to Paris. There I went to the American Embassy. When the remarkable news came through from you, sir, to-night, I was permitted to accompany the party." The talk was interrupted. "This way quietly!" ordered the Hon. Bill Sum- mers. A minute later Chertsey plunged with the rest into a miniature forest of undergrowth. 29 o THE BLACK HEART This must be a dreadful dream! She moved and had her being but she had no control over her ac- tions. This brutal woman who was acting as her maid, was forcing her to do what she liked. Ann put a hand up to her forehead. If only she could think clearly! If only she could regain her will! "Put this dress on!" ordered the woman who domi- nated her. "Why should I?" she heard herself ask in a weak, trembling voice. "Because, you little fool, you are going to be mar- ried .'that's why !" Married ! Married to whom? Everything was spinning round. Hope a wild, frenzied hope, born of unutterable despair gripped her so tightly that she felt she would faint. Suppose some miracle had happened! Suppose Gilbert, by some magical means, had gained a mastery in the Chateau, and . . . Then she sobbed. She realised the gnawing truth. Although the drug she had been given still maintained its hold over her will, her brain was clearing. The real meaning of this mocking masquerade became plain: Benisty, before he left the Chateau, was staging another "entertainment" in order to satisfy his sense of mali- cious jesting. "Put on these clothes !" It was useless to resist : the woman looked as though she would kill her if she did not comply. So the THE PRIEST WHO LEERED 291 smashing, shattering irony of it! she was apparelled in a gown of shimmering white satin. On her head the virago of a "dresser" placed a coronet of orange- blossom, and from this hung a long, gossamer veil reaching to the floor. Her feet were encased in dainty silver slippers. On her arm was placed a sheaf of glorious Madonna lilies. . . . And, all the while, she remained powerless to resist ; that was the strangest and most tragical fact of all. "Now, come with me ! He will be waiting !" said the virago. She regarded her handiwork with sardonic ap- proval. But the door opened and a man stepped in. With a shudder, Ann recoiled from him for it was her prospective bridegroom. "My dear, may I say how charming you look?" re- marked Sir Luke Benisty. "I am proud to lead such a bride to the altar." She could make no reply, for it seemed that her heart had been turned to stone. "Time presses, or we would be married in Paris," continued Benisty. "As it is, I have arranged for the ceremony to take place in the Chateau. Permit me your arm, my dear Ann." A few minutes later she stood in a cold, vault-like room. "Centuries ago," she heard Benisty say, "this place was used as the private chapel of that noble French family, the de Guichards. To-night, for the first time for two hundred years, a wedding ceremony will be 292 THE BLACK HEART solemnised here. Unfortunately, unforeseen circum- stances prevent the principal witness from being pres- ent, but " he waved his hand; "you know my friends Lade and Snell here?" She saw the two men quite clearly, but, although the moment of her ruin was so rapidly approaching, she was still unable to shake off that fatal lethargy produced by some deadly drug. She was still in a mental trance. She felt like a sleep-walker living through a somnambulistic experience. Whatever was about to happen, she was powerless to prevent it. Other people entered the Chapel. Among these was a mincing-mannered man whom Benisty addressed as "mon cher Comte." It was this man who, grimacing, now came towards her. After fussily arranging her veil, he placed her right hand on his arm and led her towards the small altar where Sir Luke Benisty was already waiting. Who was to marry them? As though in answer to this question, a door to the right opened. A revolting figure appeared. This man was dressed as a priest but the face was the face of a lecher. Horrible, leering eyes showed above an ex- panse of unshaven, bloated skin, mottled by drink and debauchery. "Ah!" said the bridegroom, "Monsieur le Cure!" He took his place by the girl's side. The priest walked towards them with drunken, un- steady steps. "Mes enfants," he said, "are you quite ready?" THE PRIEST WHO LEERED 293 Ann had a merciful blackness come before her eyes. A terrible weakness overtook her. She