Читать книгу The White Glove - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Clifford Marsh stood back so that the others might precede him. After all, he was a little weaker and more dazed than he thought. The want of food, the bitter disappointment and the subsequent excitement had been too much for him. Time was when he had gone through critical dangers without so much as a qualm. But it was all different now, for his head was in a whirl, and his heart beating almost to suffocation.

"Steady, steady," he whispered to himself. "A brave, resolute man may snatch a great prize from fortune here, and hitherto I have not lacked the necessary qualities. For Madeline's sake I must be firm."

He thought of his wife. He could see her deep, steadfast blue eyes looking out of the darkness, and exhorting him to courage. He would show her yet that he had done her no wrong in taking her from a home of luxury to share his love in a cottage. He thought of nothing else as the carriage rolled westwards, and stopped at length before one of the greatest houses in Park Lane. Clifford had a glimpse of the magnificent hall filled with priceless furniture, half a dozen gorgeous footmen appeared to be languidly doing nothing—there were evidences of great wealth everywhere.

The owner of a palace like this must be rich beyond the dreams of avarice. There were magnificent pictures in the library, a carpet soft as velvet to the tread, all the electric light fittings were cunningly wrought in silver. And yet the owner of it all, as he lay back in a carved Tudor chair, did not look a happy man.

"You want to know something of your mission?" he asked.

"Presently, sir," Clifford said. He felt that his courage was coming back to him now. "But there is one important detail first. The British soldier is the best in the world, but even he cannot work unless he is fed. I have eaten practically nothing to-day. I have had no meat for close on a week. I—I am starving."

"I am a fool," Sir Arthur muttered. "I had forgotten also that I had not dined. You are quite right, Mr. Marsh. Please ring the bell."

One of the languid footmen entered, to receive a terse, vigorous command from his master.

He reappeared presently to say that dinner was served. Clifford had no eyes for the gorgeous table service, the wealth of flowers, the flash of crystal. Almost wolfishly he swallowed a few oysters, together with a glass of champagne. A little soup and chicken followed, and two more glasses of wine. By the time Clifford had finished, a new and joyous life seemed to run in his veins. He felt strong and uplifted now, and ready for anything. The mere idea of adventure appealed to him. There was a fine flavor in the cigarette that Sir Arthur pushed across the table.

"I think you'll do," the strange lady said with critical approval. She also dined, but all the time off light food and dainty entrees that only needed the necessity of a fork. Not once was her hand exposed. "Sir Arthur, we have found the right man. Tell him all that is necessary."

"It would be best to tell him nothing," Sir Arthur said meaningly.

"Perhaps you are right," the strange lady observed, after a moment's pause. "If he is found out, and gets into trouble, we must repudiate him."

"That is just the point," Sir Arthur went on. He rose from his chair and paced up and down the room with agitated strides. "We have suffered a great and unexpected loss. The loss is so great that unless it is repaired without delay I am absolutely ruined—ruined so hopelessly and shamefully that I could never hope to lift up my head again. Who this lady is and what connection she has with the trouble matters nothing. What you have to do is to find a certain man. To find him is quite easy. You have to locate him, to find out where he lives, to get into his house, to pry upon him, to search his belongings, and read his correspondence."

"It does not sound very congenial," Clifford said coldly.

"I admit it," Sir Arthur went on. "But, as there is a heaven above us, I swear that in doing this you are conferring a great service on humanity and preventing a deal of suffering. The man you are after is a mystery. He appears to be rich, his manners are perfect, he is wonderfully well informed, and he moves in very good society. And yet nobody has the least idea where he lives."

"That sounds very strange," Clifford murmured.

"It does, indeed. I repeat, nobody knows where he lives. He disappears at a certain time every night, and where he goes to is a mystery. It is for you to solve that mystery. But I warn you that there is great danger here. The man has his spies. He knows that I am moving against him. It is just possible that he has seen you enter this house to-night. On the other hand it may not be so, because you and I came together quite by accident. If that man really suspects you the chances are that you will disappear, and never be heard of again. You will not be the first one!"

Clifford nodded; there was no sort of fear in his heart now.

"You interest me," he said. "Pray continue. I am not going to draw back."

"Very well. Only I want to give you fair warning. I recognise the fact that nothing can be done without money, and when you leave this house presently you will do so with £500 in your pocket. It is every penny that I can spare for the present—indeed, I have no other ready money. Everything has been locked up in that which is lost, and which you have to recover. Be careful when care is needed, be lavish if the end justifies the expenditure."

