E. Phillips Oppenheim - 21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

He moved to the door. Already his hand was upon the knob when he saw the movement for which he had watched. Laverick, with a single bound, was upon his would-be assailant. The hand which had already closed upon the butt of the small revolver was gripped as though in a vice. With a scream of pain Lassen dropped the weapon upon the floor. Laverick picked it up, thrust it into his coat pocket and, taking the man’s collar with both hands, he shook him till the eyes seemed starting from his head and his shrieks of fear were changed into moans. Then he flung him into a corner of the room.

“You cowardly brute!” he exclaimed. “You come of the breed of men who shoot from behind. If ever I lay my hands upon you again, you’ll be lucky if you live to whimper about it.”

He left the room and rang for the lift. He saw no trace of any servants in the hall, nor heard any sound of any one moving. From Dover Street he drove straight to Zoe’s house. Keeping the cab waiting, he knocked at the door. She opened it herself at once, and her eyes glowed with pleasure.

“How delightful!” she cried. “Please come in. Have you come to take me to the theatre?”

He followed her into the parlor and closed the door behind them.

“Zoe,” he said, “I am going to ask you a favor.”

“Me a favor?” she repeated. “I think you know how happy it will make me if there is anything—anything at all in the world that I could do.”

“A week ago,” Laverick continued, “I was an honest but not very successful stockbroker, with a natural longing for adventures which never came my way. Since then things have altered. I have stumbled in upon the most curious little chain of happenings which ever became entwined with the life of a commonplace being like myself. The net result, for the moment, is this. Every one is trying to steal from me a certain document which I have in my pocket. I want to hide it for the night. I cannot go to the police, it is too late to go back to Chancery Lane, and I have an instinctive feeling that my flat is absolutely at the mercy of my enemies. May I hide my document in your room? I do not believe for a moment that any one would think of searching here.”

“Of course you may,” she answered. “But listen. Can you see out into the street without moving very much?”

He turned his head. He had been standing with his back to the window, and Zoe had been facing it.

“Yes, I can see into the street,” he assented.

“Tell me—you see that taxi on the other side of the way?” she asked.

He nodded.

“It wasn’t there when I drove up,” he remarked.

“I was at the window, looking out, when you came,” she said. “It followed you out from the Square into this street. Directly you stopped, I saw the man put on the brake and pull up his cab. It seemed to me so strange, just as though some one were watching you all the time.”

Laverick stood still, looking out of the window.

“Who lives in the house opposite?” he asked.

“I am afraid,” she answered, “that there are no very nice people who live round here. The people whom I see coming in and out of that house are not nice people at all.”

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you, Zoe. You are right. Whatever I do with my precious document, I will not leave it here. To tell you the truth, I thought, for certain reasons, that after I had paid my last call this afternoon I should not be followed any more. Come back with me and I will give you some dinner before you go to the theatre.”

She clapped her hands.

“I shall love it,” she declared. “But what shall you do with the document?”

“I shall take a room at the Milan Hotel,” he said, “and give it to the cashier. They have a wonderful safe there. It is the best thing I can think of. Can you suggest anything?”

She considered for a moment.

“Do you know what is inside?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I have no idea. It is the most mysterious document in the world, so far as I am concerned.”

“Why not open it and read it?” she suggested; “then you will know exactly what it is all about. You can learn it by heart and tear it up.”

“I must think that over,” he said. “One second before we go out.”

He took from his pocket the revolver which Lassen had dropped. It was a perfect little weapon, and fully charged. He replaced it in his pocket, keeping his finger upon the trigger.

“Now, Zoe, if you are ready,” he said, “come along.”

They stepped out and entered the taxi, unmolested, and Laverick ordered:

“To the Milan Hotel.”

Table of Contents

About twenty minutes past six on the same evening, Bellamy, his clothes thick with dust, his face dark with anger, jumped lightly from a sixty horse-power car and rang the bell of the lift at number 15, Dover Street. Arrived on the first floor, he was confronted almost immediately by the sad-faced man-servant of Mademoiselle Idiale.

“Mademoiselle is in?” Bellamy asked quickly.

The man’s expression was one of sombre regret.

“Mademoiselle is spending the day in the country, sir. Bellamy took him by the shoulders and flung him against the wall.

“Thank you,” he said, “I’ve heard that before.”

He walked down the passage and knocked softly at the door of Louise’s sleeping apartment. There was no answer. He knocked again and listened at the key-hole. There was some movement inside but no one spoke.

“Louise,” he cried softly, “let me in. It is I—David.”

Again the only reply was the strangest of sounds. Almost it seemed as though a woman were trying to speak with a hand over her mouth. Then Bellamy suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. There were voices in the small reception room,—the voice of Henri, the butler, and another. Reluctantly he turned away from the closed door and walked swiftly down the passage. He entered the reception room and looked around him in amazement. It was still in disorder. Lassen sat in an easy-chair with a tumbler of brandy by his side. Henri was tying a bandage around his head, his collar was torn, there were marks of blood about his shirt. Bellamy’s eyes sparkled. He closed the door behind him.

“Come,” he exclaimed, “after all, I fancy that my arrival is somewhat opportune!”

Henri turned towards him with a reproachful gesture.

“Monsieur Lassen has been unwell, Monsieur,” he said. “He has had a fit and fallen down.”

Bellamy laughed contemptuously.

“I think I can reconstruct the scene a little better than that,” he declared. “What do you say, Mr. Lassen?”

The man glared at him viciously.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said. “I do not wish to speak to you. I am ill. You had better go and persuade Mademoiselle to return. She is at Dover, waiting.”

“You are a liar!” Bellamy answered. “She is in her room now, locked up—guarded, perhaps, by one of your creatures. I have been half-way to Dover, but I tumbled to your scheme in time, Mr. Lassen. You found our friend Laverick a trifle awkward, I fancy.”

Lassen swore through his teeth but said nothing.

“From your somewhat dishevelled appearance,” Bellamy continued, “I think I may conclude that you were not able to come to any amicable arrangement with Mademoiselle’s visitor. He declined to accept you as her proxy, I imagine. Still, one must make sure.”

He advanced quickly. Lassen shrank back in his chair.

“What do you mean?” he asked gruffly. “Keep him away from me, Henri. Ring the bell for your other man. This fellow will do me a mischief.”

“Not I,” Bellamy answered scornfully. “Stay where you are, Henri. To your other accomplishments I have no doubt you include that of valeting. Take off his coat.”