leaned back, spent and exhausted. She heard that loathsome priest chuckle. The next second a sound filled the Chapel. A man's voice a voice she felt she recognised boomed out. "Hands up, everybody !" it said, in a tone of thunder. Then a whistle blew shrilly and after that came the sound of rushing footsteps Chapter XXXI THE CLEAN-UP A"~N stood rigid, paralysed by a fresh bewilder- ment. For, as a crowd of men came pouring into the Chapel through the door to the right of the altar, she saw the supposed drunken priest, standing upright and commanding, pointing a revolver straight at Sir Luke Benisty's head ! "The game's up, Benisty!" she heard shouted in a grim, resolute voice ; "you'll be a fool if you cause any more trouble." Then, her limit of endurance reached, she sank to the stone floor in a deep swoon. Strong, faithful arms were about her. Opening her eyes, she could scarcely believe what they saw : the man with his face so close to hers was Gilbert Chertsey! "Ann! darling!" Their lips met and clung. In that moment of de- lirious joy both felt that for the travail they had under- gone, ample recompense was now being paid. She was the first to recover normality. "That priest ... ?" she stared. Chertsey laughed like one to whom life has become a splendid thing again. 294 THE CLEAN-UP 295 "It was Napoleon Miles," he told her; "y u know the fellow he used to play the guitar and sing at the Rosy Dawn Night Club. That was only a cloak, of course he is really an American Intelligence man and the finest chap in the world. We owe everything to him." "Don't you believe it, Miss Trentham," remarked a familiar voice. Looking up, Ann saw with amaze- ment that the speaker was indeed Napoleon Miles in the flesh. The Secret Service man was still wearing the dress of a priest, but the make-up had been removed from his face. "I must apologise for giving you such a fright," Miles said penitently, "but, meeting the original priest a fellow by the name of Pierre Gaudet and hearing from him of the appointment he had at this Chateau to-night, I decided to play a trick after his own invention off on Benisty." "It was a masterpiece!" declared Chertsey; "Sum- mers had hinted that you would be knocking around somewhere by the time the fun was on, but, I swear to God, that if you hadn't shouted when you did, I would have shot you down myself!" Ann interrupted. "But, Gilbert, Benisty said that you were a prisoner here." Again the pealing laugh rang out. "And so I was . . . until a few hours ago. But I managed to get out of the filthy cellar where our 296 THE BLACK HEART mutual friend is now resting himself in company with about a dozen other choice blackguards, all rounded up nice and shipshape and Bristol fashion by Bill Sum- mers and his crowd and oh, my dear, what does anything else matter now?" "What indeed ?" smiled Napoleon Miles, as he turned away. It was a distinguished and notable gathering which met half an hour later in the huge Chateau library. All the prisoners had been taken to Paris, and communica- tion with both London and the French capital was be- ing maintained continuously by means of the enemy's captured wireless. Sir William Bagot looked happier than he had looked for many days past. "I am convinced," he told Washburn Rinehart, who, solicitously attended by the faithful Dwight, had summoned up sufficient strength to attend this confer- ence, "that the plans of these plotters, gigantic as they are, will now be abandoned. You will not have suffered in vain, sir. What these people were banking on was the certainty of striking a sudden blow. They reckoned as well on the help of America an America tyran- nised and controlled by the Money Kings of Wall Street. Their psychology was ludicrous in its crass stupidity, but there you are !" "They hoped to force the States to get control of Canada's wheat, thus endangering England's food sup- plies. The result might have been deplorable." THE CLEAN-UP 297 Sir William glanced across at the speaker. "France and Great Britain will never be sufficiently grateful to you, Mr. Miles," he said. "When every- one else had failed, you were able to locate this nest of vipers. Please tell us how?" Napoleon Miles acknowledged the compliment with a slight smile. "It was comparatively easy," he replied. "One of my friends is a journalist on the Paris staff of the New York Sentinel. His specialty is the