Gentlemen of Crime E-Book

Arthur Gask

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

“Gentlemen,” barked out the small wizened man, “money talks.”
Nine men were seated at a long table in a very large room, where, except for a small and carefully shaded light directly above the head of the man who had spoken, everything was in complete darkness.
But although the hour was midnight, and the door was locked and the windows were closely shuttered and draped over with thick curtains, there was nothing in a way suspicious or sinister about the room itself.
It was no bare unfurnished cellar, suggestive of secrecy and the plotting of evil deeds, no hole-and-corner meeting place, where criminals might be foregathering, and no lair certainly for the hiding away of human beasts of prey.
Instead, the appointments of the chamber were in every way rich and sumptuous, speaking eloquently of refinement and of money judiciously, if lavishly, expended.

Leseprobe

Gentlemen of Crime

By

Arthur Gask

1932

© 2022 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782383835882

Table of Contents

Chapter I—The Gathering of the Eagles.

Chapter II—The Problem of Ephraim Smith.

Chapter III—The Secret of the Mask.

Chapter IV—The House in the Wood.

Chapter V—Gentlemen of Crime.

Chapter VI—The Masters of Ephraim Smith.

Chapter VII—The Beginning of the Trail.

Chapter VIII—Guests at Bodham Castle.

Chapter IX—The Threads of Fate.

Chapter X—The Messenger of Death.

Chapter XI—In Danger.

Chapter XII—The Soul of a Thief.

Chapter XIII—Fenton Loses His Situation.

Chapter XIV—The Bloodhounds.

Chapter XV—McAlbane Leaves the Gang.

Chapter XVI—The House by the River.

Chapter XVII—The Hovering of the Eagles.

Chapter XVIII—Detective Raphael Croupin.

Chapter XIX—The Prey of the Eagles.

Chapter XX—The Lights that Failed.

ChapterI—TheGatheringoftheEagles.

“Gentlemen,” barked out the small wizened man, “money talks.”

Nine men were seated at a long table in a very large room, where, except for a small and carefully shaded light directly above the head of the man who had spoken, everything was in complete darkness.

But although the hour was midnight, and the door was locked and the windows were closely shuttered and draped over with thick curtains, there was nothing in a way suspicious or sinister about the room itself.

It was no bare unfurnished cellar, suggestive of secrecy and the plotting of evil deeds, no hole-and-corner meeting place, where criminals might be foregathering, and no lair certainly for the hiding away of human beasts of prey.

Instead, the appointments of the chamber were in every way rich and sumptuous, speaking eloquently of refinement and of money judiciously, if lavishly, expended.

The chairs and tables would have realised a small fortune in any art saleroom in the world, and the enormous carpet, extending to the wainscoting, had cost many hundreds of pounds. There were pictures, too, upon the walls, the value which only experts could appraise, while the great oak fireplace was a rare and prized antique, a poem of those far-off days when men gave to wood and stone the beauty of the stars.

And yet there was only one small light in the room, and until the little man had darted through the door and locking it behind him, had started to address the gathering, not a word had been spoken by anyone, and the stillness had been as complete and deep as if all present had been waiting breathlessly for the pronouncement of some dread sentence of death.

“Yes,” continued the speaker, in sharp and staccato-like tones, “it is my fortune or misfortune, as you all know, to be a very rich man, and indeed great wealth alone could have enabled me to arrange such a gathering as this.” He thumped with his fist upon the table. “Gentlemen, will it surprise you to learn that there are now present in this room the very cream of the great detectives of the world, and, if I may say so without giving offence”—his lips curved to a sarcastic smile—”certain of its greatest miscreants as well?”

The humour died from his face, and he became at once business-like and cold. “I have been successful in bringing together upon a single occasion the most renowned trackers and the most notorious practitioners of crime, and I have brought you here at great expense, by the pulling of many strings; and, as I say, nothing but my unique position in financial circles could have rendered it possible for me to have bid so successfully for your company.” He lowered his voice to an intense whisper. “And you have one and all come here by stealth, unknown to one another, by many devious ways. You are all disguised and wearing the black masks I have provided for you, this chamber is in darkness, it is in the dead of night, and mine is the only voice that so far any of you have heard.” He raised his hand to emphasise his point. “There is then no human possibility that any of you can know who the others are, and unless I give the word everything is propitious for this anonymity to remain unbroken.”

An apologetic tone crept into his voice. “And I have arranged that everything should happen in this way because, upon the first shock of your seeing so many gathered together here, it may seem that I have not been open and straightforward in my call for your company, and some of you may in consequence be unwilling to act for me and may desire to draw out.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You have each of course imagined that you were being summoned here alone, but when I have exactly explained the position, and what I want you for, you will one and all then realise that it was vital for the success of my project that you should be under this illusion.

“Under the peculiar circumstances it was impossible that I could give you the whole of my confidence until you were all assembled here, but”—he looked round with a grim smile—”surely my terms are sufficiently generous to mollify any wounded feelings that any of you may have. I have mentioned to each of you the sum of £1,000 for one month's work, whether your labour be of any service to me or not, and I now make the promise of a further £5,000 to one and all of you if the consummation I am desirous of is brought about—no matter by whom. In addition, in the latter contingency I will also give a most substantial present to the one of you who in my opinion has been most instrumental in contributing to that success.” He thumped his fist again upon the table. “Now, gentlemen, I ask you, is there any one among you who is not prepared to work upon these terms in unison with such colleagues as I have chosen? What do you say?”

A moment's silence, and then the masked man nearest to him on his right asked slowly:

“And how do you propose then, Mr. Smith, that we should work, as you say, in unison together?” There was a distinct sneer in the voice. “From what you have just told us, I gather we shall not all of us be imbued exactly with the same ideals.”

