Hushed Up! A Mystery of London Part 45

he asked.

"Not very recently," I replied vaguely.

Then again I referred to the great robbery, whereat he said--

"Why, Mr. Biddulph, you appear as though you can't resist the fascination that mysterious crime has for you! I suppose you are an ardent novel-reader--eh? People fond of novels always devour newspaper mysteries."

I admitted a fondness for healthy and exciting fiction, when he laughed, saying--

"Well, I myself find that nearly half one reads in some of the newspapers now-a-days may be cla.s.sed as fiction. Even party politics are full of fictions, more or less. Surely the public must find it very difficult to winnow the truth from all the political lies, both spoken and written. To me, elections are all mere campaigns of untruth."

And so he again cleverly turned the drift of our conversation.

About five o'clock I left, driving back to Andover Junction, and arriving at Waterloo in time for dinner.

I took a taxi at once to Wilton Street, but there was no letter from Sylvia. She gave no sign. And, indeed, why should she, in face of her letter of farewell?

I dressed, and sat down alone to my dinner for the first time in my own dining-room since my wife's disappearance.

Lonely and sad, yet filled with fierce hatred of those blackguardly adventurers, of whom her own father was evidently one, I sat silent, while old Browning served the meal with that quiet stateliness which was one of his chief characteristics. The old man had never once mentioned his missing mistress, yet I saw, by the gravity of his pale, furrowed face, that he was anxious and puzzled.

As I ate, without appet.i.te, he chatted to me, as had been his habit in my bachelor days, for through long years of service--ever since I was a lad--he had become more a friend than a mere servant. From many a boyish sc.r.a.pe he had shielded me, and much good advice had he given me in those reckless days of my rather wild youth.

His utter devotion to my father had always endeared him to me, for to him there was no family respected so much as ours, and his faithfulness was surely unequalled.

Perhaps he did not approve of my marriage. I held a strong suspicion that he had not. Yet old servants are generally apt to be resentful at the advent of a new mistress.

I was finishing my coffee and thinking deeply, Browning having left me alone, when suddenly he returned, and, bending, said in his quiet way--

"A gentleman has called, Mr. Owen. He wishes to see you very particularly." And he handed me a card, upon which I saw the name: "Henri Guertin."

I sprang to my feet, my mind made up in an instant. Here was one actually of the gang, and I would entrap him in my own house!

I would compel him to speak the truth, under pain of arrest.

"Where is he?" I asked breathlessly.

"I have shown him into the study. He's a foreign gentleman, Mr. Owen."

"Yes, I know," I said. "But now, don't be alarmed, Browning--just stay outside in the hall. If I ring the bell, go straight to the telephone, ring up the police-station, and tell them to send a constable here at once. My study door will be locked until the constable arrives. You understand?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Owen, but----" And the old man hesitated, looking at me apprehensively.

"There is nothing whatever to fear," I laughed, rather harshly perhaps. "Carry out my orders, that's all."

And then, in fierce determination, I went along the hall, and, opening the study door, entered, closing it behind me, and as I stood with my back to it I turned the key and removed it.

"Well, M'sieur Guertin," I exclaimed, addressing the stout man in gold pince-nez in rather a severe tone, "and what, pray, do you want with me?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A CONTRETEMPS

The stout, round-faced Frenchman rose, and, bowing with his irritating politeness, answered--

"I wish to consult you, Monsieur Biddulph, upon a confidential matter concerning your wife."

"What does my wife concern you, pray, sir?" I asked angrily.

"Ah! calm yourself, m'sieur," he said suddenly, dropping into French; "I am here as your friend."

"I hardly believe that," I replied incredulously. "My friend cannot be the accomplice of my enemies. You are acquainted with Reckitt and with Pennington--the men implicated in the recent theft of the diamonds of the Archd.u.c.h.ess Marie Louise!"

He started and looked at me quickly.

"What do you know of that?" he inquired, with rather undue eagerness.

"I know more concerning you than you think," was my firm reply. "And I give you an alternative, Monsieur Guertin. Either you will reveal to me the whole truth concerning those men Reckitt and Forbes and my wife's connection with them, or I shall telephone to the police, and have you arrested as a member of the gang."

"My dear monsieur," he replied, with a good-humoured smile, "I can't tell you facts of which I possess no knowledge. I am here to make inquiry of you--to----"

"To mislead me further!" I cried angrily. "You and your friends may be extremely clever--you have succeeded in enticing my wife away from her home, and you expect to befool me further. Remember that I nearly lost my life in that grim house in Bayswater. Therefore at least I can secure the arrest of one member of the gang."

"And you would arrest me--eh?" he asked, looking me straight in the face, suddenly growing serious.

"Yes, I intend to," I replied, whipping out my revolver from my hip pocket.

"Put that thing away," he urged. "Be reasonable. What would you profit by arresting me?"

"You shall either speak--tell me the truth, or I will hand you over to the police. I have only to touch this bell"--and I raised my hand to the electric b.u.t.ton beside the fireplace--"and a telephone message will call a constable."

"And you really would give me in charge--eh?" laughed my visitor.

"I certainly intend doing so," I answered angrily.

"Well, before this is done, let us speak frankly for a few moments,"

suggested the Frenchman. "You tell me that you nearly lost your life in some house in Bayswater. Where was that?"

"In Porchester Terrace. What is the use of affecting ignorance?"

"I do not affect ignorance," he said, and I saw that a change had completely overspread his countenance. "I only wish to know the extent of your knowledge of Reckitt and Forbes."

"I have but little knowledge of your friends, I'm pleased to say," was my quick rejoinder. "Let us leave them out of the question. What I desire to know is the whereabouts of my wife."

He shrugged his broad shoulders.