Underworld and those who live in it. When every other means to trace Benisty had failed, I decided to go to the sewers of crime. My friend told me about a certain haunt called the Lapin Blanc. He advised me not to go alone but I went. Disguised as an Apache, I had rather an excit- ing evening. It was at the Lapin Blanc," continued the speaker, "that I met a discredited priest, Pierre Gaudet. In his drunken state he babbled about 'marrying' an English milord at a certain historic chateau not far from Paris. This line of inquiry seemed to be worth following up, and so I accompanied Gaudet to his so- called home. There, applying a certain physical pres- sure, I got the whole story out of him. After that, I thought it would be rather a neat idea to come here 'made-up' as Gaudet." "It was such a marvellous impersonation," testified Gilbert Chertsey, who was sitting next to Ann Trent- ham, his arm supporting her, "that it deceived Benisty himself." 29 8 THE BLACK HEART Sir William Bagot drummed his fingers on the table. "That man must have been half-crazed," he said: "why should he want to stage such a farce as this mock-marriage when he must have felt that so long as he stayed in the Chateau his skin was in danger?" "I can answer that, sir," broke in Gilbert Chertsey. "Luke Benisty was not normal. He had a mania for ascertaining how people would behave in certain situa- tions. He had a cruel, malicious streak in him. In this respect he was undoubtedly unbalanced. I have no doubt that being discharged from the British Foreign Office years ago bred in him a positive hatred for his country." "Our people had to discharge him first he was a crook, and then he became a traitor," put in the Hon. Bill Summers, looking across at Ann Trentham. The British Ambassador rose and crossed to Ann'? side. "Trust me, Miss Trentham, to see that your father'* honour is completely vindicated. I happen to know the whole story. The person, Barrington Snell, who has turned against his former friends, like others of his type, has proved useful, thoroughly despicable as he is. He is ready to swear that your father was killed 'murdered' would be perhaps the more correct term by Sylvester Lade, acting under the instructions of Sir Luke Benisty." "Who were the men Thibau and Lefarge?" asked THE CLEAN-UP 299 Chertsey. "My God! I hope they have been taken that devil Thibau nearly killed me !" "They are safe in a Paris prison by this time," Napoleon Miles assured him. "And all the rest of that German-Russian gang." One of the representatives of the French Govern- ment supplied the information about the pale shadow. "The man Thibau has been many things," he ob- served ; "and none of these has been very creditable. He was assistant to a doctor who was struck off the medical register ; he was private secretary to a financier who is now serving a long term of imprisonment for em- bezzlement, and he was also connected with the De- featist Party during the War. Lefarge was a cosmo- politan scoundrel." "And le Comte Rene de Guichard?" inquired Chert- sey. He was unable to keep the sneer out of his voice. The French official waved protesting hands. "Mon Dieu!" he cried, passionately; "is it only in France that impoverished noblemen sell their souls to the Devil for money?" Even in this age of publicity, some of the greatest secrets never get into the newspapers. So it was that Europe which had been tottering on the brink of a precipice never learned its danger. Both the French and British Governments acted with admirable tact and discretion. The Press of both countries were called to a conference, at which the facts of the amazing position were placed plainly before them. Patriotism 300 THE BLACK HEART overcame even the tremendous news-craving of the listeners, and the result was that not a line about the great International drama was printed. 