The Golden Face Part 33

"He's over here now. Waiting for me in Liverpool. I've got my pa.s.sage booked back for to-morrow night, so if the hue and cry is raised I shall have left. I'm in the pa.s.sengers' list as Mrs. George C.

Meredith, wife of the well-known Chicago stock-broker. See my ring!"

she laughed, holding up her hand in the semi-darkness. "Ain't it a real fine one? And you are my mother, Madame! See?"

"But where are we going?" asked Duperre's wife.

"Going to make an unexpected call upon old Bethmeyer," she replied.

"Bethmeyer!" I exclaimed. "What, old Sir Joseph Bethmeyer, the millionaire whom they call the mystery man of Europe, the man who is said to have a finger in every financial pie all over Europe?"

"Yes, I guess it's the same man," replied our sprightly companion. "He lives at Frenbury Park, a splendid place between Hindhead and Farnham."

What, I wondered, could they possibly want with Sir Joseph Bethmeyer, the man who had, it was said, been behind the ex-Emperor Carl in his endeavor to regain the throne of the Hapsburgs, and who was declared to be immensely wealthy, though the source of his great riches could never be discovered. I knew him from the photographs so frequently in the papers, a stout, full-bearded, Teutonic-looking man, who claimed Swedish nationality, and who frequently gave large sums to charity, apparently in order to propitiate the British Government, who were more than suspicious of his oft-repeated good intentions.

At Houston's suggestion we stopped at a small hotel in G.o.dalming, and there had supper, for it was yet early, and the American girl had dropped a hint that we should not go near Frenbury till past midnight.

As we sat at table in a private room, I saw that she was exceedingly handsome, with a pair of coal-black eyes and a shrewd, alert expression, but her American accent was not always p.r.o.nounced. Indeed, when she liked, she could conceal it altogether.

She wore a fine diamond bracelet, her only ornament. Yet during our meal Houston whispered something to her, whereupon she half drew from beneath her fur coat something that glinted in the light, and I saw it was a very serviceable-looking revolver.

A few moments later we heard a car pull up, and a heavy-booted man entered the hall of the hotel. The door of our room opened, and a thick-set, clean-shaven man of about forty glanced in inquisitively, almost instantly shutting the door again.

Next second May Cranston sprang to her feet with blanched face and terrified eyes.

"That's Hedley!--old Bethmeyer's secretary! If he's recognized me, then the game is up," she whispered hoa.r.s.ely.

"But did he?" queried Houston, who sat next to her. "I don't think he noticed anybody. He simply saw that this was a private party and withdrew. He's evidently gone to the bar."

"He's on his way to Frenbury from London, no doubt," said the girl.

"Don't go farther if you think there's any risk," Madame urged.

"But it must be done, and to-night!" the girl said. "Remember I leave Liverpool to-morrow evening if there's trouble, and you--my mother--have got to see me off!"

"I'll go into the bar and watch him," I volunteered, and rising, I went to a kind of pigeon-hole which gave access to the bar, and through which I could see into the room beyond. The man whom Miss Cranston had recognized as Hedley was smoking a cigarette and calmly drinking a whisky-and-soda. Afterwards I walked to the door and saw that the car was turned towards London, a rea.s.suring fact which I reported to my companions.

"Then he's going away from Frenbury, and won't be at home to-night!"

cried the American girl gleefully.

When he had gone we drove nearly to Petersfield, and it was considerably past midnight when, on our return, we descended that long hill which leads from Hindhead. Then, after turning off the main road for some time, we came to a narrow lane which led into a dark wood, where Houston suddenly stopped me and ordered me to switch out the lights.

Scarcely had I done this when two men emerged mysteriously from the shadow, and one of them, addressing Houston, said:

"You're pretty punctual, Teddy! Sam isn't here yet. He's walking from Haslemere."

"No! he's here all right!" exclaimed a voice clearly in the darkness, as a third man came forward.

"May is in the car," Houston explained. "Is everything ready?"

"Yes; when you get along here fifty yards more you can see the house.

