Peter Ruff and the Double Four

  CHAPTER VII. THE DEMAND OF THE DOUBLE-FOUR

  It was about this time that Peter Ruff found among his lettersone morning a highly-scented little missive, addressed to him in ahandwriting with which he had once been familiar. He looked at it forseveral moments before opening it. Even as the paper cutter slid throughthe top of the envelope, he felt that he had already divined the natureof its contents.

  FRIVOLITY THEATRE

  March 10th

  MY DEAR Mr. RUFF: I expect that you will be surprised to hear from meagain, but I do hope that you will not be annoyed. I know that I behavedvery horridly a little time ago, but it was not altogether my fault, andI have been more sorry for it than I can tell you--in fact, John and Ihave never been the same since, and for the present, at any rate, I haveleft him and gone on the stage. A lady whom I knew got me a place in thechorus here, and so far I like it immensely.

  Won't you come and meet me after the show to-morrow night, and I willtell you all about it? I should like so much to see you again.

  MAUD.

  Peter Ruff placed this letter in his breast-coat pocket, and withheld itfrom his secretary's notice. He felt, however, very little pleasure atthe invitation it conveyed. He hesitated for some time, in fact, whetherto accept it or not. Finally, after his modest dinner that evening, hebought a stall for the Frivolity and watched the piece. The girl he hadcome to see was there in the second row of the chorus, but she certainlydid not look her best in the somewhat scant costume required by thepart. She showed no signs whatever of any special ability--neither herdancing nor her singing seemed to entitle her to any consideration. Shecarried herself with a certain amount of self-consciousness, and hereyes seemed perpetually fixed upon the occupants of the stalls. PeterRuff laid down his glasses with something between a sigh and a groan.There was something to him inexpressibly sad in the sight of his oldsweetheart so transformed, so utterly changed from the prim, somewhatgenteel young person who had accepted his modest advances with suchladylike diffidence. She seemed, indeed, to have lost those very giftswhich had first attracted him. Nevertheless, he kept his appointment atthe stage-door.

  She was among the first to come out, and she greeted him warmly--almostnoisily. With her new profession, she seemed to have adopted a differentand certainly more flamboyant deportment.

  "I thought you'd come to-night," she declared, with an arch look."I felt certain I saw you in the stalls. You are going to take me tosupper, aren't you? Shall we go to the Milan?"

  Peter Ruff assented without enthusiasm, handed her into a hansom, andtook his place beside her. She wore a very large hat, untidily put on;some of the paint seemed still to be upon her face; her voice, too,seemed to have become louder, and her manner more assertive. There wereobvious indications that she no longer considered brandy and soda anunladylike beverage. Peter Ruff was not pleased with himself or proud ofhis companion.

  "You'll take some wine?" he suggested, after he had ordered, with a fewhints from her, a somewhat extensive supper.

  "Champagne," she answered, decidedly. "I've got quite used to it,nowadays," she went on. "I could laugh to think how strange it tastedwhen you first took me out."

  "Tell me," Peter Ruff said, "why you have left your husband?"

  She laughed.

  "Because he was dull and because he was cross," she answered, "andbecause the life down at Streatham was simply intolerable. I think itwas a little your fault, too," she said, making eyes; at him across thetable. "You gave me a taste of what life was like outside Streatham, andI never forgot it."

  Peter Ruff did not respond--he led the conversation, indeed, into otherchannels. On the whole, the supper was scarcely a success. Maud, who wasgrowing to consider herself something of a Bohemian, and who certainlylooked for some touch of sentiment on the part of her old admirer, wasannoyed by the quiet deference with which he treated her. She reproachedhim with it once, bluntly.

  "Say," she exclaimed, "you don't seem to want to be so friendly as youdid! You haven't forgiven me yet, I suppose?"

  Peter Ruff shook his head.

  "It is not that," he said, "but I think that you have scarcely done awise thing in leaving your husband. I cannot think that this life on thestage is good for you."

  She laughed, scornfully.

  "Well," she said, "I never thought to have you preaching at me!"

  They finished their supper. Maud accepted a cigarette and did herbest to change her companion's mood. She only alluded once more to herhusband.

  "I don't see how I could have stayed with him, anyhow," she said. "Youknow, he's been put back--he only gets two pounds fifteen a week now. Hecouldn't expect me to live upon that."

  "Put back?" Peter Ruff repeated.

  She nodded.

  "He seemed to have a lot of bad luck this last year," she said. "All hiscases went wrong, and they don't think so much of him at Scotland Yardas they did. I am not sure that he hasn't begun to drink a little."