3( 3ft ^C 3|C 3|C In a tiny villa perched precariously on the heights overlooking Cannes, a girl and a man were endeavour- ing to forget everything of the past in the joy of the present. "Darling," said Ann to her husband, "we have been here a month, and you haven't written a line !" The sluggard raised himself and yawned. "I'm really going to start a new book to-night, sweetheart." "A thriller?" Gilbert Chertsey rose and walked to her chair. "No a love story." He bent to kiss her. THE END There s More to Follow* More stories of the sort you like; more, probably, by the author of this one; more than 500 titles all told by writers of world-wide reputation, in the Authors' Alphabetical List which you will find on the reverse side of the wrapper of this book. Look it over before you lay it aside. There are books here you are sure to want some, possibly, that you have always wanted. It is a selected list; every book in it has achieved a certain measure of success. The Grosset &Z Dunlap list is not only the greatest Iftdex of Good Fiction available, it represents in addition a generally accepted Standard of Value. It will pay you to Look on the Other Side of the Wrapper f In case the wrapper is lost write to the publishers for a complete catalog MYSTERY AND DETECTIVE STORIES May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's List. The following list of novels by masters of the art of mystery and detective story writing is qualified to satisfy the most discriminating of readers. S. S. VAN DINE AGATHA CHRISTIE The " Canary " Murder Case The Mystery of the Blue Train The Greene Murder Case The Murder of Roger Ackroyd The Bishop Murder Case The Big Four KAY CLEAVER STRAHAN __^______^ The Mysterious Affair at Styles The Desert Moon Mystery Footprints EDGAR WALLACE MARY ROBERTS R1NEHART The Feathered Serpent _ The Double Two Plights Up The Bat The Man in Lower Ten EARL DERR B1GGERS The Circular Staircase Behind That Curtain K. the Unknown Seven Keys to Baldpate ith U ' * Kcy ANNE AUSTIN _ ___ The Chinese Parrot The Black Pigeon Fifty Candles BAYARD VHLLER B RAM STOKER The Trial of Mary Dugan D I " CYRIL McNElLE D , r~ A CONAN DOYLE Bulldog Drummond Bulldog Drummond's Third Round Tales of Sherlock Holmes Temple Tower The Hound of the Baskervilles GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK DETECTIVE STORIES BY J. S. FLETCHER May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dnnlap's list J. S. Fletcher's mystery-detective stories of the puzzler variety have made him the generally acknowledged suc- cessor to Conan Doyle in this field. THE PASSENGER TO FOLKESTONE MARCHESTER ROYAL THE CARTWRIGHT GARDENS MURDER EXTERIOR TO THE EVIDENCE THE MISSING CHANCELLOR GREEN INK FALSE SCENT THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK STIRRING TALES OF THE GREAT WAR May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. ABOVE THE BRIGHT BLUE SKY.. .Elliot White Springs More stories of War Birds In the air, on the ground, A. W. O. L. and at the front, flyers who thought the war ended too soon. THE TOP KICK Leonard Nason Infantry, cavalry, artillery, intelligence Private fights and Public fights 'Wine, no women, and cuss words France in 1918. SQUAD James B. Wharton The war chronicle ot eight men out of whose flesh and blood the small- est of military units a squad is made. WAR BIRDS The Diary of an Unknown Aviator Soaring, looping, zooming, spitting hails of leaden death, planes every- where in a war darkened sky. 'WAR BIRDS is a tale of youth, loving, fighting, dying. SERGEANT EADIE Leonard Nason This is the private history of the hard luck sergeant whose exploits in CHEVRONS made that story one of the most dramatic and thrilling of WINGS ! John Monk Saunders Based on the great Paramount picture, "WINGS is the Big Parade of the air, the gallant, fascinating story of an American air pilot. LEAVE ME WITH A SMILE EDiots W. Springs Henry Winton, a famous ace, thrice decorated, twice wounded and many times disillusioned returns after the war to meet Phyllis, one of the new order of hard-drinking, unmoral girls. NOCTURNE MILITAIRE Elliott White Springs War, with wine and women, tales of love, madness, heroism ; flyers reckless in their gestures toward life and death. CHEVRONS Leonard Nason One of the sensations of the post-war period, CHEVRONS discloses the whole pageantry of war with grim truth flavored with the breezy vul- garity of soldier dialogue. THREE LIGHTS FROM A MATCH. .Leonard Nason Three long short stories, each told with a racy vividness, the real terror in war with the sputter of machine guns. TOWARD THE FLAME Hervey Allen A maelstrom of tremendous incident along the American Front during the memorable summer of 1918. Magnificent and real. THE LEGION OF THE CONDEMNED A thriller of the eagles of the air, full of romance, chivalry and madcap bravery. GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK PERC1VALC. WREN'S