Читать книгу The Crime Club - W. Holt-White - Страница 6

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Westerham stood still gazing stupidly at the girl and holding out the jewels towards her.

When he had recovered from his great surprise he moved a step nearer to her.

“Madam,” he said, “permit me to insist that you shall take these things back.”

Without a word the girl stretched out her hand and took the jewels from him. She hid them quickly in the folds of her cloak, and all the while the expression of amaze and fear on her face did not abate.

At last she pointed to the man lying beneath the tree.

“You have not killed him?” she asked, in a low voice.

For answer, Westerham turned again and knelt at the fat man's side. He inserted his hand skilfully over the unconscious man's heart, and then rose to his feet again.

“No,” he said, almost with a laugh. “Just knocked him out; that is all. He will be all right directly, and I fancy he will be glad to walk away without assistance. I imagine he is not a character who would care for much fuss and attention at this time of the night.”

Again Westerham drew near to the girl and peered gravely and keenly, but at the same time with all deference, into her face.

“I think,” he said quietly, “that it will be better for you to walk away while we are still undisturbed. If you will allow me, I will accompany you to the gates of the park. If I may be permitted to say so, it is hardly fitting that a lady in your position, carrying so much property about with her, should be strolling around here unattended.”

His tones were so kind and so cheering, and suggested such a delicate sense of humour at the whole situation, that Lady Kathleen smiled back at him.

“At least,” she said, and now she almost laughed herself, “you are a very sturdy escort.”

Westerham said not another word except, “This is the way,” and then, guiding the girl through the trees, he reached the main path and helped Lady Kathleen to step over the low iron railing; thence he piloted her through a throng of quite incurious people to Hyde Park Corner.

She walked beside him without saying anything at all, apparently satisfied to be in his charge; and she made no demur when, on reaching the street, Westerham hailed a passing taxicab.

The man drew up at the kerb, and opening the door, Westerham assisted the girl to enter.

Then he leant forward into the darkness of the cab and said earnestly:

“I trust you will permit me to see you safely on your road. Apparently one never knows what may happen in London, and, believe me, I have no wish you should suffer a second adventure such as the one through which you have just passed.”

“Thank you,” said Lady Kathleen in a scarcely audible voice. “If you will see me as far as Trafalgar Square I shall be glad.”

Giving the order “Trafalgar Square!” Westerham entered the cab.

They drove in complete silence along Piccadilly, down St. James's Street, and through Pall-Mall, and rapidly approached the Nelson monument. As the lights of the Grand Hotel came into view, Westerham leaned towards the girl and said very gravely:

“Do you think Trafalgar Square is near enough to your home? Had I not better tell the man to put you down at the corner of Downing Street?”

The girl gave a quick gasp, and then a stifled cry.

Westerham could see her eyes shining in the dimly-lit little vehicle.

“What do you know?” she cried.

“If you mean,” answered Westerham, “what do I know of the fat man and the jewels and your mission in Hyde Park—nothing. I give you my word I know nothing at all. But I do know you are Lady Kathleen Carfax, and that your father is Prime Minister of England, and that, without any high-flown sentiments, it is at least my duty to see you reach home in safety.”

Obedient to Westerham's instructions, the cabman had pulled up at the kerb beneath the monument.

“If you are sure,” said Westerham, “that you would rather alight here, of course I must defer to your wishes. But at least permit me to follow you at a respectful distance down Whitehall. I cannot tell why, but I feel uneasy about the last stages of your journey.”

Turning towards him, the girl held out her hand impulsively.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I thank you. You are evidently a gentleman. I ask you as a gentleman not to mention to anyone in the world what you have seen or heard to-night. Believe me,” she added with a catch in her voice, “that to-night's doings concern the honour of the best, and, as I think, the greatest, man in this country. I mean my father.”

Westerham bowed.

“You may trust me absolutely,” he said. “I give you my word of honour that not one single word of this shall pass my lips. But may I say something else? May I be allowed to make an offer of help? I have money, I have many resources at my command. I would willingly pledge myself to serve you in any way. I should be only too proud, too glad, to help.”

“No, no!” cried the girl, sharply, and with a note almost of agony in her voice.

The distress in the girl's tones was so real that Westerham made no further effort to persuade her.

He opened the door of the taxicab and assisted Lady Kathleen to step out.

Then, having paid the cabman, he turned to her side again.

“If you will allow me,” he said, “I will at least see you across the road,” and he made this suggestion with some justification, for the late after-theatre traffic was now streaming westwards.

At the top of Whitehall he turned, and lifting his hat, stood waiting for Lady Kathleen to take leave of him. Once more she stretched out her hand impulsively, and he took it in his own.

“Thank you,” she said, in the same low, earnest voice, “thank you again and again.”

“So far as I am concerned,” said Westerham, “You may rely on my absolute silence—if only,” he added with a little smile, “because there is really no one in London with whom I'm on speaking terms.”