“Precisely,” snapped Ephraim Smith, “and you may also gather, sir, that ideals are altogether out of place and of no marketable value here.” His voice was harsh and insistent as he waved his arm round to his audience. “Understand, please, all of you, that this is a commercial proposition I am placing before you—a commercial proposition pure and simple, and I make no pretences that I am appealing to any higher feelings. I want something, and I am prepared to pay for it, and it does not matter two hoots to me whether those who give it have clean hands or not in the ordinary conduct of their lives.” He spoke quite coldly. “So the only bond of unison between you will be one of dollars—cash—for I have simply brought you here, good man and bad, saint and sinner, in order that you may all pool your peculiar talents to my advantage.”

He raised his hand. “But mind, you”—and his face softened into an attractive smile—”although I am purposely putting the position before you so brutally, still—still in my own mind I am perfectly sure that money will not be the only factor you will dwell upon in making your decisions, for, however different your temperaments and characters, I am aware that you all possess one quality in common, the quality of courage. You are all brave men, and risk and peril belong to the atmospheres in which you live. You have all of you attuned your lives to danger and it is your wont to labour in the storm and on the precipice side. Good men and bad, you are hunters, and therefore you are never deterred by the possibility that your quarry may at any moment turn and rend you.” He laughed lightly. “So, when I tell you it is dangerous work I am going to entrust to you, very dangerous work, I know quite well that I am appealing to your sympathies as well as offering you material rewards.”

“But how do you propose we shall work together?” asked the man upon his right again. “You haven't explained that yet.”

“Well, well,” replied Ephraim Smith impatiently, “having made quite clear to you that it is to your mutual advantage that some one of you should be successful, I am confident you will all be prepared to help one another to the full extent of your abilities. After I have laid everything before you and you have duly cogitated over the matter, you will one and all, I hope, contribute your ideas and suggestions to the common fund.” He glared round the table. “Now, has anyone else a question to ask?”

“Certainly,” came a refined voice from the far end, “I have one.” The speaker laughed musically. “Like my honourable colleague-to-be who has just asked for information, I do not feel easy at the company I am in”—he spread out his hands, as if in some anxiety—”for as by no stretch of the imagination can I think of anybody referring to me as one of the great detectives of the world, so I can only conclude that I fall into the other category as one of its greatest rogues. That being so”—and he made his voice tremble—”how shall I fare when I am uncovered naked and defenceless before my enemies? Will it be safe for the wolf to be consorting with the watchdogs, and the jackal to go hunting with the lions?”

“A sensible question,” exclaimed Ephraim Smith sharply, “but one easily answered.” He lifted his hand in solemn warning. “It is to be understood that a truce of God will exist whilst you are in my service and that no one among you will lift his finger against any other. I mean—upright men and rogues, men of honour and gentlemen without scruples, you will one and all for the time being act as in a common brotherhood, and will do nothing by word or deed to bring misfortune upon one another.” He paused for a moment. “Now is that clearly understood? You are to take no advantage of your association together in my service.”

“Good,” remarked a slim man seated next to him of the refined and musical voice, “then perhaps some gentleman here will kindly give me back my watch. It is of value to me, and I have noted for some minutes now that it has been absent from the usual pocket where I keep it. It is—,” and he paused while passing his hands down his waistcoat. “Oh, pardon,” he went on in real distress, “I remember now I didn't bring it with me. The glass was loose and I left it at home in the chest of drawers. Really, really,” and it was plain that his annoyance was genuine. “I apologise most humbly to all present. Upon another occasion if the opportunity be afforded me I will pay willingly for champagne all round. I——”

“A handsome apology, I am sure,” laughed another man, “but while upon the subject of personal property, Mr. Smith, may I remark that some gentleman here must be sitting on my hat. I put it down upon another chair when I first came into the room, but your butler motioned me to sit here, and in changing my seat I forgot to move the hat with me. It is a good hat, and I shouldn't like——”

But Ephraim Smith shook himself in irritation.

“Well, are you all agreed?” he interrupted brusquely. “A truce of God and you all work together under the conditions I have stated? No one has any objection?”

The man who had lost his hat sank back into his chair and a deep silence followed.

Ephraim Smith rubbed his hands together. “Excellent,” he exclaimed, “then you are men of common sense as well as men of genius, and as far as this gathering is concerned there is consequently no further need for secrecy.”

With a quick movement he pushed a button under the table and instantly the room was flooded with light. There were lights then everywhere, glaring, harsh, and unshaded lights—over the table, high up in the ceiling, and all round the walls.

So suddenly, indeed, was the darkness broken that the company of masked men wilted as if they had come suddenly under the lash. They jerked themselves up stiffly and turned sharply in their chairs, regarding one another as far as their blinking and dazed condition would permit with hostile and suspicious eyes. But the shock passed away quickly and curiosity soon began to take the place of uneasiness. They subsided into their chairs again and allowed their glances to wander interestedly around.

“Now I'll introduce you to one another,” said Ephraim Smith briskly, “I'll——”

“But is that necessary, sir,” broke in another man sharply. He spoke with a slight foreign accent. “Is it necessary, I ask?”

“Not absolutely necessary,” replied Ephraim Smith with a frown, “but most desirable, because you can then all appreciate the value of one another's opinions.” He brushed the objection aside. “There is still no need, if you do not wish it, for any of you to discard your disguises. You are all past masters in the art and, if you are so minded, your everyday appearances, as far as this meeting is concerned, may remain concealed. There is no obligation on any of you to unmask.”

He spoke quickly, is if to forestall any further objection.

“Beginning then on my right hand and going round the table, we have—number one, Mr. Naughton Jones, the versatile solver of many intricate problems and the terror of the aristocracy of the underworld; number two, Monsieur Vallon, of the Surete Generale of Paris, who perhaps has given more men to the guillotine than any other detective of his country; number three, Dr. Crittenden, who has as many hangings to his credit as there are years in his life; number four, Monsieur Raphael Croupin, who has all France at his feet because of the romantic interweaving of his many love adventures and his many thefts; number five, Lord Victor Hume, who, in the ways of criminology, has performed for us the miracle of making omelettes without breaking of any eggs; number six, Mr. Gilbert Larose, who comes to us from the Antipodes with a great reputation for setting small value upon lives, including, it would certainly seem, his own; number seven, Professor Mariarty, whose organisation of crime has been the one bright spot in the failure of the lawless classes of this country to establish a stranglehold upon Scotland Yard; and finally, number eight—Monsieur Gustave Hidou, the so-called sewer rat of Paris, who, if report be true, has given to the waters of the Seine more corpses than there are in many a fashionable churchyard.”

