The Sins of Severac Bablon Part 40

She grew suddenly pale.

"I only know"--hesitating--"that is, I _think_, he is a man who, however misguided, has a love of justice."

Haredale watched her.

"He is an up-to-date Claude Duval," he said harshly. "It hurts me, rather, Mary, to hear you approve of him. Why do you do so? I have noticed something of this before. Do you forget that this man, for all the romance and mystery that surround him, still is no more than a common thief--a criminal?"

Mary's lips tightened.

"He is not," she said, meeting his eyes bravely. "That is a very narrow view, d.i.c.k-"

Then, seeing the pain in the grey eyes, and remembering that this man with whom she disputed had just lost his hopes in life--his hopes of _her_--she reached out impulsively and grasped his arm.

"Oh, d.i.c.k!" she said; "forgive me! But I am so utterly miserable, dear, that any poor little straw seems worth grasping at."

So we must leave them; it was a situation full of poor human pathos. The emotions surging within these two hearts would have afforded an interesting study for the magical pen of Charles d.i.c.kens.

But we cannot pause to essay it; the tide of our narrative bears us elsewhere.

Mr. J. J. Oppner, the pride of Wall Street, when, his fascinating daughter, Zoe, beside him, he rose to address his guests at the Hotel Astoria that evening, would have provided a study equally interesting to Charles d.i.c.kens or to the late Professor Darwin. It would have puzzled even the distinguished biologist to reconcile the two species, represented by Mr. Oppner and Zoe, with any common origin. The millionaire's seamed and yellow face looked like nothing so much as a magnified section of a walnut. Whilst the girl, with her cloud of copper-dusted brown hair trapped within an Oriental head-dress, her piquant beauty enhanced, if that were possible, by the softly shaded lights, and the bewitching curves revealed by her evening gown borrowing a more subtle witchery from their sombre environment of black-coated plutocrats, justified the most inspired panegyric that ever had poured from the fountain-pen of a New York reporter. Mr. Oppner said:

"Gentlemen,--We have met this evening for _a_ special purpose. With everyone's _per_mission, we will _ad_journ to another room and see how we can fix things up for Mr. Severac Bablon."

He led the way without loss of time, his small, dried figure lost between that of John Macready ("the King of Coolgardie"), a stalwart, iron-grey Irishman, and the unshapely bulk of Baron Hague, once more perilously adventured upon English soil.

Sir Leopold Jesson, trim, perfectly groomed, his high, bald cranium gleaming like the dome of Solomon's temple, followed, deep in conversation with a red, raw-boned Scotsman, whose features seemed badly out of drawing, and whose eyebrows suggested shrimps. This was Hector Murray, the millionaire who had built and endowed more public baths and inst.i.tutions than any man since the Emperor Vespasian. Last of all, went Julius Rohscheimer, that gross figurehead of British finance, saying, with a satirish smile, to Haredale, who had made an eighth at dinner:

"You won't mind amusing Miss Oppner, Haredale, till we're through with this little job? It's out of your line; you'll be more at home here, I'm sure."

The room chosen for this important conference was a small one, having but a single door, which opened on a tiny antechamber; this, in turn, gave upon the corridor. When the six millionaires had entered, and Mr.

Oppner had satisfied himself that suitable refreshments were placed in readiness, he returned to the corridor. Immediately outside the door stood Mr. Aloys. X. Alden.

"You'll sit right there," instructed Oppner. "The man's bringing a chair and smokes and liquor, and you'll let n.o.body in--_n.o.body_. We can't be heard out here, with the anteroom between and both doors shut; there's only one window, and this is the sixth storey. So I guess our Bablon palaver will be private, some."

Alden nodded, bit off the end of a cheroot, and settled himself against the wall. Mr. Oppner returned to his guests. In another room Zoe and Sir Richard Haredale struggled with a conversation upon sundry matters wherein neither was interested in the least. Suddenly Zoe said, in her impulsive, earnest way:

"Sir Richard, I know you won't be angry, but Mary is my very dearest friend; we were at school together, too; and--she told me all about it this afternoon. I understand what this loss means to you, and that it's quite impossible for you to remain with Mr. Rohscheimer any longer; that you mean to resign your commission and go abroad. It isn't necessary for me to say I am sorry."