  "I am sorry to hear it," Peter Ruff said, gravely.

  "I don't see why you should be," she answered, bluntly. "He was nofriend of yours, nor isn't now. He may not be so dangerous as he was,but if ever you come across him, you take my tip and be careful. Hemeans to do you a mischief some day, if he can. I am not sure," sheadded, "that he doesn't believe that it was partly your fault about myleaving home."

  "I should be sorry for him to think that," Peter Ruff answered. "Whilewe are upon the subject, can't you tell me exactly why your husbanddislikes me so?"

  "For one thing, because you have been up against him in several of hiscases, and have always won."

  "And for the other?"

  "Well," she said, doubtfully, "he seems to connect you in hismind, somehow, with a boy who was in love with me once--Mr. SpencerFitzgerald--you know who I mean."

  Ruff nodded.

  "He still has that in his mind, has he?" he remarked.

  "Oh, he's mad!" she declared. "However, don't let us talk about him anymore."

  The lights were being put out. Peter Ruff paid his bill and they rosetogether.

  "Come down to the fiat for an hour or so," she begged, taking his arm."I have a dear little place with another girl--Carrie Pearce. I'll singto you, if you like. Come down and have one drink, anyhow."

  Peter Ruff shook his head firmly.

  "I am sorry," he said, "but you must excuse me. In some ways, I am veryold-fashioned," he added. "I never sit up late, and I hate music."

  "Just drive as far as the door with me, then," she begged.

  Peter Ruff shook his head.

  "You must excuse me," he said, handing her into the hansom. "And, Maud,"he added--"if I may call you so--take my advice: give it up--go back toyour husband and stick to him--you'll be better off in the long run."

  She would have answered him scornfully, but there was somethingimpressive in the crisp, clear words--in his expression, too, as helooked into her eyes. She threw herself back in a corner of the cab withan affected little laugh, and turned her head away from him.

  Peter Ruff walked back into the cloak-room for his coat and hat, andsighed softly to himself. It was the end of the one sentimental episodeof his life!

  It had been the study of Peter Ruff's life, so far as possible, tomaintain under all circumstances an equable temperament, to refuse torecognize the meaning of the word "nerves," and to be guided in allhis actions by that profound common sense which was one of his naturalgifts. Yet there were times when, like any other ordinary person, hesuffered acutely from presentiments. He left his rooms, for instance, atfive o'clock on the afternoon of the day following his supper with Maud,suffering from a sense of depression for which he found it altogetherimpossible to account. It was true that the letter which he had in hispocket, the appointment which he was on his way to keep, were both ofthem probable sources of embarrassment and annoyance, if not of danger.He was being invited, without the option of refusal, to enter upon somerisky undertaking which would yield him neither fee nor reward. Yet hiscommon sense told
him that it was part of the game. In Paris, he hadlooked upon his admittance into the order of the "Double-Four" as one ofthe stepping-stones to success in his career. Through them he had gainedknowledge which he could have acquired in no other way. Through them,for instance, he had acquired the information that Madame la Comtesse dePilitz was a Servian patriot and a friend of the Crown Prince; and thatthe Count von Hern, posing in England as a sportsman and an idler, was ahighly paid and dangerous Austrian spy. There had been other occasions,too, upon which they had come to his aid. Now they had made an appealto him--an appeal which must be obeyed. His time--perhaps, even, hissafety--must be placed entirely at their disposal. It was only anordinary return a thing expected of him--a thing which he dared notrefuse. Yet he knew very well what he could not explain to them--thatthe whole success of his life depended so absolutely upon his remainingfree from any suspicion of wrong-doing, that he had received his summonswith something like dismay, and proceeded to obey it with unaccustomedreluctance.

  He drove to Cirey's cafe in Regent Street, where he dismissed the driverof his hansom and strolled in with the air of an habitue. He selected acorner table, ordered some refreshment, and asked for a box of dominoes.The place was fairly well filled. A few women were sitting about; asprinkling of Frenchmen were taking their aperitif; here and there aman of affairs, on his way from the city, had called in for a glassof vermouth. Peter Ruff looked them over, recognizing thetype--recognizing, even, some of their faces. Apparently, the personwhom he was to meet had not yet arrived.

  He lit a cigarette and smoked slowly. Presently the door opened and awoman entered in a long fur coat, a large hat, and a thick veil. Sheraised it to glance around, disclosing the unnaturally pale face anddark, swollen eyes of a certain type of Frenchwoman. She seemed tonotice no one in particular. Her eyes traveled over Peter Ruff withoutany sign of interest. Nevertheless, she took a seat somewhere near hisand ordered some vermouth from the waiter, whom she addressed byname. When she had been served and the waiter had departed, she lookedcuriously at the dominoes which stood before her neighbor.

