Mr. Marx's Secret Part 40

He hesitated, and then answered with a little more respect in his manner.

"I am deputy chief sergeant at Scotland Yard, sir, and these are my men.

We have a little business at a house not far from here, and our orders are to detain and procure the names and addresses of all persons whom we might encounter of whom we had reasonable suspicion that they had recently left the house in question. You will not object to give me your name, sir?"

"Certainly not. My name is Philip Morton, and my general address is Ravenor Castle, Leicestershire. At present I am staying at the Metropole Hotel. Are you satisfied?"

"Perfectly, sir," he answered, after one more rapid glance around the carriage. "I see that you are not concerned in this affair. I wish you good-night!"

We drove rapidly off, and I began to feel not a little dissatisfied with myself. The Count had no right to have mixed me up in this affair.

In my ill-temper I gave the box, which lay concealed under my feet, a savage kick, sufficient to have sent it flying to the other end of the carriage. But there was a little surprise in store for me. To my amazement the box remained perfectly immovable, just as though it had been screwed into the bottom of the carriage.

Forgetting the Count's earnest injunctions, I threw aside the rug and, stooping down, tried to lift it by the handles. In those days I was proud of my muscles, and not altogether without reason, but it needed all my strength to lift that small box from the ground and hold it for a moment in my arms. What could it contain? Papers, cards, gambling appliances?

Surely it could be none of these! The very idea was ridiculous! The Count de Cartienne had deceived me. I had been made the catspaw of those pale, anxious men who had watched me start so eagerly and scanned me over with many furtive glances. What it was of which I was in charge, I could not tell; but in that box lay their secret, and my first indignant impulse was to open the carriage door and kick it out into the road.

But are not second thoughts always better? Might not this affair shape itself to my advantage? There need be no more obligations to the Count de Cartienne. He was possessed of information which was valuable to me. I was possessed of this box, which, without doubt, was invaluable to him. I would propose an exchange--he should bring me face to face with Mr. Marx and receive his precious box; or, if he refused to do so, its destination should be Scotland Yard. A very equitable arrangement!

CHAPTER XLVII.

LIGHT AT LAST.

We were in London again, bowling smoothly along wide stretches of silent, gas-lit streets, empty, and almost deserted now, for it was past two o'clock.

Soon we turned sharply into Northumberland Avenue, and pulled up at the hotel. The man on the box--footman I suppose he was, although he was not in livery--opened the carriage-door for me and then took possession of the small trunk.

"If you will allow me, sir, I will take this up to your room," he said.

"You needn't trouble," I answered. "I can manage."

He retained possession of it.

"The Count's orders were, sir, that I should not allow the hotel servants to meddle with it, and that, if possible, I should myself see it deposited in your room. You have no objection, sir, I hope?"

"Not at all," I answered, turning away. "In fact, the less I have to do with it the better."

We entered the hotel and, crossing the hall, rang for the lift.

The lift came to a standstill at the third floor and we stepped out on to the corridor. The Count's servant followed me to my room, deposited the box on a chair at the foot of the bed and wished me good-night.

I then got into bed and, full of excitement though the day had been for me, slept soundly till morning.

It was five minutes past nine when I entered the great salon of the hotel and looked round for Lord Langerdale.

My search was not a long one. He was sitting alone at a table laid for three in one of the deep recesses, with a little pile of letters and a newspaper before him. Directly he saw me he pushed them away and held out his hand.

"Good-morning!" he said pleasantly. "I'm glad to see you're so punctual.

You're not in a hurry for breakfast for a few minutes, are you?"

"Not at all," I answered, taking the chair which he pushed towards me.

"That's right. My wife will be down in a quarter of an hour, and we'll wait for her, if you don't mind."

I bowed my a.s.sent, murmuring that I should be delighted, which was perfectly true.

Lord Langerdale turned a little round in his chair so as to face me and began at once:

"I am rather a blunt sort of man, Mr. Morton--we Irish generally are, you know--and I like to go straight at a thing. Will you tell me your mother's maiden name?"

"I would with pleasure if I knew it," I answered readily; "but I don't."

"Is she alive?"

I shook my head.

"She died about nine months ago."

"And Morton is your name? May I ask who your father was?"

"Certainly. He was a farmer in Leicestershire."

"A farmer?" Lord Langerdale looked surprised and I fancied a little disappointed. "Was he your mother's first husband?"

I was about to answer in the affirmative, but remembered that I had no certain knowledge, so I corrected myself.

"You may think it strange, Lord Langerdale," I said, "but I know nothing of my mother's antecedents, nor of her family. From my earliest recollection she never mentioned her past, nor permitted others to do so.

There was some mystery connected with it, I am sure; but what it was I have no clue.

"I could not help observing, as everyone else did, that she was far above my father from a social point of view, for she was an educated lady and he was only a small tenant farmer. Throughout all her life she was reticent, and her last act before she died was a paradox. She left me to the guardianship of the man whom she had always before seemed to dread and fear."

"What is his name?"

"Mr. Ravenor, of Ravenor Castle. We were tenants of his."

"My G.o.d!"

Lord Langerdale's whole appearance was that of a man strongly agitated.

He turned his head away for a moment, and the long, white fingers which supported it were shaking visibly.

I, too, was moved, for it seemed as though the time were come at last when something of my mother's history would be made known to me. But he seemed in no hurry to speak again. It was I who had to remind him of my presence.

"Lord Langerdale," I cried, my voice, despite all my efforts, trembling with eagerness, "you know who my mother was? You can tell me her history?"

He turned round slowly.

"One more question," he said. "Are you sure that you were born at Ravenor?"