CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN
Peter, Baron de Grost, glanced at the card which his butler had broughtin to him, carelessly at first, afterwards with that curious rigidity ofattention which usually denotes the setting free of a flood of memories.
"The gentleman would like to see you, sir," the man announced.
"You can show him in at once," Peter replied. The servant withdrew.Peter, during those few minutes of waiting, stood with his back tothe room and his face to the window, looking out across the square, inreality seeing nothing, completely immersed in this strange flood ofmemories. John Dory--Sir John Dory now--his quondam enemy, and he, hadmet but seldom during these years of their prosperity. The figure ofthis man, who had once loomed so largely in his life, had graduallyshrunk away into the background. Their avoidance of each other arose,perhaps, from a sort of instinct which was certainly no matter ofill-will. Still, the fact remained that they had scarcely exchanged aword for years, and Peter turned to receive his unexpected guest with acuriosity which he did not trouble wholly to conceal.
Sir John Dory--Chief Commissioner now of Scotland Yard, a person ofweight and importance--had changed a great deal during the last fewyears. His hair had become gray, his walk more dignified. There was thebriskness, however, of his best days in his carriage and in the flash ofhis brown eyes. He held out his hand to his ancient foe with a smile.
"My dear Baron," he said, "I hope you are going to say that you are gladto see me."
"Unless," Peter replied, with a good-humored grimace, "your visit isofficial, I am more than glad--I am charmed. Sit down. I was just goingto take my morning cigar. You will join me? Good! Now I am ready for theworst that can happen."
The two men seated themselves. John Dory pulled at his cigarappreciatively, sniffed its flavor for a moment, and then leaned forwardin his chair.
"My visit, Baron," he announced, "is semi-official. I am here to ask youa favor."
"An official favor?" Peter demanded quickly.
His visitor hesitated as though he found the question hard to answer.
"To tell you the truth," he declared, "this call of mine is wholly aninspiration. It does not in any way concern you personally, or yourposition in this country. What that may be I do not know, except that Iam sure it is above any suspicion."
"Quite so," Peter murmured. "How diplomatic you have become, my dearfriend!"
John Dory smiled.
"Perhaps I am fencing about too much," he said. "I know, of course, thatyou are a member of a very powerful and wealthy French Society, whoseobject and aims, so far as I know, are entirely harmless."
"I am delighted to be assured that you recognize that fact," Peteradmitted.
"I might add," John Dory continued, "that this harmlessness--is ofrecent date."
"Really, you do seem to know a good deal," Peter confessed.
"I find myself still fencing," Dory declared. "A matter of habit, Isuppose. I didn't mean to when I came. I made up my mind to tell yousimply that Guillot was in London, and to ask you if you could help meto get rid of him."
Peter looked thoughtfully into his companion's face, but he did notspeak. He understood at such moments the value of silence.
"We speak together," Dory continued softly, "as men who understand oneanother. Guillot is the one criminal in Europe whom we all fear; not Ialone, mind you--it is the same in Berlin, in Petersburg, in Vienna.He has never been caught. It is my honest belief that he never will becaught. At the same time, wherever he arrives the thunder-clouds gather.He leaves behind him always a trail of evil deeds."
"Very well put," Peter murmured. "Quite picturesque."
"Can you help me to get rid of him?" Dory inquired. "I have my handsfull just now, as you can imagine, what with the political crisis andthese constant mass meetings. I want Guillot out of the country. If youcan manage this for me, I shall be your eternal debtor."
"Why do you imagine," Peter asked, "that I can help you in this matter?"
There was a brief silence. John Dory knocked the ash from his cigar.
"Times have changed," he said. "The harmlessness of your great Society,my dear Baron, is at present admitted. But there were days--"
"Exactly," Peter interrupted. "As shrewd as ever, I perceive. Do youknow anything of the object of his coming?"
"Nothing."
"Anything of his plans?"
"Nothing."
"You know where he is staying?"
"Naturally," Dory answered. "He has taken a second-floor flat inCrayshaw Mansions, Shaftesbury Avenue. As usual, he is above all pettyartifices. He has taken it under the name of Monsieur Guillot."
"I really don't know whether there is anything I can do," Peter decided,"but I will look into the matter for you, with pleasure. Perhaps I maybe able to bring a little influence to bear--indirectly, of course. Ifso, it is at your service. Lady Dory is well, I trust?"
"In the best of health," Sir John replied, accepting the hint and risingto his feet. "I shall hear from you soon?"
