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

“But, Monsieur!” Henri protested.

“I’m d—d if he shall!” the man in the chair snarled.

Bellamy turned to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.

“Look here,” he said, “I do not for one moment believe that Laverick handed over to you the document you were so anxious to obtain. On the other hand, I imagine that your somewhat battered appearance is the result of fruitless argument on your part with a view to inducing him to do so. Nevertheless, I can afford to run no risks. The coat first, please, Henri. It is necessary that I search it thoroughly.”

There was a brief hesitation. Bellamy’s hand went reluctantly into his pocket.

“I hate to seem melodramatic,” he declared, “and I never carry firearms, but I have a little life-preserver here which I have learned how to use pretty effectively. Come, you know, it isn’t a fair fight. You’ve had all you want, Lassen, and Henri there hasn’t the muscle of a chicken.”

Lassen rose, groaning, to his feet and allowed his coat to be removed. Bellamy glanced through the pockets, holding one letter for a moment in his hands as he glanced at the address.

“The writing of our friend Streuss,” he remarked, with a smile. “No, you need not fear, Lassen! I am not going to read it. There is plenty of proof of your treachery without this.”

Lassen’s face was livid and his eyes seemed like beads. Bellamy handed back the coat.

“That’s all right,” he said. “Nothing there, I am glad to see—or in the waistcoat,” he added, passing his hands over it. “I’ll trouble you to stand up for a moment, Mr. Lassen.”

The man did as he was bid and Bellamy felt him all over. When he had finished, he held in his hand a key.

“The key of Mademoiselle’s chamber, I have no doubt,” he announced, “I will leave you, then, while I see what deviltry you have been up to.”

He walked calmly to the table which stood by the window and deliberately cut the telephone wire. With the instrument under his arm, he left the room. Lassen blundered to his feet as though to intercept him, but Bellamy’s eyes suddenly flashed red fury, and the life-preserver of which he had spoken glittered above his head. Lassen staggered away.

“I’m a long-suffering man,” Bellamy said, “and if you don’t remember now that you’re the beaten dog, I may lose my temper.”

He locked them in, walked down the passage and opened the door of Louise’s bedchamber with fingers that trembled a little. With a smothered oath he cut the cord from the arms of the maid and the gag from her mouth. Louise, clad in a loose afternoon gown, was lying upon the bed, as though asleep. Bellamy saw with an impulse of relief that she was breathing regularly.

“This is Lassen’s work, of course!” he exclaimed. “What have they done to her?”

The maid spoke thickly. She was very pale, and unsteady upon her feet.

“It was something they put in her wine,” she faltered. “I heard Mr. Lassen say that it would keep her quiet for three or four hours. I think—I think that she is waking now.”

Louise opened her eyes and looked at them with amazement. Bellamy sat by the side of the bed and supported her with his arm.

“It is only a skirmish, dear,” he whispered, “and it is a drawn battle, although you got the worst of it.”

She put her hand to her head, struggling to remember.

“Mr. Laverick has been here?” she asked.

“He has. Your friend Lassen has been taking a hand in the game. I came here to find you like this and Annette tied up. Henri is in with him. What has become of your other servants I don’t know.”

“Henri asked for a holiday for them,” she said, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. “I begin to understand. But tell me, what happened when Mr. Laverick came?”

“I can only guess,” Bellamy answered, “but it seems that Lassen must have received him as though with your authority.”

“And what then?” she asked quickly.

“I am almost certain,” Bellamy declared, “that Laverick refused to have anything to do with him. I received a wire from Dover to say that you were on your way home, and asking me to meet you at the Lord Warden Hotel. I borrowed Montresor’s racing-car, but I sent telegrams, and I was pretty soon on my way back. When I arrived here, I found Lassen in your little room with a broken head. Evidently Laverick and he had a scrimmage and he got the worst of it. I have searched him to his bones and he has no paper. Laverick brought it here, without a doubt, and has taken it away again.”

She rose to her feet.

“Go and let Lassen out,” she said. “Tell him he must never come here again. I will see him at the Opera House to-night or to-morrow night—that is, if I can get there. I do not know whether I shall feel fit to sing.”

“I shall take the liberty, also,” remarked Bellamy, “of kicking Henri out.”

Louise sighed.

“He was such a good servant. I think it must have cost our friend Streuss a good deal to buy Henri. You will come back to me when you have finished with them?”

Bellamy made short work of his discomfited prisoners. Lassen was surly but only eager to depart Henri was resigned but tearful. Almost as they went the other servants began to return from their various missions. Bellamy went back to Louise, who was lying down again and drinking some tea. She motioned Bellamy to come over to her side.

“Tell me,” she asked, “what are you going to do now?”

“I am going to do what I ought to have done before,” Bellamy answered. “Laverick’s connection with this affair is suspicious enough, but after all he is a sportsman and an Englishman. I am going to tell him what that envelope contains—tell him the truth.”

“You are right!” she exclaimed. “Whatever he may have done, if you tell him the truth he will give you that document. I am sure of it. Do you know where to find him?”

“I shall go to his rooms,” Bellamy declared. “I must be quick, too, for Lassen is free—they will know that he has failed.”

“Come back to me, David,” she begged, and he kissed her fingers and hurried out.

Table of Contents

Laverick, sitting with Zoe at dinner, caught his companion looking around the restaurant with an expression in her face which he did not wholly understand.

“Something is the matter with you this evening, Zoe,” he said anxiously. “Tell me what it is. You don’t like this place, perhaps?”

“Of course I do.”

“It is your dinner, then, or me?” he persisted. “Come, out with it. Haven’t we promised to tell each other the truth always?”

The pink color came slowly into her cheeks. Her eyes, raised for a moment to his, were almost reproachful.

“You know very well that it is not anything to do with you,” she whispered. “You are too kind to me all the time. Only,” she went on, a little hesitatingly, “don’t you realize—can’t you see how differently most of the girls here are dressed? I don’t mind so much for myself—but you—you have so many friends. You keep on seeing people whom you know. I am afraid they will think that I ought not to be here.”

He looked at her in surprise, mingled, perhaps, with compunction. For the first time he appreciated the actual shabbiness of her clothes. Everything about her was so neat—pathetically neat, as it seemed to him in one illuminating moment of realization. The white linen collar, notwithstanding its frayed edges, was spotlessly clean. The black bow was carefully tied to conceal its worn parts. Her gloves had been stitched a good many times. Her gown, although it was tidy, was old-fashioned and had distinctly seen its best days. He suddenly recognized the effort—the almost despairing effort—which her toilette had cost her.