Ephraim Smith rubbed his hands together exultantly and beamed round upon his audience. “Surely, gentlemen—surely as opulent a gathering of good and evil as could be found in any chamber in any city of the world.”

A strained silence followed, and then Naughton Jones laughed dryly.

“A grim joke, Mr. Smith,” he said, “and your need must indeed have been great for you to perpetrate it.” He slipped off his mask and threw it down upon the table. “Well, I, for one; am not ashamed to show my face.”

“Nor I, either,” cried Vallon, throwing off his mask as well. “I'm Vallon, of the Surete of Paris, and I have no care who knows it.”

And then one by one all round the table they proceeded to discard their masks, except the last man, who sat motionless and with no intention apparently of uncovering.

“I prefer to remain as I am,” he said coldly. “I am not so good-looking as the rest of you, and no beauty will be lost if you don't see me.”

“As you will!” snapped Ephraim Smith, as if rather surprised. He scowled. “But all the same, I think it would have shown more courtesy on your part, Monsieur Hidou, if you had followed the general example.” He rose briskly from his chair.

“Black coffee will now be served,” he went on, “for I want to keep you as alert and wakeful as possible until you have considered my problem. After that you will be my guests at supper, and the fastidious Lord Hume, even, will be able to find no fault in the vintage of champagne I am offering you.” He smiled genially. “So, for five minutes, gentleman, you can talk and relax. You are all amongst friends, remember, and there is no need for any of you to be on your guard”—and, turning his back upon his guests, he unlocked the door and proceeded quickly from the room.

For a minute or so none of the company appeared to have any desire to further their acquaintanceships; instead, they sat stiffly in their chairs and took no notice of one another. Then Raphael Croupin got up and walked round to Naughton Jones.

“Most happy to meet you again, Mr. Jones,” he said, bowing respectfully. “Why, you look younger than ever! Age and cocaine seem to nave no effect on you.”

“I have given up cocaine,” replied Naughton Jones, coldly, “and kindly do not refer to it. From a little failing among intellectuals it has become the vice of the degenerates and has descended even to the slums.” He smiled. “How are you getting on? Trade brisk, eh?”

Raphael Croupin made reply with despondency. “Not very well, I am sorry to say,” he said. “Business is slow and expenses are going on just the same. I have not the heart to dismiss the staff.”

“Well, you may not need them much longer, Monsieur Croupin,” broke in Vallon grimly, nodding his head. “We shall be getting you very soon, I am sure.”

“Ah! Monsieur Vallon!” exclaimed Croupin, turning round excitedly, “I am delighted to meet you. It does not happen we have met before, but then who does not know the great Vallon by reputation?” He bowed gallantly. “It is my good fortune that my line of work does not especially attract your activity. Neither I nor any of my employes use vitriol nor prepare sacks and graves in cellars for lovely girls.” He leant forward and touched Vallon on the arm. “But I do not like it, Monsieur—all the company we have here.” He looked round stealthily. “That Hidou is a most immoral man, and really I would prefer not to have business with him in any way. It was a mistake for Mr. Smith to invite him to consult with us. He is a vulgar murderer.”

The deep voice of Professor Mariarty came up from the end of the room.

“Of course, Mr. Hidou,” he said, a little resentfully, “things are so much easier for you in Paris. You have the Seine close to you all the time. When, we have to get rid of a body it is not so easy, and we find it safer to leave it where it is. In making away then we don't encumber ourselves.”

“But my dear Dr. Crittenden,” protested Lord Hume, “you are quite mistaken. By what chemical means can you ever possibly expect to give to colonial wines the glory of the soil of the valleys of the Loire and the Rhone? God consigned to the chalk of France——”

“But, Monsieur Vallon,” laughed Raphael Croupin merrily, “even if you did get hold of me by any chance, you would never be able to sustain the charge. My organisation is too perfect.” He spread out his hands. “Why, there are two members of my staff whose sole duty it is to prepare alibis for me. They are always at it. Whilst I am working, say, at Nimes, there is a cast iron alibi being prepared to show that I have never left Paris; when I am at Bordeaux, a dozen honest fellows are being got ready to swear that I have been all the time at Nancy. And so on and go on. I never——”

The emotionless and solemn looking butler brought in the coffee, handing it round upon a silver tray, and the conversation became general. Despite their varied temperaments and occupations, for the moment the guests all talked in seeming harmony together, and the gay laugh of Raphael Croupin and the cultured tones of Lord Hume broke in across the deep voice of Dr. Crittenden and the precise enunciation of Naughton Jones. Five—ten minutes passed, and then Ephraim Smith made another lightning entrance into the room.

“Gentlemen,” he announced briskly, “to your seats—if you please. The serious business of the night is about to begin. You have all pencils and paper before you, and kindly help yourselves to cigarettes.” He switched off the lights all round the room, leaving only the table illuminated. Then he sat down and pulled his chair up close. “Now,” he said grimly, “I am going to tell you what I have summoned you all here for.”

ChapterII—TheProblemofEphraimSmith.

Ephraim Smith placed a small attache case upon the table before him. A minute of silence followed, and then he rapped out:—

“Gentlemen, I am in the grip of a racketeer. That is my trouble.”

His face was scowling, his teeth were gritted together, and his hands were clenched so hard that the knuckles stood out white.

He went on savagely, “Yes, body and soul, I am under the heel of a conqueror. My life is one long humiliation, and night and day I have no thoughts but for the shame that I am in.”

No one made any comment, but every eye was turned upon him, and every face was set and stern.

His anger passed quickly, and he spoke much more quietly.