He thanked her mutely, but it was with a certain expectancy that he awaited her next words. Rumour had linked Zoe Oppner's name with that of Severac Bablon, extravagantly, as it seemed to Haredale; but everything connected with that extraordinary man _was_ extravagant. He recalled how Mary, on more than one occasion, had exhibited traces of embarra.s.sment when the topic was mooted, and how she had hinted that Severac Bablon might be induced to interest himself in his, Haredale's, financial loss.

Could it be that Mary--perhaps through her notoriously eccentric American friend--had met the elusive wonder-worker? Haredale, be it remembered, was hard hit, and completely down. This insane suspicion had found no harbourage in his mind at any other time; but now, he hugged it dejectedly, watching Zoe Oppner's pretty, expressive face for confirmatory evidence.

"Of course, the bank has failed for more than three millions," said the girl earnestly; "but, in your own case, can nothing be done?"

Haredale lighted a cigarette, slightly shaking his head.

"I shall have to clear out. That's all"

"Oh!--but--it's real hard to say what I want to say. But--my father has business relations with Mr. Rohscheimer. May I try to do something?"

Haredale's true, generous instincts got the upper hand at that. He told himself that he was behaving, mentally, like a cad.

"Miss Oppner," he said warmly, "you are all that Mary has a.s.sured me.

You are a real chum. I can say no more. But it is quite impossible, believe me."

There was such finality in the words that she was silenced. Haredale abruptly changed the subject.

An hour pa.s.sed.

Two hours pa.s.sed.

Zoe began to grow concerned on her father's behalf. He was in poor health, and his physician's orders were imperative upon the point of avoiding business.

Half-way through the third hour she made up her mind.

"He has wasted his time long enough," she p.r.o.nounced firmly--and the expression struck Haredale as oddly chosen. "I am going to inform him that his 'conference' is closed."

She pa.s.sed out into the corridor to where Mr. Alden, his chair tilted at a comfortable angle, and his brogue-shod feet upon a coffee-table which bore also a decanter, a siphon, and a box of cigars, contentedly was pursuing his instructions. He stood up as she appeared.

"Mr. Alden," she said, "I wish to speak to Mr. Oppner."

The detective spread his hands significantly.

"I respect your scruples, Mr. Alden," Zoe continued, "but my father's orders did not apply to me. Will you please go in and request him to see me for a moment?"

Perceiving no alternative, Alden opened the door, crossed the little anteroom, and knocked softly at the inner door.

He received no reply to his knocking, and knocked again. He knocked a third, a fourth time. With a puzzled glance at Miss Oppner he opened the door and entered.

An unemotional man, he usually was guilty of nothing demonstrative. But the appearance of the room wrenched a hoa.r.s.e exclamation from his stoic lips.

In the first place, it was in darkness; in the second, when, with the aid of the electric lantern which he was never without, he had dispersed this darkness--he saw that _it was empty_!

The scene of confusion that ensued upon this incredible discovery defies description.

All the telephones in the Astoria could not accommodate the frantic people who sought them. Messenger boys in troops appeared. Hundreds of guests ran upstairs and hundreds of guests ran downstairs. Every groaning lift, ere long, was bearing its freight of police and pressmen to the scene of the most astounding mystery that ever had set London agape.

Soon it was ascertained that the current had been disconnected in some way from the room where the six magnates had met. But how, otherwise than through the door, they had been spirited away from a sixth floor apartment, was a problem that no one appeared competent to tackle; that they had not made their exit via the door was sufficiently proven by the expression of stark perplexity which dwelt upon the face of Mr. Aloys.

X. Alden.

Whilst others came and went, scribbling hasty notes in dog-eared notebooks, he, a human statue of Amaze, gazed at the open window, continuously and vacantly. Jostled by the crowds of curious and interested visitors, he stood, the most surprised man in the two hemispheres.

Short of an airship, he could conceive no device whereby the missing six could have made their silent departure. He was shaken out of his stupor by Haredale.

"Pull yourself together, Mr. Alden," cried the latter. "Can't we _do_ something? Here's half Scotland Yard in the place and n.o.body with an intelligent proposal to offer."

Mr. Alden shook himself, like a heavy sleeper awakened.

"Where's Miss Oppner?" he jerked.