  "Monsieur plays dominoes, perhaps?" she remarked, taking one of theminto her fingers and examining it. "A very interesting game!"

  Peter Ruff showed her a domino which he had been covering with hishand--it was a double four. She nodded, and moved from her seat to oneimmediately next him.

  "I had not imagined," Peter Ruff said, "that it was a lady whom I was tomeet."

  "Monsieur is not disappointed, I trust?" she said, smiling. "If I talkbanalities, Monsieur must pardon it. Both the waiters here are spies,and there are always people who watch. Monsieur is ready to do us aservice?"

  "To the limits of my ability," Peter Ruff answered. "Madame willremember that we are not in Paris; that our police system, if not sowonderful as yours, is still a closer and a more present thing. Theyhave not the brains at Scotland Yard, but they are persistent--hard toescape."

  "Do I not know it?" the woman said. "It is through them that we send foryou. One of us is in danger."

  "Do I know him?" Peter Ruff asked.

  "It is doubtful," she answered. "Monsieur's stay in Paris was so brief.If Monsieur will recognize his name--it is Jean Lemaitre himself."

  Peter Ruff started slightly.

  "I thought," he said, with some hesitation, "that Lemaitre did not visitthis country."

  "He came well disguised," the woman answered. "It was thought to besafe. Nevertheless, it was a foolish thing. They have tracked himdown from hotel to apartments, till he lives now in the back room ofa wretched little cafe in Soho. Even from there we cannot get himaway--the whole district is watched by spies. We need help."

  "For a genius like Lemaitre," Peter Ruff said, thoughtfully, "to haveeven thought of Soho, was foolish. He should have gone to Hampsteador Balham. It is easy to fool our police if you know how. On the otherhand, they hang on to the scent like leeches when once they are on thetrail. How many warrants are there out against Jean in this country?"

  "Better not ask that," the woman said, grimly. "You remember the raid ona private house in the Holloway Road, two years ago, when two policemenwere shot and a spy was stabbed? Jean was in that--it is sufficient!"

  "Are any plans made at all?" Peter Ruff asked.

  "But naturally," the woman answered. "There is a motor car, even now, ofsixty-horse-power, stands ready at a garage in Putney. If Jean can oncereach it, he can reach the coast. At a certain spot near Southamptonthere is a small steamer waiting. After that, everything is easy."

  "My task, then," Peter Ruff said, thoughtfully, "is to take JeanLemaitre from this cafe in Soho, as far as Putney, and get him a fairstart?"

  "It is enough," she answered. "There is a cordon of spies around thedistrict. Every day they seem to chose in upon us. They search thehouses, one by one. Only last night, the Hotel de Netherlands--amiserable little place on the other side of the street--was suddenlysurrounded by policemen and every room ransacked. It may be our turnto-night."

  "In one hour's time," Peter Ruff said, glancing at his watch, "I shallpresent myself as a doctor at the cafe. Tell me the address. Tell mewhat to say which will insure my admission to Jean Lemaitre!"

  "The cafe," she answered, "is called the Hotel de Flandres. You enterthe restaurant and you walk to the desk. There you find always MonsieurAntoine. You say to him simply--'The Double-Four!' He will answer thathe understands, and he will conduct you at once to Lemaitre."

  Ruff nodded.

  "In the meantime," he said, "let it be understood in the cafe--if thereis any one who is not in the secret--that one of the waiters is sick. Ishall come to attend him."

  She nodded thoughtfully.

  "As well that way as any other," she answered. "Monsieur is very kind. Abientot!"

  She shook hands and they parted. Peter Ruff drove back to his rooms,rang up an adjoining garage for a small covered car such as are usuallylet out to medical men, and commenced to pack a small black bag with theoutfit necessary for his purpose. Now that he was actually immersed inhis work, the sense of depression had passed away. The keen stimulus ofdanger had quickened his blood. He knew very well that the woman had notexaggerated. There was no man more wanted by the French or the Englishpolice than the man who had sought his aid, and the district in which hehad taken shelter was, in some respects, the very worst for his purpose.Nevertheless, Peter Ruff, who believed, at the bottom of his heart, inhis star, went on with his preparations feeling morally certain thatJean Lemaitre would sleep on the following night in his native land.