“But I will commence from the very beginning,” he said. “I am fifty-seven years of age, and up to three years ago had lived all my life in the United States. New York City was my home town, and I made most of my money there. I am known to every banking institution in the world, and the name of Ephraim Smith has always stood for capacity, honesty and a square deal. In my time I have made men, I have built cities, and I have been instrumental in carrying progress and civilisation to the far corners of the earth. I have been a master always, and it has been my pride that I have bowed my head to no one “—he smiled—”except to a pretty woman. Well, three years ago I resolved to give up work and enjoy what remained to me of life in a country more restful than the land of my birth. So I realised everything and came over here to England to live. I spent money lavishly. I bought this castle with its thousand and more acres of land. Lord Sedlen's mansion in Park Lane, Dark Abbey in Scotland on Loch Awe, and the late Count Maranoff's house and racing stables by Newmarket Heath. As was my intention, I made my interests here as wide as possible, and with my wife and daughter settled down to enjoy the best that this beautiful country can provide. All went well for two years, and then one morning about a year ago, on July 5 to be exact, I received an extraordinary letter through the post. I say extraordinary, for its contents were so surprising in their brevity and impudence. It was just a curt command to me from an unknown correspondent to send a hundred guineas to the Norwich Children's Hospital. I will read it to you.”

He spread open we attache case and took out a paper, “'To Ephraim Smith, Bodham Castle, Norfolk,'“ he read. “'Send a hundred guineas anonymously to the Norwich Children's Hospital. If you fail to do so within three days, the consequences will be unpleasant. Signed 'The Man of Destiny.'“

Ephraim Smith frowned. “An insolent demand, for, although I am accustomed to allocate many thousands of pounds yearly to charity, I naturally prefer to choose for myself the directions in which my donations shall flow.” He looked down at the paper again. “Posted in Norwich 9 p.m., July 4, an ordinary stamped envelope used, and a very ordinary piece of notepaper.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Of course, I took no notice of it, regarding it rather as a joke or as the outburst of some crank, for we people of means are often recipients of communications of that kind, and so it was quite by chance even that the letter was preserved. My daughter was amused and kept it to show a friend. It passed out of my mind then until a week later to the day, when there came another letter, very brief this time. Here it is, 'Take the consequences then,' signed as before, 'The Man of Destiny.'“ The voice of Ephraim Smith hardened, “And the following night all the hayricks on this estate were burnt down, to the value of more than three thousand pounds.”

The little wizened man leant back in his chair and regarded the company very solemnly, “And then, gentlemen, came a long series of outrages following one upon another, with the invariable anonymous communication sandwiched between every time.” He sighed. “It was dreadful, for from the very beginning I saw I was almost helpless, my many possessions and estates rendering me so particularly vulnerable. I was attacked in all directions, and fire, poison, and violence were all in turn called into requisition. My racing stables near Newmarket were burnt down; my house-boat at Maidenhead was sunk at its moorings; my mare, Rose of Dawn, the favourite for the Lincolnshire Handicap, became unaccountably ill—was poisoned we are sure—on the very eve of the race; a gas explosion occurred in my house at Park Lane and some priceless old masters and rare art treasures were destroyed; my abbey on Loch Awe was partially demolished by fire; my stud cattle met with mysterious accidents; my thousand guinea greyhound, Black Arrow, disappeared, and finally, to make the long list of my troubles short, my wife and daughter had most narrow escapes when out motoring, for it was only by the narrowest margins that they both avoided colliding with other cars that, in a most deliberate fashion were driven in their way.”

Ephraim Smith sighed again, “And those outrages were all carried out because I refused to hand over the large sums of money that were demanded from me.” He stopped speaking and bowed his head as if the very recital of his wrongs were overcoming him. A short silence followed and Naughton Jones broke in:—

“But were the authorities then not able to discover any of the perpetrators?” he asked disdainfully. “Were they not able to discover anything?”

Ephraim Smith jerked his head up sharply and scowled at the interruption.

“No, sir,” he snapped brusquely, “they were not, and I do not blame them for it either.” He spoke very coldly. “Even to this day the position is that we can adduce no evidence whatsoever to prove that each and every one of those happenings was not accidental.” His tone was very bitter. “And that is the diabolical cunning of it all. To outsiders it may still appear that it is only a series of coincidences that such misfortunes have befallen me here, there, and everywhere.” He thumped his fist upon the table. “But I and the police know differently. They were not coincidences, for upon every occasion before they occurred I was aware that a blow was about to fall somewhere, because each outrage was preceded by a threat.”

“And now,” asked Vallon with great interest, “are you still being subjected to such outrages?”

Ephraim Smith glared angrily at the burly Frenchman, and for a moment it seemed as if he were about to make some sharp retort, but then suddenly his whole expression altered and he spoke ruefully like a whipped child.

“No, monsieur,” he replied quietly. “I am in peace and enjoying what possessions are now left me because”—his voice was ever so gentle—”because, whenever I am ordered to, I hand over the sum of two thousand pounds to a gentleman who is good enough to call for it in person.” He almost groaned, “I have given in.”

A deep hush fell over the chamber, and they all held their breaths. The distress of the speaker was so apparent that they forebore to make any comment.

After a while Ephraim Smith went on, and his voice was now firmer.

“Yes, I retreated according to plan. I was spent and finished with for the moment, and I required time to organise and form a new army.” He smiled. “And you gentlemen are that new army. You are the forces that I am going to rely on now, and I am confident that with your collective wisdom our campaign will be crowned with success.” He clenched his fist angrily. “But you can imagine the humiliation that I feel. I, who have always held my head so high, to admit now that I have met my master, I who have always been such a fighter to bend my knee now and bow humbly to this vile extortioner.” He sighed, “Yes, I gave in, but I vowed I would expend all my fortune if need be to run this wretch to earth.”

He took another paper out of the attache case and spoke in crisp and business-like tones.