The old fellow sleeps in the first-floor room on the corner. The light has just been switched off, so he's gone to bed all right."

Meanwhile the American girl had stepped from the car, and, greeting them all as "boys," listened to what was said.

"Let's hope the old boy will sleep comfortably, eh?" she laughed gayly. "If he doesn't it will be the worse for him! His wife is in Paris, or she might prove a bit of trouble to us."

"I know the ground exactly," remarked one of the three men. "I wasn't in service here as footman for six weeks for nothing," he added with a laugh.

"Well, come on," said Houston, who seemed to be the leader of the adventures. "Let's get to work," and, picking up a bag which one of the men had put down, he pressed into my hand a short, circular electric torch, saying:

"Be careful not to press the b.u.t.ton, because when the light is switched on the shot is fired! Only you might require it. One never knows! Come on."

May Cranston walked noiselessly with us, while in front the three men stalked quietly, speaking only in low whispers. Soon we came to a path which led into a great park, which we skirted, keeping still in the shadow of the trees, for the moon, though nearly gone, still shed some unwelcome light. The silence was only broken by our footsteps on the leaves. Silhouetted against the sky was the magnificent old castle-like mansion with many turrets in which dwelt the world's mystery man of finance.

At last we approached quite close to the house, and, crossing the broad terrace, we halted at the direction of our guide who had acted as footman there.

Before us was a row of long French windows. One of these the man known as Sam attacked in a methodical way with a short steel jimmy, and in a few moments he had noiselessly opened it, and while somebody showed a torch, we all entered what was, I found, a long and luxurious drawing-room.

"Mr. Hargreave! You remain here!" said the girl Cranston, who now a.s.sumed the leadership. "If occasion arises don't hesitate to use your torch. All you have to do is to keep this way of retreat open. Leave all the rest to us."

Then, still guided by the ex-footman, she disappeared with the four men.

What was intended I could not guess. We had broken into one of the most magnificent houses in England, and no doubt an extensive burglary had been planned.

I waited in the big, dark room for nearly twenty minutes, when suddenly I heard heavy, stumbling footsteps returning, and became conscious that the men, aided by the woman, were carrying with them a heavy human form. It was enveloped in black cloth and trussed up firmly with stout rope.

"Say, are you all right, Mr. Hargreave?" inquired the American girl-crook.

I replied in the affirmative, whereupon she whispered: "Good! Come right along. It's worked beautifully. The old boy started up to see me at his bedside, and put on his dressing-gown to talk to me. Oh! it was real fun! He dared only speak in a whisper for fear the servants overheard. I told him I was thirsty, and he took me into his study.

We had drinks, and I put him quietly to sleep with a couple of drops of the soothing syrup. When he comes to himself he'll have the shock of his life. Six months ago in Philadelphia--when I wanted some money--he defied me. Now it will cost the old skinflint a very big sum if he wants to see the light of day again! If he won't pay up, well, we are none the worse off, are we?"

A quarter of an hour later they had placed the unconscious form of Sir Joseph in the car, and, bidding farewell to the three stalwart men, who were, no doubt, professional thieves from London, we started back swiftly through Farnham and Aldershot, thence by way of Reading and along the Bath Road to a lonely house somewhere outside Hounslow, where the American girl stopped me.

There the unconscious man was carried in, and while the others remained in the house--which I think had been taken furnished and specially for the purpose--I was ordered to return to London alone, which I did, most thankful to end that exciting night's adventure.

On my return to the garage off the Tottenham Court Road at half-past three in the morning, the man on duty told me that a man's voice had inquired for me about nine o'clock.

"He seemed very anxious indeed to find you. But he told me to give you a number--number ninety-nine! Sounds like a doctor, eh, sir?"

remarked the man.

I stood aghast at the message.

"Are you sure that was the number?" I asked.

"Yes, sir. I wrote it down here. He gave a Mayfair telephone number,"

and he showed me the note he had made.

It was a message from Rayne! That number was the one agreed upon by all of us as a signal that some extreme danger had occurred, and it became necessary for us all to keep apart and disperse.