  At precisely the hour agreed upon, a small motor brougham pulledup outside the door of the Hotel de Flandres and its occupant--whomninety-nine men out of a hundred would at once, unhesitatingly, havedeclared to be a doctor in moderate practice--pushed open the swingdoors of the restaurant and made his way to the desk. He was of mediumheight; he wore a frock-coat--a little frayed; gray trousers which hadnot been recently pressed; and thick boots.

  "I understand that one of your waiters requires my attendance," hesaid, in a tone not unduly raised but still fairly audible. "I am Dr.Gilette."

  "Dr. Gilette," Antoine repeated, slowly.

  "And number Double-Four," the doctor murmured.

  Antoine descended from his desk.

  "But certainly, Monsieur!" he said. "The poor fellow declares that hesuffers. If he is really ill, he must go. It sounds brutal, but what canone do? We have so few rooms here, and so much business. Monsieur willcome this way?"

  Antoine led the way from the cafe into a very smelly region of narrowpassages and steep stairs.

  "It is to be arranged?" Antoine whispered, as they ascended.

  "Without a doubt," the doctor answered. "Were there spies in the cafe?"

  "Two," Antoine answered.

  The doctor nodded, and said no more. He mounted to the third story.Antoine led him through a small sitting-room and knocked four timesupon the door of an inner room. It suddenly was opened. A man--unshaven,terrified, with that nameless fear in hi
s face which one sees reflectedin the expression of some trapped animal--stood there looking out atthem.

  "'Double-Four'!" the doctor said, softly. "Go back into the room,please. Antoine will kindly leave us."

  "Who are you?" the man gasped.

  "'Double-Four'!" the doctor answered. "Obey me, and be quick for yourlife! Strip!"

  The man obeyed.

  Barely twenty minutes later, the doctor--still carrying hisbag--descended the stairs. He entered the cafe from a somewhat remotedoor. Antoine hurried to meet him, and walked by his side through theplace. He asked many questions, but the doctor contented himself withshaking his head. Almost in silence he left Antoine, who conducted himeven to the door of his motor. The proprietor of the cafe watched thebrougham disappear, and then returned to his desk, sighing heavily.

  A man who had been sipping a liqueur dose at hand, laid down his paper.

  "One of your waiters ill, did I understand?" he asked. Monsieur Antoinewas at once eloquent. It was the ill-fortune which had dogged himfor the last four months! The man had been taken ill there in therestaurant. He was a Gascon--spoke no English--and had just arrived.It was not possible for him to be removed at the moment, so he had beencarried to an empty bedroom. Then had come the doctor and forbiddenhis removal. Now for a week he had lain there and several of his othervoyageurs had departed. One did not know how these things got about, butthey spoke of infection. The doctor, who had just left--Dr. Gilette ofRussell Square, a most famous physician--had assured him that there wasno infection--no fear of any. But what did it matter--that? People wereso hard to convince. Monsieur would like a cigar? But certainly! Therewere here some of the best.

  Antoine undid the cabinet and opened a box of Havanas. John Doryselected one and called for another liqueur.

  "You have trouble often with your waiters, I dare say," he remarked."They tell me that all Frenchmen who break the law in their own country,find their way, sooner or later, to these parts. You have to take themwithout characters, I suppose?"

  Antoine lifted his shoulders.

  "But what could one do?" he exclaimed. "Characters, they were easyenough to write--but were they worth the paper they were written on?Indeed no!"

  "Not only your waiters," Dory continued, "but those who stay in thehotels round here have sometimes an evil name."

  Antoine shrugged his shoulders.

  "For myself," he said, "I am particular. We have but a few rooms, but weare careful to whom we let them."

  "Do you keep a visitors' book?"

  "But no, Monsieur!" Antoine protested. "For why the necessity? There areso few who come to stay for more than the night--just now scarcely anyone at all."

  There entered, at that moment, a tall, thin man dressed in dark clothes,who walked with his hands in his overcoat pockets, as though it were ahabit. He came straight to Dory and handed him a piece of paper.

  John Dory glanced it through and rose to his feet. A gleam ofsatisfaction lit his eyes.

  "Monsieur Antoine," he said, "I am sorry to cause you any inconvenience,but here is my card. I am a detective officer from Scotland Yard, andI have received information which compels me with your permission, toexamine at once the sleeping apartments in your hotel."

  Antoine was fiercely indignant.

  "But, Monsieur!" he exclaimed. "I do not understand! Examine my rooms?But it is impossible! Who dares to say that I harbor criminals?"

  "I have information upon which I can rely," John Dory answered, firmly."This comes from a man who is no friend of mine, but he is well-known.You can read for yourself what he says."