“Well, I have given you the general outline of what has happened and I will now go more into particulars. The first happening, as I have told you, was the burning of my hayricks, and, of course, then I immediately called in the police. Upon the production of those two communications I have read you, they agreed at once that the conflagration was not accidental and so in every way possible they proceeded to make their investigations. But they could find out nothing, and the general opinion held by everyone unaware of what had gone before was that the fires had been started—my hayricks are all close together—by some spark blown from a chimney or from some discarded cigarette. Well, two days later I received this third communication.” He took another paper out of the case and read slowly:—”'Send five hundred guineas now to the Children's Hospital or greater punishment will follow.' Posted again in Norwich and by the night post. I handed the letter over to the police and a night and day watch was immediately set all over this estate. A score of men were secreted in places of vantage and if any further outrage were to be attempted we were sanguine of catching the perpetrators in the very act. We were of opinion that we were dealing with a madman, or at any rate with some individual of eccentric mind, for we had no idea then of the evil we were up against. Well, nothing happened for a week, and then like a bolt from the blue came the burning down of my racing stables at Newmarket.”

He sighed deeply as if he could hardly get his breath. “After the news had reached me over the 'phone late that night I wanted to believe it was only a coincidence, for it had come to me in a flash, as I put down the receiver, how truly vulnerable I was were the outrages in fact deliberate. It would be impossible, I realised, ever effectively to protect all my interests, for my possessions were numerous and so far distant from each other. So I hoped against hope that this second trouble was just a calamity of wayward chance. But no——” and he shook his head angrily——”I was soon to learn that it was no freakish coincidence, for the next day came a fourth letter, posted, mark you, in Newmarket at 9 o'clock the previous evening—two and a half hours before the fire in the stables started. These are the words this time,” and he picked up a fourth paper.

“'So you are stubborn, are you, and you won't give in. Well, hang out and see who gets tired of it first. Send a thousand pounds now to William B. Markham, care of Messrs. Hunter and Hunter, solicitors, Castle-street, Norwich. All in one pound Treasury notes and before Friday, and make no attempt to uncover my identity.' Signed again, 'The Man of Destiny.'“

“Ah!” commented Naughton Jones, with an expression of profound sagacity, “something definite now. Coming out into the open at last.”

“No, sir,” snapped Ephraim Smith curtly. “Hunter and Hunter are one of the most respected firms of solicitors in Norwich, and they had never heard of the man. It was colossal insolence on the part of the extortioner to give their names.”

Naughton Jones frowned and, glancing round the table, made a mental reservation that Raphael Croupin was a vulgar fellow, for the vivacious Frenchman was obviously amused and making no attempt to restrain his grins.

“Yes,” went on Ephraim Smith bitterly. “Upon the receipt of this fourth letter on the morning after the burning of my racing stables, and following my interview with these Norwich solicitors, I realised most conclusively that it was no lunatic we were dealing with, but a perfectly sane individual of great cunning and resource. Of great cunning, I say, for it was evidently going to be his intention to wear down my resistance to his demands by repeated outrages before he would give us the very frailest chance of any clue to follow. He was anticipating most correctly that it would take blow upon blow, and calamity upon calamity, to bring me to such a condition of despair that I should give in.”

“And are you positive in your opinion then, Mr. Smith,” broke in Dr. Crittenden, “that the writer of these letters was not in touch with anyone in the office of these solicitors? That he was content just to issue his orders to you without being in a position to learn afterwards whether or not you had taken any notice of it?”

“Quite positive, sir,” replied Ephraim Smith, and he scowled. “Surely no one would ever dream that the mere burning of some hay and a paltry stable would bring a man of my type to his knees.” He drew himself up with dignity. “I should be known as a fighter to anyone who might make inquiries about me, and this wretch, from his knowledge of my habits and the properties I possess, has undoubtedly studied me pretty well. Therefore he had no need to post any confederate in that office to be sure I would decline with contempt, and his subsequent actions proved that he knew it. He forthwith gave up ordering me to deposit money anywhere after he had curtly informed me—in a letter posted in Paris, by the by—that when I was tired of his attentions, as he put it, I could intimate to him to that effect in a communication in the Agony Column of the 'Times' under the heading of 'Injured Innocent.'“

Ephraim Smith leant back in his chair and glared round the table as if daring anyone to laugh, but no one moved a muscle, and he continued:—

“So for nearly eight months he persecuted me, eight long, weary months, the hardest I have ever spent in my life, and strive as we might we could never light upon the faintest trace of him. He just came and went and there was only the trail of destruction and calamity behind him. Seventeen outrages in all occurred—I have a list of them here for each one of you, described, in detail, and you can peruse it at your leisure—and although my nerves were at the breaking point I still had no intention of giving in. But my hands were forced suddenly.” He lowered his voice. “My poor wife became desperately ill, and my medical adviser warned me that she would become insane if her terror were allowed to go on. She pleaded with me, too, not to be what she called foolish. I was rich enough, she reminded me, to be able to afford whatever the extortioner would ask of me, and it were better, she urged, to pay this dreadful tribute rather than live out our lives always in danger and always in such unnerving fear.” He pursed up his lips. “So outwardly, at all events, I capitulated, and inserted the following advertisement in the Agony Column of the 'Times':—'Enough. Am willing to come to terms.'“

“Two days later then I heard from him. You shall see the letter among all the other ones presently. He wrote to me that on the Tuesday of the following week, on the 15th of the month, I was to be ready with a parcel of two thousand one pound treasury notes, not new or in consecutive numbers, and that I was to give them to an emissary of his who would call for them. I would know on the morning of the day who this emissary was going to be, and he dared me to inform the police or to make any attempt to have the man arrested or followed. All precautions had been taken, he added, and the slightest gesture of bad faith on my part would entail consequences that would be most serious for me.”

Ephraim Smith laughed scornfully. “But there was no question of bad faith. I was dealing with a scoundrel, and any procedure, I considered, would be both justified and honourable; so, in spite of all his threats, I determined upon one more bid for freedom. I communicated with the authorities, and upon their advice made all preparations to do exactly as he ordered up to a certain point. I procured the two thousand pounds, in treasury notes, and we confidently expected to take the extortioner and his confederate red-handed with them in his possession.”