NOVELS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grcssat and Ounlap's list This brilliant chronicler of the French Foreign Legion is an Englishman born in Devonshire and educated at Ox- ford. He is a veteran of three armies, the crack British Cavalry Corps, the French Foreign Legion and the Indian Army in East Africa. BEAU GESTE Mystery, courage, love, self sacrifice, adventure on the burning sands of North Africa in the tanks of the French Foreign Legion. BEAU SABREUR A sequel to Beau Geste in which the age old spell of the desert is the background for a tale of mystery. STEPSONS OF FRANCE A book of short stories whose scenes are laid in the same fascin- ating and desolate country as Beau Geste Northern Africa and whose characters are fighters in the Legion. WAGES OF VIRTUE A modern Enoch Arden reappears and goes back to remain " dead " in the Legion of the Condemned, but his story comes out at last FATHER GREGORY Mystery and Father Gregory play a desperate game on a pictur- esque background of Hindustan. Written with gusto by the author of "Beau Geste." THE SNAKE AND THE SWORD Another romance of the East by the author of the Foreign Legion stories. The fascinating mystery of Kipling's India is the back- ground for a strange love. DRIFTWOOD SPARS The soul of a man in whose soul the East and West has met his father of Pathan birth, his mother of Scotch. Laid in India, t is a romance of mystery and tragedy. DEW AND MILDEW A story built around a series of coincidences East of Suez coin- cidences flourish and sometimes attains a remarkably fine growth. GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK NOVELS OF MAY CHRISTIE THRILLING STORIES OF THE MODERN GIRL May be had wherever book* are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list May Christie has captured the affection of millions of readers with her brilliantly written romances. She has the ability to arouse intense interest and sympathy and the pages of her books are populated with men and women of real flesh and blood. Her stories are of modern life and especially of the girls of today who are breaking away from the restraint of old fashioned life and plunging into the freedom that new ideals bring. In all her stories, May Christie has something to say and says it with frank- ness and honesty. A KISS FOR CORINNA Corinna is in love with a man who is pursued by a pleasure seeking society girl and the irony of the situation is that it is her duty to make this girl beautiful. A fascinating story of the twists and turns in rivalry and love. EAGER LOVE The story of Mary Oliver, whose quest for love carries her into a dramatic and exciting situation. A lovable and very human hero- ine one who has all the fine instincts which tend to build character in a woman. MAN MADNESS Three girls in love with one man. To what lengths they will go to win his love. Love, sacrifice, passion, conflict, duty, these are some of the elements that go to make "Man Madness" a thrilling story cf modern life. LOVE'S ECSTASY A little stenographer fighting for her love against a fascinating young mistress of millions. A duel of feminine wits and wiles that you will follow with burning interest. It is a romance of surprising twists and turns. GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK MARGARET PEDLER'S NOVELS May be had wherever books are 'sold. Ask .for Grosset and Dunlap's List. BITTER HERITAGE She learned that her father, the man she had idolized, was a thief and a swindler a bitter heritage not to be escaped. YESTERDAY'S HARVEST The harvest of an early love brings a strange situation and triumph of sacrifice. TOMORROWS TANGLE The game of love is fraught with danger. To win in the finest sense it must be played fairly. RED ASHES A gripping 1 story of a doctor who failed in a crucial operation and had, only himself to blame. Could the woman he loved forgive him. THE BARBARIAN LOVER A love story based upon the creed that the only important things between birth and death are the courage to face We and the love to sweeten it. THE MOON OUT OF REACH Nan Davenport's problem is one that many a girl has faced her own happiness or her father's bond. THE HOUSE OF DREAMS COME TRUE How a man and a woman fulfilled a gypsy's prophecy. THE HERMIT OF FAR END How love made its way into a walled-in house and a walled-in heart. THE LAMP OF FATE The story of a woman who tried to take all and give) nothing. THE