The same.
Why didnt you tell me this before? If Lyle knows Adams, the position is doubly dangerous, he exclaimed, in abject dismay. No, he added, bitterly; there can be no way out.
I said nothing because you had refused to believe.
You saw them together after you had told me of Adams return, or before?
After, he replied. Even though you refused to believe me, I continued to remain watchful in your interests and those of the firm. I spent several evenings in watching their movements.
Ah! you are loyal to me, I know, Rolfe. You shall not regret this. Hitherto I have not treated you well, but I will now try and atone for the manner in which I misjudged you. I ask your pardon.
For what? inquired Rolfe, in surprise.
For believing ill of you, was all the old man vouchsafed.
I tried to do my duty as your secretary, was all he said.
Your duty. You have done more. You have watched my enemies even though I sneered at your well-meant warning, he said. But if you have watched, you perhaps know where the pair are in hiding.
Lyle lives at the First Avenue Hotel, in Holborn. Adams lives in a small furnished flat in Addison Mansions, close to Addison Road railway station.
Lives there in preference to an hotel because he can go in and out shabby and down-at-heel without attracting comment eh?
I suppose so. I had great difficulty in following him to his hiding-place without arousing his suspicions.
Does he really mean mischief? asked the principal of Statham Brothers, bending slightly towards his secretary.
Yes; undoubtedly he does. The pair are here with the intention of bringing ruin upon you and upon the house of Statham, was Rolfes quiet reply.
Then only you can save me, Rolfe, cried the old man, starting up wildly.
How? Tell me, and I am ready to act upon your instructions, Rolfe said.
The millionaire placed his hand upon the young mans shoulder and said:
Repeat those words.
Rolfe did so.
And you will not seek to inquire the reason of a request I may make to you, even though it may sound an extraordinary and perhaps mysterious one?
I will act as you wish, without desiring to know your motives.
The great financier stood looking straight into his secretarys eyes. He was deeply in earnest, for his very life now depended upon the others assent. How could he put the proposal to the man before him?
Then I take that as a promise, Rolfe, he said at last. You will not withdraw. You will swear to assist me at all hazards to save me from these men.
I swear.
Good! Then to-day nay, at this very hour you must make what no doubt will be to you a great sacrifice.
What do you mean? asked Rolfe, quickly.
I mean, the old man said, in a very slow distinct voice I mean that you must first sacrifice the honour of the woman you love Maud Petrovitch.
Maud Petrovitch! he gasped, utterly mystified.
Yes, he answered. You have promised to save me you have sworn to assist me, and the sacrifice is imperative! It is her honour or my death!
Chapter Thirteen.
Describes the Man from Nowhere
Late that same night, in the small and rather well-furnished dining-room of a flat close to Addison Road station, the beetle-browed man known to some as John Adams and to others as Jean Adam was seated in a comfortable armchair smoking a cigarette.
He was no longer the shabby, half-famished looking stranger who had been watching outside Stathams house in Park Lane, but rather dandified in his neat dinner jacket, glossy shirt-front, and black tie. Adventurer was written all over his face. He was a man whose whole life history had been a romance and who had knocked about in various odd and out-of-the-way corners of the world. A cosmopolitan to the backbone, he, like his friend Leonard Lyle, whom he was at that moment expecting, hated the trammels of civilised society, and their lives had mostly been spent in places where human life was cheap and where justice was unknown.
Alone in that small room where the dinner-cloth had been removed and a decanter and glasses had been placed by his one elderly serving-woman, who had now gone for the night, he was muttering to himself as he smoked murmuring incoherent words that sounded much like threats.
It was difficult to recognise in this well-groomed, gentlemanly-looking man, with the diamond in his shirt-front and the sparkling ring upon his finger, the low-looking tramp whose eyes had encountered those of the man whose ruin he now sought to encompass.
In half a dozen capitals of the world he was known as Jean Adam, for he spoke French perfectly, and passed as a French subject, a native of Algiers; but in London, New York, and Montreal he was known as the wandering and adventurous Englishman John Adams.
Whether he was really English was doubtful. True, he spoke English without the slightest trace of accent, yet sometimes in his gesture, when unduly excited, there was unconsciously betrayed his foreign birth.
His French was as perfect as his English. He spoke with an accent of the South, and none ever dreamed that he could at the same time speak the pure, unadulterated Cockney slang.
He had just glanced at his watch, and knit his brows when the electric bell rang, and he rose to admit a short, triangular-faced, queer-looking little old man, whose back was bent and whose body seemed too large for his legs. He, too, was in evening-dress, and carried his overcoat across his arm.
I began to fear, old chap, that you couldnt come, Adams exclaimed, as he hung his friends coat in the narrow hall. You didnt acknowledge my wire.
I couldnt until too late. I was out, the other explained, in a tone of apology. Well, he asked, with a sigh, as he stretched himself before he seated himself in the proffered chair, what has happened?
A lot, my dear fellow. We shall come out on top yet.
Be more explicit. What do you mean?
What I say, was Adams response. Ive seen old Statham to-day.
And hes seen you eh?
Of course he has. And hes scared out of his senses thinks hes seen a ghost, most likely, he laughed, in triumph. But hell find Im much more than a ghost before hes much older, the canting old blackguard.
Lyle thought for a second.
The sight of you has forearmed him! It was rather injudicious just at this moment, wasnt it?
Not at all. I meant to give him a surprise. If Id have gone up to the house, rung the bell, and asked to see him, I should have been refused. He sees absolutely nobody, for theres a mystery connected with the house. Nobody has ever been inside.