He bent forward and spoke very solemnly. “Now, please, follow me most closely, for it is only now that you will grasp the resource and cunning of the wretch I have called you in to deal with. Well, on the Tuesday morning I received the letter that he had said would come, and it informed me that a traveller representing a firm dealing with a certain domestic appliance—it did not say what—would call here at 11 o'clock precisely. The traveller would be alone and would drive up to the front door in a car. I was to receive him without any delay and give him an order for one of the articles he was selling, and then I was to hand him the parcel of notes, done up in an ordinary newspaper, not in brown paper, but in common newspaper. The parcel was to be tied well round with string, and there was to be a label gummed on to it addressed clearly: 'Mr. Burton Jones, Post Office, Ipswich. To be called for.' The label was to bear stamps to the value of sixpence, and I was to ask the traveller as a favour if he would be kind enough to post it for me in Norwich upon his return to the city. I was warned again that if I disobeyed in the very slightest particular it would mean injury and, perhaps, even death to me and members of my family.”

Ephraim Smith paused dramatically. “But by half-past 10, gentlemen, the grounds of the castle were like an armed camp; men were hidden in all directions, and we confidently surmised we were ready for anything that might happen. At 11 o'clock then, to the minute, the traveller arrived, and, leaving him waiting in the hall, my butler, Fenton, the man whom you have seen to-night, brought in a card to me where I was waiting in my study. From the card I saw that the man was representing the Hercules Vacuum Cleaner Company, whose Norfolk branch is in Castle-street, Norwich, and, bidding Fenton show him in, I received the man immediately.

“His arms were full, for he was carrying a large cardboard box and some smaller parcels done up in brown paper. He was a youngish man, about 30 I should say, quite ordinary looking, and bowing most respectfully he got down to business at once. He said his firm were most gratified to be having any dealings with me, and, opening his box and parcels, he proceeded quickly to demonstrate what he had to sell. I let him gabble on for a minute or two, and then, anxious to bring the matter to a head, cut him short, and, following my instructions, expressed my willingness to purchase one of his appliances. Then when he was gathering everything together again, I picked up the packet of notes I had handy on my desk, and, according to my instructions again, asked him if he would be good enough to post it for me in Norwich. He agreed at once, and I gave him the packet. Then I rang for Fenton to show him out, and, following him to the study door, watched him go down through the hall.

“Fenton let him out of the front door and I saw him get into his car. He started the engine and drove off at once, and from my study window I watched the car through my binoculars proceed down the drive. It was a dull cloudy day and there had been a little rain, so there was no dust to prevent a clear view. The drive, as you are all probably aware, is quite straight down to the park gates, and about a quarter of a mile or so long. There are no bushes or trees on either side, and it runs through lawns of closely cropped grass, with no cover anywhere. When he had almost reached the park gates an incoming car, as we had arranged, driven on its wrong side, got in his way and he had to pull up dead. Immediately then half a dozen of the country plainclothes detective staff, who had been secreted in the lodge, rushed out and seized him. He made no resistance at all, expressing only consternation and unbounded surprise. Then car, traveller, and all his parcels were brought back here to the castle and I again confronted the man.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Vallon, with some impatience, because Ephraim Smith had stopped speaking, “and he proved to be another dummy, of course? He had nothing to do with the extortioner, eh?”

“On the contrary, Monsieur Vallon,” said Ephraim Smith coldly, “he proved to be the extortioner himself or else a confederate of his, and in either case a very clever and resourceful man.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Vallon, looking puzzled, “and he escaped then after all the precautions you had taken?”

“No, he had no need to escape,” was the instant reply, “for there was no evidence that he was not an innocent man.” Ephraim Smith thumped his fist upon the table and glared round upon them all. “He was a devil in his cleverness, and we had not a scrap of evidence against him, for he had got rid of the notes somehow and we found nothing upon him.”

A deep hush fell over the chamber and the interest was intense. Ephraim Smith went on angrily. “Yes, although I had myself handed him the parcel of notes and he had never been out of my sight one second until he got into his car, and from then on had been watched every yard of his journey down the drive by a score of others, all provided with powerful glasses, he had somehow managed to get rid of the parcel of notes. And there was not the slightest proof that he was anything but what he made himself out to be, a very innocent, harmless, and inoffensive employee of his firm.”

“And how did he account himself,” asked Naughton Jones, frowning, “for the disappearance of the notes?”

“Said he had never taken them out of the room,” scoffed Ephraim Smith bitterly—”was sure he had put them down to arrange his parcels and had no recollection of afterwards picking them up again. Also he appeared to be as astonished as anyone and could not understand what it all meant.” The little man could hardly control himself. “And the police even, I could see, ended in taking his side. They didn't say so, of course, but I saw them looking slyly at one another and then back to me, for the man himself had all the proofs of the innocent and bona fide nature of his visit to me upon him. In his pocket there was a forged letter typed on my paper and signed with my signature, asking them to send up a representative at 11 o'clock that morning to give a demonstration of their cleaner.”

“And what followed, Mr. Smith?” asked Naughton Jones sharply, because the speaker had again paused.

“What followed,” echoed Ephraim Smith, as if surprised at the question. “Why, nothing. Or at any rate nothing that helped us in any way. We searched his car and every foot of the drive and the surrounding lawns, but to no purpose, and then, escorting the man back to his employers, we found that everything was exactly as he had said. The letter from me had been received that morning by the firm and everything was open and above board. The man had been in their employ for over six months, bore a most unimpeachable character and there was not the slightest suspicion of anything against him. We were completely checkmated.”

“And how had he carried the parcel of notes out of your study, sir?” asked Gilbert Larose most respectfully. “I mean had he put it in his pocket?”

“No,” replied Ephraim Smith, “it was too bulky for that. He had carried it in his hand, in his left hand I remember, and under his left arm he was holding two or three other parcels. In his right hand he carried the box containing the vacuum cleaner.”

