The Golden Face: A Great 'Crook' Romance. Le Queux William
– Duperré and his wife being somewhere in the great old house. I think Duperré was, after all, a sportsman, even though he was a practiced crook, for on that night he and his wife allowed me to be alone with Lola.
“Do you know a friend of your father, an old man named Tarrant?” I asked her suddenly.
“Tarrant – Morley Tarrant?” she asked. “Oh! yes. He’s such a funny old fellow. Three years ago he often used to visit us when we lived in Biarritz, but I haven’t seen him since.”
“Who is he?”
“He was the manager of the branch of the Crédit Foncier. He is French, though he bears an English name.”
“French! But he speaks English!” I remarked.
“Of course. His mother was English. He was once employed by Morgan’s in Paris, I believe, but I haven’t seen him lately. Father said one day at table that the old fellow had overstepped the mark and owing to some defalcations had gone to prison. I was sorry. What do you know of him?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “I’ve heard of him.”
She looked me very straight in the face from beneath her long dark lashes.
“Ah! you won’t tell me what you know,” she said mysteriously.
“Neither will you, Lola!” Then, after a pause, I added: “I want to know whether he is your father’s friend – or his enemy.”
“His friend, no doubt.”
“Why should your father have as friend a man who robs a bank, eh?” I asked very earnestly.
“Ah! That I don’t know!” replied the girl as she bent towards me earnestly. “I – I’m always so puzzled. Ever since my dear mother died, just after I came back from Roedene, I have wondered – and always wondered. I can discover nothing – absolutely nothing! Father is so secret, and neither Madame nor he will tell me anything. They only say that their business is no affair of mine. My father has business, no doubt, Mr. Hargreave. From his business he derives his income. But I cannot see why he should so constantly meet men and women in all sorts of social positions and give them orders, as it were. I am not blind, neither am I deaf.”
“You have listened in secret, eh?” I asked.
“I confess that I have.” Then, after a slight pause, she went on: “And I have overheard some very strange conversations. My father seems to direct the good fortunes of certain of his friends, while at the same time he plots against his enemies. But I suppose, after all, it is business.”
Business! Little did the girl dream of the real occupation of her unscrupulous father, or the desperate characters of his friends, both male and female.
Truly, she was very sweet and charming, and I hated to think that in her innocence she existed in that fevered world of plotting and desperate crime.
We walked along the broad terrace in the twilight. Beyond spread the wide park to a dark belt of trees, Sherman’s Copse, it was called, a delightfully shady place in summer where we had often strolled together.
As we chatted, I reflected. So old Morley Tarrant was a gaol-bird! Hence it was but natural that Rudolph Rayne, who preserved such a high degree of respectability, would hesitate to meet him providing he knew that the police were watching. He certainly knew that, hence the secrecy of their appointment.
As we walked Madame suddenly emerged from the French windows of the drawing-room and joined us.
“I’ve just had a wire from Rudolph,” she said. “He’s leaving Copenhagen to-night and will be back to-morrow night. I’d no idea that he had been over in Denmark. But there! he is such a bird of passage that one never knows where he may be to-morrow.” And she laughed.
Later we all four sat down to dinner, a decorous meal, well-cooked and well-served. But the character of the household was shown by the fact that none of the servants – discreetly chosen, of course, and in themselves members of the criminal organization – betrayed the least surprise that I, who acted as chauffeur, should be admitted to that curious family circle.
Rayne returned next night, tired and travel-worn, and I met him at Thirsk station.
“We go up to Edinburgh to-morrow. I shall want you to drive me,” he said as he sat at my side in the Rolls. “Lola will go also.”
His last words delighted me, and next day at noon we all three set forth on our journey north. It rained all day and the run was the reverse of pleasant, nevertheless, we arrived at the Caledonian Hotel quite safely, and were soon installed in one of the cosy private suites.
Father and daughter breakfasted in their sitting-room, while I had my meal alone in the coffee-room.
When later I went up for orders Rayne dismissed me abruptly, saying that he would not require me till after lunch.
Half an hour afterwards, while idling along Princes Street, I came across Lola, who was looking in one of the shop windows.
“Father has sent me out as he wants to talk business with Mr. Hugh Martyn, a rich American we met at the Grand, in Rome, last year. Father has come up here specially to meet him.”
What fresh crooked business could there be in progress? That Rayne had paid flying visits to Copenhagen and Edinburgh in such a short space of time was in itself highly suspicious.
After luncheon, on entering Rayne’s sitting-room, I found him busily fashioning from a sheet of thin cardboard a small square box which he was fitting over a large glass paper-weight, a cube about four inches square which was wrapped in tissue-paper, the corner of which happened to be torn and so revealed the glass.
“I’m sending this away as a present,” he explained. “I bought it over in Princes Street this morning.” And he continued with his scissors to make the box to fit it. “I shall not want you any more to-day Hargreave,” he went on. “We’ll get back home to-morrow, starting at ten.”
And, as was his habit, he dismissed me abruptly.
Four days later I was summoned to the library, where in breeches and gaiters he was standing astride upon the hearthrug.
“Look here, Hargreave,” he said, “I want you to take the next train up to London and carry that little leather bag with you,” and he indicated a small bag standing upon the writing-table. “On arrival go at once down to Maldon and call at half-past nine o’clock to-morrow night at that house to which you took old Mr. Tarrant. You recollect it – The Limes, on the Witham road. Morley will be expecting you.”
“Very well,” I replied. “Is there any message?”
“None. Just deliver it to him. But to nobody else, remember,” he ordered.
So according to his instructions I duly arrived at the remote house at the hour arranged, and delivered the bag to the old man, who welcomed me and gave me a whisky-and-soda, which I found very acceptable after my long tramp from Maldon station. Tarrant was not alone, for I distinctly heard a man’s voice calling him just before he opened the door to me.
Recollecting that the old fellow had been in gaol, I was full of curiosity as to what was intended. I certainly never believed it to be so highly ingenious and dastardly as it eventually proved to be.
About a month passed uneventfully, save that I spent many delightful hours in Lola’s company. Her father had purchased another two-seater car – a “sports model” Vauxhall – and on several occasions I took him for runs in it about Yorkshire. Naturally he knew little about cars himself, but relied upon my knowledge and judgment. In addition to the Rolls and the Vauxhall I also had an “Indian” motor-cycle for my own personal use, and found it very useful in going on certain rapid missions to York and elsewhere. But the abandonment of the “A.C.” – which had, by the way, been regarded as a mystery by the Press – hurt me considerably.
Duperré had been absent from Overstow ever since the day we had left for Edinburgh, but as the bright autumn days passed I found myself more and more in love with the dainty girl whose father was a master-criminal.
Nevertheless,