Читать книгу The Sins of Séverac Bablon - Sax Rohmer - Страница 15

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The mystery of personality is one which eludes research along the most scientific lines. It is a species of animal magnetism as yet unclassified. Personality is not confined to the individual: it clings to his picture, his garments, his writing; it has the persistency of a civet perfume.

From this slip of cardboard lying upon Rohscheimer's famous oval table emanated rays—unseen, but cogent. The magnetic words "Séverac Bablon" seemed to glow upon the walls, as of old those other words had glowed upon a Babylonian wall.

There were those present to whom the line "Who steals my purse steals trash" appealed, as the silliest ever written. And it was at the purses of these that the blow would be struck—id est, at the most vital and fonder part of their beings.

"That card"—Julius Rohscheimer moistened his lips—"can't have dropped from the ceiling!"

But he looked upward as he spoke; and it was evident that he credited Séverac Bablon with the powers of an Indian fakir.

"It would appear," said Antony Elschild, "that a phantom hand appeared in our midst!"

The incident was eerie; a thousand times more so in that it was associated with Séverac Bablon. Rohscheimer gave orders that the outer door was on no account to be opened, until the house had been thoroughly searched. He himself headed the search party—whilst Mrs. Rohscheimer remained with the guests.

All search proving futile, Rohscheimer returned and learnt that a new discovery had been made. He was met outside the dining-room door by Baron Hague.

"Rohscheimer!" cried the latter, "my name on that card, it is underlined in red ink!"

Rohscheimer's rejoinder was dramatic.

"The diamonds!" he whispered.

Indeed, this latest discovery was significant. Baron Hague had brought with him, for Rohscheimer's examination, a packet of rough diamonds. Rohscheimer had established his fortunes in South Africa; and, be it whispered, there were points of contact between his own early history and the history of the packet of diamonds which Hague carried to-night. In both records there were I.D.B. chapters.

The two men stared at each other—and sometimes glanced into the shadows of the corridor.

"He must be in league with the devil," continued Rohscheimer, "if he has got to know about those stones! But it certainly looks as though——"

"Where can I hide them from him—from this man who I hear cannot be kept out of anywhere?"

"Hague," said Rohscheimer, shakily, "you'd be safer at your hotel than here. He's held people up in my house once before!"

As may be divined, Rohscheimer's chiefest fear was that his name, his house, should be associated with another mysterious outrage. He knew Baron Hague to have about his person stones worth a small fortune, and he was all anxiety—first, to save them from Séverac Bablon, the common enemy; second, if Baron Hague must be robbed, to arrange that he be robbed somewhere else!

"I have not ordered my gar until twelve o'clock," said the Baron.

"Mine can be got ready in——"

"I won't wait! Gall me a gab!"

That proposal fell into line with Rohscheimer's personal views, and he wasted not a moment in making the necessary arrangements.

The library door opening, and Adeler, his private secretary, appearing, with a book under his arm, Mr. Rohscheimer called to him:

"Adeler!"

Adeler approached, deferentially. His pale, intellectual face was quite expressionless.

"If you're goin' downstairs, Adeler, tell someone to call a cab for the Baron: Heard nothing suspicious while you've been in the library, have you?"

"Nothing," said Adeler—bowed, and departed.

The two plutocrats rejoined the guests. Sir Leopold Jesson was standing in a corner engaged in an evidently interesting conversation with Salome Hohsmann.

"You positively saw the hand?"

"Positively!" the girl assured him. "It just slipped the card into mine as Mr. Sheard leaned over and asked me if my diamond aigrette had been traced—the one that was stolen from me here, in this house, by Séverac Bablon."

Sheard was standing near.

"I saw you take the card, Miss Hohsmann!" he said; "though I was unable to see from whose hand you took it. Sir Leopold sat on your left, however, and there was no one else near at the time."

Sir Leopold Jesson stared hard at Sheard. Sheard stared back aggressively. There was that between them that cried out for open conflict. Yet open conflict was impossible!

"Now then, you two!" Rohscheimer's coarse voice broke in, "what's the good o' fightin' about it?"

But the atmosphere of uneasiness prevailed throughout the gilded salon. Mrs. Rohscheimer, clever hostess though admittedly she was, found herself hard put to it to keep up the spirits of her guests—or those of her guests whose names had appeared upon the mysterious "second notice."

Lady Mary Evershed and Sir Richard Haredale sat under a drooping palm behind a charming statuette representing Pandora in the familiar attitude with the casket.

"It was through that door, yonder," said Haredale, pointing, "that the masked man came."

"Yes," assented the girl. "I was over there—by the double doors."

"You were," replied Haredale; "I saw you first of all, when I looked up!"

A short silence fell, then:

"Do you know," said Lady Mary, "I cannot sympathise with any of the people who lost their property. They were all of them people who never gave a penny away in their lives! In fact, Mr. Rohscheimer's particular set are all dreadfully mean! When you come to think of it, isn't it funny how everybody visits here?"