“And what had he got in those parcels?” asked Larose. “Do you know?”

“Sawdust for one thing. I understand,” said Ephraim Smith gruffly, “and rice for another. He had been going to sprinkle some of both upon the carpet to demonstrate how his cleaner would pick them up, but I had cut him short and he hadn't done it.”

“And there isn't the shadow of doubt then,” asked Dr. Crittenden, “that he was carrying that parcel of notes away with him when he walked out of your study?”

“Not the ghost of a shadow,” replied Ephraim Smith emphatically. “Oh! and one thing more,” he went on quickly—”I forgot to tell you that when I spoke to him about posting the packet for me he blinked his eyes and moistened his lips, and when he took the packet from me I saw that his hand was trembling.” Ephraim Smith sneered bitterly. “Yes, in spite of his self-control, he was in mental stress then, for he knew what the packet should contain, and that the supreme moment of his venture had arrived. He was privy to the extortion of course.”

No one made any comment, They all sat quite still with their eyes fixed intently upon the speaker. His next words startled them.

“And that night, gentlemen,” he said very quietly, “a bomb was exploded just outside the dining-room window here and—part of the wall was blown in.”

An exclamation of disgust came from Vallon, but Ephraim Smith only laughed.

“That, of course, was my punishment,” he said, “and it was by good fortune alone that no one was injured. We had not left the room two minutes when the bomb exploded.” He sighed heavily. “I might have expected some devilry like that.”

“And what was the nature of the bomb?” asked Dr. Crittenden. “What kind of——”

“Oh, you'll find all particulars of that, doctor,” interrupted Ephraim Smith irritably, “in the detailed story of the outrages, copies of which I am furnishing you with and which you can peruse later. Just now, I am only giving you the general outline.” He paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts, and then sighed again. “Well, that was the last struggle I made, for after that night I gave in and accepted the inevitable, and when two days later another letter arrived, asking me if I had had enough, and if so to insert a reply in 'The Times' under 'Penitent.' I complied at once. Then a fortnight later a man called for another two thousand pounds, a dealer in portable wireless receivers this time, and he went off with the money untroubled. That was three months ago, and since then upon five different occasions I have contributed to the exchequer of the wretch who is torturing me, always two thousand pounds and always collected by a man who arrived by appointment with something to sell. A gramophone man, a man with a selection of rugs, an individual who brought with him a small library of books, a man who was agent for a patent invalid bed-table, and one who exhibited an assortment of things alleged to have been made by the blind. And always the same farce is gone through. I look perfunctorily at their goods, give them an order, and then ask them to post the packet of notes.”

“And their business cards?” asked Naughton Jones. “You have got them all?”

Ephraim Smith shook his head. “No, except upon the first occasion, no business cards have been presented. They just send in a message by the butler, and then in they come.”

“And they are all different men?” asked Naughton Jones. “A different man comes every time?”

“I wouldn't like to say that,” replied Ephraim Smith. He hesitated a moment. “In fact, I don't think so. They looked different, all of them, but there were certain similarities in the movements of some of them that have struck me more than once.” He snapped down the lid of the attache case. “Well, that is the general outline, and now, gentlemen, for the questions that you will certainly want to ask.”

“Well, who knows we are here?” asked Professor Mariarty gruffly. “Who knows we are here, for a start?” His voice sounded resentful. “We may all get blown up ourselves.”

“No possibility, Professor,” replied Ephraim Smith confidently. “I have taken extreme precaution—only my butler is aware of this meeting, and he even did not know until half-past ten to-night.”

“Can you trust him?” asked the professor. “He looks a deep one to me.”

“He is forty-five years old,” said Ephraim Smith drily, “and twenty-six of those years he has spent in my service. I would trust him with my life.”

“And does he know who we are?” asked Naughton Jones. “Is he in your confidence in all this?”

“He is not in my confidence at all,” replied Ephraim Smith, “and is quite unaware of the position. He believes, of course, as does everyone in my household, that some enemy has been destroying my property and even threatening my life, but he has no idea that I have given in to my persecutor, and am paying for my peace. He is an ideal servant, Fenton, a most reserved man, with no curiosity, and he never talks.”

“Well, who knows,” asked Dr. Crittenden, “that you are paying away these large sums of money now?”

“No one except my wife and daughter. Not even the police.”

“Not even the police!” echoed Naughton Jones in surprise. “Surely you have told them?”

Ephraim Smith reddened uncomfortably. “No, I have not,” he snapped. “It was one of the commands of my tormentor, and I obeyed him to the letter.” His lips curved to a sneer. “I have never been quite satisfied that he has not spies in the force, and in consequence I am taking no risks.”

“May I see the first letter that you received, please?” asked Dr. Crittenden quietly, and Ephraim Smith at once opened the attache case again. He extracted a paper, which he handed to the doctor.

Taking a magnifying glass out of his pocket, Dr. Crittenden subjected the paper to a most careful scrutiny. Everyone watched him curiously.

“Humph,” he remarked presently, “a man of ruthless disposition, cruel and vindictive, and one who would stop at nothing. A natural criminal. The handwriting proves that most clearly——”

“Eh! doctor,” interrupted Ephraim Smith, looking very astonished and with his eyes opened wide, “but that is my handwriting there. These are all copies here that I made myself. The originals are in the possession of the police.”

There was a moment's embarrassed silence, and then Raphael Croupin burst into a merry laugh.

“Ha! ha! Meester Smith,” he guffawed. “You did not dream when we were loading our guns for you that some of the bullets might rebound.”

“I am mistaken, of course,” frowned Dr. Crittenden with dignity and impervious to the smiles all round. “First impressions are often erroneous, but the scientific mind is always ready to revise and correct when necessary.”

“And when was the last occasion that you paid out any money, Mr. Smith?” asked Lord Hume, tactfully smoothing over the awkward moment.