"I am not likely to be extravagant," Clifford murmured.

"Very good. We are trusting you implicitly. There is only one other condition—if you get into trouble it is no use you coming to us. If you mention my name or this lady's we shall deny everything. If you fall we are not to be identified in that failure. And now are you prepared to go on?"

Clifford hesitated only for a moment. He was absolutely penniless, a fact that he had not taken the trouble to conceal from his new friends. They would, of course, understand that a portion of the £500 would go for his own needs. He had an absolutely free hand, and the chance of doing a signal service to a man ready and able to set his feet on the rungs of the ladder of fortune. On the other hand, starvation. Mandeline's blue eyes seemed to shine upon him again, and he made up his mind.

"I agree to all the terms," he said. "From time to time I am to report to you and secure your instructions. We can devise a safe way of doing that later on. Meanwhile, when am I to see this man of whom you spoke? Delay—"

"There will be no delay," the strange lady said. "You will see the man to-night. As to his name, or the name by which he goes, he is called Michel Rayne. I will point him out to you presently but you are on no account to speak to me or look at me; in fact, we are strangers. Do you understand that?"

"So far everything is perfectly plain," said Clifford.

"Then presently you are going to a great reception not very far from here. It is to Woodford House, the proprietor of which is Mr. Levi Raby, the great financier. The place will be crowded, which will be all the better for you."

"It would be better if I had an invitation," Clifford smiled, "and dress clothes. In my present garb I should create a sensation, but not of the kind I care for."

The strange lady waved her hand carelessly.

"All that is managed for you," she said. "I arranged it before dinner. Mrs. Raby is pushing into society. She therefore cultivates me. She even allows me to ask my friends to her smartest functions, spare cards for whom I have at home. By this time a packet of the latter have doubtless arrived. I fill in your name, and there you are."

"Still, it would be just as well for me to know your name," Clifford suggested.

"Oh, of course. I am Mrs. Geraldine Manton for society purposes. Please accept that, and all will be correct. At the same time, do not be too curious. You will take that card and stroll in. You will speak to your hostess, and mutter my name, and there you are. I shall be present at the proper time, and so will Michel Rayne. Was flag-wagging amongst the accomplishments you learnt in the Transvaal?"

"It was," Clifford admitted. "But why?"

"Oh, never mind, though the question is not superfluous. It is nearly ten o'clock, so the sooner you proceed to Woodford House the better."

"Provided always that you furnish me with the necessary suit of black and white," Clifford smiled.

"Pah! I had forgotten that for the moment. That also I have arranged for. A telephone message to one of the great costumiers settled that. Sir Arthur will take you up in his dressing-room, and there you will find everything. Only I should like to see you before you start. A change of dress makes a difference."

In Sir Arthur's dressing-room a great pile of clothing was laid out. The selection was a long job, but it was made at length. With his well-fitting coat, his white waistcoat, and his shining slippers, Clifford looked quite the easy man about town. A silk-lined overcoat and a soft hat completed the outfit. Marsh smiled at his looking at himself in the long looking-glass. His spirits were rising now. He was keen for the adventure. Sir Arthur regarded him with grave approval.

"Nothing could be better," he said. "You are the rich young man to the life. Still, it will be better to have all the little accessories. Take the gold cigarette case and this watch and chain, also the diamond-mounted sovereign purse. It is full of gold. Here are the notes I promised you, and a most elaborate case to put them in. As to your own wardrobe, you can come back and fetch it in the course of the night. I shall not go to bed before I have heard from you; indeed, sleep is out of the question for the present."

Clifford passed down into the dining-room again, where Mrs. Geraldine Manton greeted him with a fascinating smile of approval.

"You will do splendidly," she said. "You will meet all kinds of people in the house of my friend, Mrs. Raby. I will not fail to point out to you the man you need, but I shall do it in my own time and my own way. Now you had better go—Woodford House is the third round the corner. Here is the card."

Clifford stepped into the night, lighting a cigarette as he did so. He had always been fond of adventure, and here was one thrilling and mysterious enough for the most exacting. An hour or two before he had been plunged into the depths of despair, now he had dined, he was dressed well, and he had a large sum of money in his pocket. It would go hard if he did not grasp fortune out of this. He thought of Madeleine again, and smiled tenderly. It was too late to send her a telegram now—a fact that he regretted.

"Now for it," he muttered, as he threw away the end of his cigarette. "It will be no fault of mine if I fail to find something like a fortune in this."