When he came to think of it, Haredale did not find it amusing in the slightest degree. Julius Rohscheimer was an octopus whose tentacles were fastened upon the heart of society. Haredale was so closely in the coils that, short of handing in his papers, he had no alternative but to appear as Rohscheimer's social alter ego. Lord and Lady Vignoles were regular visitors to the house in Park Lane; and although the Marquess of Evershed did not actually visit there, he countenanced the appearance of his daughter, chaperoned by Mrs. Wellington Lacey, at the millionaire's palace. Moreover, Haredale knew why!

What a wondrous power is gold!

Haredale was watching the fleeting expressions which crossed Lady Mary's beautiful face as, with a little puzzled frown, she glanced about the room.

Baron Hague came to make his adieux. He was a man badly frightened. When finally he departed, Julius Rohscheimer conducted him downstairs.

"Take care of yourself, Hague," he said with anxiety. "First thing in the morning I should put the parcel in safe deposit till it's wanted."

The Baron assured him that he should follow his advice.

Outside, in Park Lane, a taxi-cab was waiting, and Adeler held the door open. Baron Hague made no acknowledgment of the attention, ignoring the secretary as completely as he would have ignored a loafer who had opened the door for him.

Adeler seemed to expect no thanks, but turned and walked up the steps to the house again.

"Good-bye, Hague!" called Rohscheimer. "Don't forget what I told you about the one with the brown stain!"

The cab drove off.

A cloud of apprehension had settled upon the house, it seemed. Several others of the party determined, upon one pretence or another, to return home earlier than they had anticipated doing. From this Julius Rohscheimer did nothing to discourage them.

A family party was the next to leave, then, consisting of Lord and Lady Vignoles, Mr. J. J. Oppner and Zoe. Mrs. Hohsmann and the Misses Hohsmann followed very shortly. Mrs. Wellington Lacey, with Lady Mary Evershed, departed next, Sir Richard Haredale escorting them.

"Half a minute, though, Haredale!" called the host.

Haredale, in the hall-way, turned.

"I suppose," continued Rohscheimer, half closing his eyes from the bottom upward—"you haven't got any sort of idea how the card trick was done, Haredale? Do you think I ought to let the police know?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," was the reply. "In regard to the police, I should most certainly ring them up at once. Good night."

Haredale escaped, well aware that Rohscheimer was seeking some excuse to detain him. Even at the risk of offending that weighty financier he was not going to be deprived of the drive, short though it was, with Mary Evershed, with the possibility of a delightful little intimate chat at the end of it.

"I endorse what Haredale says," came Sheard's voice.

Rohscheimer turned. A footman was assisting the popular Fleet Street man into his overcoat. Mr. Antony Elschild, already equipped, was lighting a cigarette and evidently waiting for Sheard.

"What's the name of the man who has the Séverac Bablon case in hand?" asked the host.

"Chief Inspector Sheffield."

"Right-oh!" said Rohscheimer. "I'll give him a ring."

Upstairs Sir Leopold Jesson was waiting for a quiet talk with Rohscheimer.

"Come into the library," said the latter. "Adeler's finished, so there's no one to interrupt us."

The pair entered the luxuriously appointed library, with its rows of morocco-bound, unopened works. Jesson stood before the fire looking down at Rohscheimer, who had spread himself inelegantly in a deep arm-chair, and lay back puffing at the stump of a cigar.

"I distrust Sheard!" snapped Jesson suddenly.

"Eh," grunted the other. "Pull yourself together! It ain't likely that a man who gets his livin', you might say, by keepin' in with the right people" (he glanced down at his diamond studs) "is goin' to be mixed up with a brigand like Bablon!"

"I'm not so sure!" persisted Jesson. "My position is a peculiar one; but I'll go so far as to say that I don't trust him, and I won't go a step farther. I don't expect you," he added, "to quote my opinion to anybody."

"I shan't," said Rohscheimer. "It's too damn silly! What would he have to gain? He ain't one of us."

"I'll say no more!" declared Jesson. "But keep your eyes open!"

"I'll do that!" Rohscheimer assured him. "I suppose you haven't any idea who worked the card trick?"

"As to that—yes! I have an idea—but I can only repeat that I'll say no more."

"I hope Hague is all right," growled Rohscheimer. "He's got some good rough stuff on him to-night. Brought it over to show me. I didn't like that red line under his name. Looked as if he was sort of number one on the list!"

"That's how it struck me. By the way, what became of the card?"

"Don't know," was the reply. "Push that bell. I want a whisky and soda."

Jesson pressed the bell, and Rohscheimer, tossing the stump into the grate, dipped two fat fingers into his waistcoat pocket in quest of a new cigar. It was his custom to carry two or three stuck therein.

"Hallo!"

Jesson turned to him—and saw that he held a card in his hand.

"Have you got the card?"

"Yes," said Rohscheimer, and turned it over.

Whereupon his face changed colour, and became an unclean grey.

"What's the matter?" cried Jesson.

His hand shaking slightly, Rohscheimer passed him the card. Jesson peered at it anxiously.

The message which it bore was the same as that borne by the mysterious card which had caused such a panic at the dinner table, but, upon the other side, only one name appeared.

It was that of Julius Rohscheimer, and it was heavily underlined in red!