“Ten days ago,” replied Ephraim Smith, “and the next demand will probably be made in about another ten. The intervals now are not much longer than three weeks.” He looked round the table. “But now, have any of you gentlemen got the ghost of an idea? You have heard my story and surely somewhere among you a familiar chord will have been stirred.”

“There is an old-established firm of blackmailers in Houndsditch that I know of,” said Professor Mariarty gruffly, “but I don't think they've got the plant for a big job like this. The heads are friends of mine, but if I could get hold of a certain man who works for them I could soon make him peach. He'd know right enough if they are in it.”

“But that's nonsense,” scoffed Naughton Jones. “No Houndsditch practitioner could handle an undertaking of this size. It means a long purse and”—he smiled sarcastically—”with great respect to the professor, a much more delicate form of violence than is employed usually in the East End.”

“I don't call bombs 'delicate violence.'“ retorted Professor Mariarty surlily. “Bombs are as bad as anything we do.”

“But why, Mr. Smith,” asked Croupin curiously, “have you nicked three of my countrymen to work off their own ground? We Frenchmen will be handicapped by our surroundings, so why have you brought us here?”

“Because, Monsieur Croupin,” replied Ephraim Smith at once, “apart from the reputation in crime which you three gentlemen enjoy—firstly, one of the threatening letters was posted in Paris, as I have already mentioned—secondly, the bomb used at this castle, the police experts say, was of French manufacture—and, thirdly, because one of the men who called upon me for money, although he spoke most perfect English, was obviously, in my opinion, a foreigner, and was wearing, I would have sworn, French shoes.” He frowned. “So I was hoping that, failing information from this side of the Channel, some of you three gentlemen might be able to suggest some organisation in your country likely to be involved in such a matter as this. Now, what say you, Monsieur?”

Raphael Croupin shook his head. “I work alone, Mr. Smith,” he replied modestly, “and in any case I would have no association with such malefactors as these.” He looked thoughtful. “But still several things struck me, and I may be able to advise you later when I have thought things over a bit?”

“And you, Monsieur Hidou,” asked Ephraim Smith, “you have nothing to say?”

“I can trace the bomb, perhaps, to where it was made,” replied Hidou coldly, “but I must have more particulars first.”

“You see, Mr. Smith,” broke in Lord Hume quickly, “you are really asking too much of any of us to express any opinion at this stage. We must consider every outrage separately, and must go most minutely into every happening that has occurred before we can hope to arrive definitely at any idea as to what manner of man is persecuting you. We shall have to go over the place here, too, and be about when the next parcel is handed over.” He shook his head. “And the difficulty is, I don't for the life of me see how so many of us are going to work on the investigation without attracting attention, for, in my opinion, you are most certainly being watched. I should say that you are undoubtedly under the most strict surveillance every hour of the day, and that your tormentor is on the lookout all the time to make exactly sure what you are doing, and that you are not plotting again to catch him in any way.” He lifted his hand warningly. “You may have, indeed, escaped to-night for these few hours, but to-morrow again there will be a shadow behind you and—that shadow will not be your own. Yes, the great difficulty is how can we investigate things without the enemy knowing that we are here to get upon his track?”

“I agree there,” said Naughton Jones. “His lordship expresses what must be in all our minds.”

“Bien, it is a wise thought,” added Vallon gravely. “We may be safe now in the dark”—he snapped his fingers—”but in the dark we cannot see.”

Ephraim Smith leant back in his chair and regarded the company with polite scorn.

“I am not quite a fool, gentlemen,” he said coldly, “and you might have credited me with at least some rudimentary common sense.” He squared his shoulders and swelled out his small body in importance. “In my own line I am a master, and I can assure you that the riches I possess have not by any means fallen into my hands by chance. My successes have been in great undertakings, and preparation and organisation have been the obsessions of my life.” His voice was coolly confident. “I have provided for everything.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Croupin facetiously and with a sly smile round at the others. “Then when morning comes we are all to dissolve into thin air.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We are to become the invisible men.”

“Monsieur,” said Ephraim Smith icily, and there was a venomous glint in his eyes, “If I did not happen to know that sobriety is among the few virtues that you are known to possess, I should say that you would be finding yourself in your proper environment within a few hours.” He looked round the table without the trace of a smile. “I am providing suitable accommodation for you all in an inebriates' home.”

Vallon clicked his tongue as if he were not quite certain whether to smile or scowl. Naughton Jones yawned as if nothing in the world could surprise him, and Professor Mariarty looked most uneasy.

“But I am under doctor's orders,” said the professor, “and no money will induce me to play tricks with my health. My medical adviser insists that I take stimulants occasionally.”

Ephraim Smith ignored the interruption and went on.

“Of course I saw that difficulty at once when the idea first came to me of getting you here together, and more than three months ago I began to prepare for it. Secretly, through distant agents and under a different name, I purchased a big house among the sandhills, about a mile from my gates here. I started to rebuild it partially, but so timed all the work that it was not finished until a few days ago. Then for a couple of weeks I have been advertising in the medical journals, offering a voluntary retreat for mild cases of alcoholism, but I made the terms so stiff that there have been no applications save those that I have sent in for you. There is a medical man in charge, but he has been very carefully selected, and he will not interfere with any of you in any way. He is well qualified, but he is a hopeless dipsomaniac himself, and he quite understands that the treatment you are giving yourselves is purely voluntary, and that you are to be allowed complete liberty and freedom of movement. He is highly paid, and believes he is acting for a company. He has never heard of me. He expects you to arrive to-morrow, and in the book of instructions I am furnishing each of you with you will find the names you are expected to go under. Now is that agreeable to you all?”

A moment's silence followed, and then Vallon asked sarcastically——

“And Monsieur Hidou here—will he continue to wear his mask?”

Ephraim Smith frowned. “That is awkward,” he said. “What do you say, Monsieur Hidou?”

“I shall work alone,” replied Hidou with a frown. “I shall not go to that house. I am not accustomed to hunt in packs.” He spoke carelessly. “But you will not be disappointed in me. I know what I am about.”