  Monsieur Antoine, with trembling fingers, took the piece of paper fromJohn Dory's hands. It was addressed to--

  Mr. JOHN DORY, DETECTIVE:

  If you wish to find Jean Lemaitre, search in the upper rooms of theHotel de Flandres. I have certain information that he is to be foundthere.

  PETER RUFF.

  "Never," Antoine declared, "will I suffer such an indignity!"

  Dory raised a police whistle to his lips.

  "You are foolish," he said. "Already there is a cordon of men about theplace. If you refuse to conduct me upstairs I shall at once place youunder arrest."

  Antoine, white with fear, poured himself out a liqueur of brandy.

  "Well, well," he said, "what must be done, then! Come!"

  He led the way out into that smelly network of passages, up the stairsto the first floor. Room after room he threw open and begged Dory toexamine. Some of them were garishly furnished with gilt mirrors, cheaplace curtains tied back with blue ribbons. Others were dark, miserableholes, into which the fresh air seemed never to have penetrated. On thethird floor they reached the little sitting-room, which bore more tracesof occupation than some of the rooms below. Antoine would have passedon, but Dory stopped him.

  "There is a door there," he said. "We will try that."

  "It is the sick waiter who lies within," Antoine protested. "Monsieurcan hear him groan."

  There was, indeed, something which sounded like a groan to be heard, butDory was obstinate.

  "If he is so ill," he demanded, "how is he able to lock the door on theinside? Monsieur Antoine, that door must be opened."

  Antoine knocked at it softly.

  "Francois," he said, "there is another doctor here who would see you.Let us in."

  There was no answer, Antoine turned to his companion with a little shrugof the shoulders, as one who would say--"I have done my best. What wouldyou have?"

  Dory put his shoulder to the door.

  "Listen," he shouted through the keyhole, "Mr. Sick Waiter, or whoeveryou are, if you do not unlock this door, I am coming in!"

  "I have no key," said a faint voice. "I am locked in. Please break openthe door."

  "But that is not the Voice of Francois!" Antoine exclaimed, inamazement.

  "We'll soon see who it is," Dory answered.

  He charged at the door fiercely. At the third assault it gave way. Theyfound themselves in a small back bedroom, and stretched on the floor,very pale, and apparently only half-conscious, lay Peter Ruff. There wasa strong smell of chloroform about. John Dory threw open the window. Hisfingers trembled a little. It was like Fate--this! At the end of everyunsuccessful effort there was this man--Peter Ruff!

  "What the devil are you doing here?" he asked.

  Peter Ruff groaned.

  "Help me up," he begged, "and give me a little brandy."

  Antoine set him in an easy-chair and rang the bell furiously.

  "It will come directly!" he exclaimed. "But who are you?"

  Peter Ruff waited for the brandy. When he had sipped it, he drew alittle breath as though of relief.

  "I heard," he said, speaking still with an evident effort, "thatLemaitre was here. I had secret information. I thought at first that Iwould let you know--I sent you a note early this morning. Afterwards, Idiscovered that there was a reward, and I determined to track him downmyself. He was in here hiding as a sick waiter. I do not think," PeterRuff added, "that Monsieur Antoine had any idea. I presented myself asrepresenting a charitable society, and I was shown here to visit him. Hewas too clever, though, was Jean Lemaitre--too quick for me."

  "You were a fool to come alone!" John Dory said. "Don't you know theman's record? How long ago did he leave?"

  "About ten minutes," Peter Ruff answered. "You must have missed himsomewhere as you came up. I crawled to the window and I watched him go.He left the restaurant by the side entrance, and took a taxicab at thecorner there. It went northward toward New Oxford Street."

  Dory turned on his heel--they heard him descending the stairs. PeterRuff rose to his feet.

  "I am afraid," he said, as he plunged his head into a basin of water,and came into the middle of the room rubbing it vigorously with a smalltowel, "I am afraid that our friend John Dory will get to dislike mesoon! He passed out unnoticed, eh, Antoine?"

  Antoine's face wore a look of great relief.

  "There was not a soul who looked," he s
aid. "We passed under the nose ofthe gentleman from Scotland Yard. He sat there reading his paper; and hehad no idea. I watched Jean step into the motor. Even by now he is wellon his way southwards. Twice he changes from motor to train, and back.They will never trace him."

  Peter Ruff, who was looking amazingly better, sipped a further glass ofliqueur. Together he and Antoine descended to the street.

  "Mind," Peter Ruff whispered, "I consider that accounts are squaredbetween me and 'Double-Four' now. Let them know that. This sort of thingisn't in my line."

  "For an amateur," Antoine said, bowing low, "Monsieur commands myheartfelt congratulations!"