SPLENDID FOLLY Do! you believe that husbands and wives should have no secrets from each other? THE VISION OF DESIRE It is easy to destroy illusions, difficult to restore them. Anne re- stored love from the ashes of disillusion WAVES OF DESTINY Each of these stories has the sharp impact of an emotional crisis the compressed quality of one of Margaret Pedlar's widely reid novels. GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK THE NOVELS OF TEMPLE BAILEY May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dnnlap's list THE BLUE WINDOW~ The heroine, Hildegarde, finds herself transplanted from the middle western farm to the gay social whirl of the East. She is almost swept off her feet, but in the end she proves true blue. PEACOCK FEATHERS The eternal conflict between wealth and love. Jerry, the idealist who is poor, loves Mimi, a beautiful, spoiled society girl. THE DIM LANTERN The romance of little Jane Barnes who is loved by two men. THE GAY COCKADE Unusual short stories where Miss Bailey shows her keen knowledge of character and environment, and how romance comes to different people. THE TRUMPETER SWAN Randy Paine comes back from France to the monotony of every-day affairs. But the girl he loves shows him the beauty in the common place. THE TIN SOLDIER A man who wishes lo serve his country, but is bound by a tie he can- not in honor break that's Deny. A girl who loves him, shares his hu- miliation and helps him to win that's Jean. Their love is the story. MISTRESS ANNE A girl in Maryland teaches school, and believes that work is worthy service. Two men come to the little community ; one is weak, the other strong, and both need Anne. CONTRARY MARY An old-fashioned love story that is nevertheless modem. GLORY OF YOUTH A novel that deals with a question, old and yet ever new how fa- should an engagement of marriage bind two persons who discover they BO longer love. GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK PETER B. KYNE'S NOVELS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Ounlap's list THE THUNDER GOD A romance of big business, men fighting for enormous stakes and of the brilliant projects of one man, a scientist. THEY ALSO SERVE The story of a cowboy's horse that served in France with the artillery. THE UNDERSTANDING HEART Men said Monica Dale had the understanding heart of a woman and the soul of a gallant gentleman. MONEY TO BURN The exciting adventures of Elmer Clarke with his suddenly acquired million. THE ENCHANTED HILL The struggle for honor and the Enchanted Hill Ranch in the Southwest. NEVER THE TWAIN SHALL MEET A romance of California and the South Seas. THE PRIDE OF PALOMAR 'When two men clash and the under-dog has Irish blood In his veins a tale Kyne can tell. CAPPY RICKS Cappy Ricks gave Matt Peasley the acid test because he knew it was good for his soul. CAPPY RICKS RETIRES Cappy retires but the romance of the sea and business kept calling him back and he comes back strong. KINDRED OF THE DUST Donald McKay, son of Hector McKay, millionaire lumber king, falls in love with " Nan of the Sawdust pile." THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS The fight of the Cardigans, father and son, to hold the valley of the giants against treachery. WEBSTER, MAN'S MAN The adventures of a man and woman in a Central American revolution A real soldier of fortune story. CAPTAIN SCRAGGS This sea yarn recounts the adventures of three rapscallion seafaring men. THE LONG CHANCE Harley P.'Hennage is a gambler, the best and worst man of San Pasqual, and there is the lovely Donna. ^ GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK ZANE GREY'S NOVELS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap'sllst WILD HORSE MESA NEVADA FORLORN RIVER UNDER THE TONTO RIM THE VANISHING AMERICAN TAPPAN'S BURRO THE THUNDERING HERD THE CALL OF THE CANYON WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND THE DAY OF THE BEAST TO THE LAST MAN THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER THE MAN OF THE FOREST THE DESERT OF WHEAT THE U. P. TRAIL WILDFIRE THE BORDER LEGION THE RAINBOW TRAIL THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN THE LONE STAR RANGER DESERT GOLD BETTY ZANE ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE THE YOUNG LION HUNTER THE YOUNG FORESTER THE YOUNG PITCHER THE SHORT STOP GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK 000 727 057