Lady Kathleen nodded her head and searched his face with her serious eyes. Then she turned and walked quickly away.

As for Westerham, he ran quickly across to the further side of the roadway that he might watch Lady Kathleen's progress to Downing Street, for he was still fearful that she might meet with further molestation. He saw, however, that she reached the corner of the famous little cul-de-sac in safety, and, moreover, that she was saluted by an apparently surprised and startled policeman.

As Westerham walked back to Walter's Hotel he was in a most perplexed state of mind. Was it possible that he had stepped suddenly into the midst of some tragic mystery? Was it possible that it was real and actual sorrow and horror that had made the eyes of the girl in the picture—the eyes of the girl who had drawn him back to England—so wistful and so beckoning?

That a girl in Lady Kathleen Carfax's position might be suffering some profound grief, or might be the centre of some bit of distressing family history, might well be conceived. But what should take the daughter of the Prime Minister of England to Hyde Park after dark, and what extraordinary combination of inappropriate events could possibly cause her to seek the silence of such a man as he had left insensible?

Melun? It was possible that he was connected with the mystery. Westerham now remembered the man's cynical and confident smile when he had so unwisely boasted to him that he proposed to marry Lady Kathleen.

If Melun were really implicated in this business, then the methods of his villainy must be far more complicated than Westerham had anticipated. Only a very extraordinary conspiracy indeed could possibly have taken the Prime Minister's daughter into the park at such an hour.

From Westerham's own personal experience Melun was a very prince of blackmailers. Indeed, he had not troubled to deny the accusation when Westerham had made it. But even the nimble imagination of Westerham had not foreseen the possibility of blackmailing the Prime Minister, at whose back were all the forces of the law, including a discreet and silent and swiftly-acting Scotland Yard.

Westerham sat far into the night, turning all these things over in his mind; and the more he pondered over them the more convinced he became that Melun must be in some way implicated, if indeed he were not the originator of the whole business.

It was, however, upon what matter Melun could possibly blackmail Lord Penshurst that caused Westerham the most perplexity.

Obviously it was not some minor question of personal honour which involved the necessity of maintaining some sordid and disgraceful secret, or obviously Lord Penshurst's daughter would not be risking her personal safety, and to a great extent her reputation, by making such a visit to the park.

No; evidently the matter involved some great State secret, concerning which the Prime Minister had sought the confidence and assistance of his daughter. Yet Westerham could not altogether understand how this might be, because he could not conceive any matter of State which it would not be better to trust to the Secret Service than to a young girl.

Whatever it might be, the mystery embraced Lady Kathleen; and with the single-hearted desire to assist her, Westerham determined, whether it pleased her or not, that he would range himself on her side.

To do this, however, it would be necessary to discover what the mystery was, and he was still far from the solution when he fell asleep.

On the morrow he rose early, and sat till lunch-time in the reading-room holding a paper before him, but in reality setting up and then demolishing a thousand and one theories to account for Lady Kathleen's plight.

He had sent for Melun, and while he waited for him he debated with himself as to whether or not he should tax the captain with complicity in the matter. Finally he decided against such a course, seeing that an affair of such a magnitude as that in which Lady Kathleen was entangled must of a certainty outweigh in value even the great financial inducements with which he had sought to attach Melun to himself.

Finally Sir Paul resolved to cease his exploration of London and begin his exploration of the devious paths of Captain Melun, with the turnings and twistings of which he was still unacquainted.

It was quite possible that for the better conduct of his campaign against the Prime Minister Melun might require a certain amount of ready money, and in return for that ready money the captain might be led into showing Westerham sufficient of his life to enable the baronet to grasp and understand the mystery of Lady Kathleen.

When at last Captain Melun came up after lunch Westerham greeted him coldly—so coldly that the captain raised his eyebrows.

“It seems,” he said, “that you are not in a very good humour. Is London beginning to bore you?”

Sir Paul looked at him sharply. “No,” he said, thoughtfully, “not in the least, though I confess that I have to some extent exhausted its ordinary attractions. Now I propose to plunge a little deeper into its secrets and its mysteries. In this direction I am, of course, looking to you to help me.”

The captain nodded. “Quite so,” he agreed, “but I hope you realise that up to the present I have had nothing but your promises of favours to come—and times are hard.”

For answer, the baronet took out his pocket-book and counted out ten one-hundred-pound notes upon the table.

“This,” he said, “should be a sufficient guarantee of my good faith for the present. Mark you, I have had some experience of your kind before, and I do not propose to pay down a lump sum for services which you may subsequently find it inconvenient to render.

“Now I will come to the point at once. I don't propose to spend a thousand pounds for nothing—and when I say nothing, I mean for the privilege of knowing you alone. I am desirous of making the acquaintance of your friends and colleagues at once.”