What! exclaimed the old hunchbacked mining engineer. Thats interesting! Tell me more about it. Is it like the haunted house in Berkeley Square about which people used to talk so much years ago?
I dont think its ever been alleged to be haunted, responded Adams. Yet there are several weird and amazing stories told of it, and of the grim shadows which overhang it both night and day.
What stories have you heard? asked his companion, taking a cigarette from the box, for he had suddenly become much interested.
Well, it is said that the place is the most gorgeously furnished of any house in that select quarter, and that it is full of art treasures, old silver, miniatures, and antique furniture, for old Statham is a well-known collector and is known to have purchased many very fine specimens of antiques during the past few years. They say that, having furnished the place from kitchen to garret in the most costly manner possible, he sought out the old love of his earlier days a woman who assisted him in the foundation of his fortune, and invited her to inspect the house. They went round it together, and after luncheon he proposed marriage to her. To his chagrin, she declined the honour of becoming the wife of a millionaire.
She was a bit of a fool, I should suppose, remarked the hunchback.
They were fond enough of each other. She was nearly twenty years his junior, and though they had been separated for a good many years, he was still devoted to her. When she refused to marry him, there was a scene. And at last she was compelled to admit the truth she was the wife of another! A quarter of an hour later she left the house in tears, and from that moment the beautiful mansion, with the exception of two or three rooms, has been closed. He will allow nobody to pass upstairs, and the place remains the same as on that day when all his hopes of happiness were shattered.
But you said there were stories concerning the house, Lyle remarked, between the whiffs of his cigarette.
So there are. Both yesterday and to-day Ive been making inquiries and been told many curious things. A statement, for instance, made to me is to the effect that one night about a month ago the chauffeur of the great Lancashire cotton-spinner living a few doors away was seated on the car at two oclock in the morning, ready to take two of his masters guests down to their home near Epsom, when he noticed Stathams windows all brilliantly lit.
From the drawing-room above came the sounds of waltz music a piano excellently played. This struck the man as curious, well knowing the local belief that the upper portion of the house was kept rigorously closed. Yet, from all appearances, the old millionaire was that night entertaining guests, which was further proved when a quarter of an hour later the door opened and old Levi, the man-servant, came forth. As he did so, a four-wheeled cab, which had been waiting opposite, a little further up the road, drew across, and a few moments later both Levi and Statham appeared, struggling with a long, narrow black box, which, with the cabmans aid, was put on top of the vehicle. The box much resembled a coffin, and seemed unusually heavy.
So hurried and excited were the men that they took no notice of the motor car, and the cab next moment drove away, the man no doubt having previously received his orders. The music had ceased, and as soon as the cab had departed the lights in the windows were extinguished, and the weird home remained in darkness.
Very curious. Looks about as though there had been some foul play, doesnt it? Lyle suggested.
Thats what the chauffeur suspects. Ive spoken with him myself, and he tells me that the box was so like a coffin that the whole incident held him fascinated, Adams said. And, of course, this story getting about, has set other people on the watch. Indeed, only last night a very curious affair occurred. It was witnessed by a man who earns his living washing carriages in the mews close by, and who has for years taken an interest in the mysterious home of Samuel Statham.
He had been washing carriages till very late, and at about half-past two in the morning was going up Park Lane towards Edgware Road, where he lives, when his attention was drawn to the fact that as he passed Stathams house the front door was slightly ajar. Somebody was waiting there for the expected arrival of a stranger, and, hearing the carriage washers footstep, had opened the door in readiness. There was no light in the hall, and the mans first suspicion was that of burglars about to leave the place.
Next instant, however, the reputation for mystery which the place had earned, occurred to him, and he resolved to pass on and watch. This he did, retiring into a doorway a little farther down, and standing in the shadow unobserved he waited.
Half an hour passed, but nothing unusual occurred, until just after the clock had struck three, a rather tall, thin man passed quietly along. He was in evening-dress, and wore pumps, for his tread was noiseless. The man describes him as an aristocratic-looking person, and evidently a foreigner. At Stathams door he suddenly halted, looked up and down furtively to satisfy himself that he was not being watched, and then slipped inside.
And what then? inquired Lyle, much interested.
A very queer circumstance followed, went on the cosmopolitan. There was, an hour and a half later, an exact repetition of the scene witnessed by the chauffeur.
What! the black trunk?
Yes. A cab drove up near to the house, and, at signal from Levi, came up to the kerb. Then the long, heavy box was brought out by the servant and his master, heaved up on to the cab, which drove away in the direction of the Marble Arch.
Infernally suspicious, remarked the hunchback, tossing his cigarette end into the grate. Didnt the washer take note of the number of the cab?
No. Thats the unfortunate part of it. Apparently he didnt notice the crawling four-wheeler until he saw Levi come forth and give the signal.
And the aristocratic-looking foreigner? Could he recognise him again?
He says he could.
That was last night eh?
Yes.
There may be some police inquiries regarding a missing foreigner, remarked Lyle, thoughtfully. If so, his information may be valuable. How did you obtain it?
From his own lips.
Then we had better wait, and watch to see if anybody is reported missing. Certainly that house is one of mystery.
Sam Statham is unscrupulous. I know him to my cost, Adams remarked.
And so do I, Lyle declared. If what I suspect is true, then we shall make an exposure that will startle and horrify the world.
You mean regarding the foreigner of last night?