"Without a doubt," Peter answered. "I must certainly call upon MonsieurGuillot."
Peter certainly wasted no time in paying his promised visit. That sameafternoon he rang the bell at the flat in Crayshaw Mansions. A typicalFrench butler showed him into the room where the great man sat. MonsieurGuillot, slight, elegant, pre-eminently a dandy, was lounging upon asofa, being manicured by a young lady. He threw down his Petit Journaland rose to his feet, however, at his visitor's entrance.
"My dear Baron," he exclaimed, "but this is charming of you!Mademoiselle," he added, turning to the manicurist, "you will do me thefavor of retiring for a short time. Permit me."
He opened the door and showed her out. Then he came back to Peter.
"A visit of courtesy, Monsieur le Baron?" he asked.
"Without a doubt," Peter replied.
"It is beyond all measure charming of you," Guillot declared, "but letme ask you a little question. Is it peace or war?"
"It is what you choose to make it," Peter answered.
The man threw out his hands. There was the shadow of a frown upon hispale forehead. It was a matter for protest, this.
"Why do you come?" he demanded. "What have we in common? The Societyhas expelled me. Very well, I go my own way. Why not? I am free of yourcontrol to-day. You have no more right to interfere with my schemes thanI with yours."
"We have the ancient right of power," Peter said, grimly. "You were oncea prominent member of our organization, the spoilt protege of Madame,a splendid maker, if you will, of criminal history. Those days havepassed. We offered you a pension which you have refused. It is now ourturn to speak. We require you to leave this city in twenty-four hours."
The face was livid with anger. He was of the fair type of Frenchman,with deep-set eyes, and a straight, cruel mouth only partly concealedby his golden mustache. Just now, notwithstanding the veneer of his tooperfect clothes and civilized air, the beast had leaped out. His facewas like the face of a snarling animal.
"I refuse!" he cried. "It is I who refuse! I am here on my own affairs.What they may be is no business of yours or of any one else's. That ismy answer to you, Baron de Grost, whether you come to me for yourselfor on behalf of the Society to which I no longer belong. That is myanswer--that and the door," he added, pressing the bell. "If you will,we fight. If you are wise, forget this visit as quickly as you can."
Peter took up his hat. The man-servant was already in the room.
"We shall probably meet again before your return, Monsieur Guillot," heremarked.
Guillot had recovered himself. His smile was wicked, but his bowperfection.
"To the fortunate hour, Monsieur le Baron!" he replied.
Peter drove hack to Berkeley Square, and without a moment's hesitationpressed the levers which set to work the whole underground machinery ofthe great power which he controlled. Thenceforward, Monsieur Guillot wassurrounded with a vague army of silent watchers. They passed in and outof his fiat, their mot
or cars were as fast as his in the streets, theirfancy in restaurants identical with his. Guillot moved through it alllike a man wholly unconscious of espionage, showing nothing of themurderous anger which burned in his blood. The reports came to Peterevery hour, although there was, indeed, nothing worth chronicling.Monsieur Guillot's visit to London would seem, indeed, to be a visitof gallantry. He spent most of his time with Mademoiselle Louise, thefamous dancer. He was prominent at the Empire, to watch her nightlyperformance, they were a noticeable couple supping together at the Milanafterwards. Monsieur Guillot was indeed a man of gallantry, but he hadthe reputation of using these affairs to cloak his real purposes. Thosewho watched him, watched only the more closely. Monsieur Guillot, whostood it very well at first, unfortunately lost his temper. He drovein the great motor car which he had brought with him from Paris, toBerkeley Square, and confronted Peter.
"My friend," he exclaimed, though indeed the glitter in his eyes knewnothing of friendship, "it is intolerable, this! Do you think that Ido not see through these dummy waiters, these obsequious shopmen, theseladies who drop their eyes when I pass, these commissionaires,these would-be acquaintances? I tell you that they irritate me, thisincompetent, futile crowd. You pit them against me! Bah! You should knowbetter. When I choose to disappear, I shall disappear, and no one willfollow me. When I strike, I shall strike, and no one will discover whatmy will may be. You are out of date, dear Baron, with your third-ratearmy of stupid spies. You succeed in one thing only--you succeed inmaking me angry."
"It is at least an achievement, that," Peter declared.
"Perhaps," Monsieur Guillot admitted, fiercely. "Yet mark now theresult. I defy you, you and all of them. Look at your clock. It is fiveminutes to seven. It goes well, that clock, eh?"
"It is the correct time," Peter said.
"Then by midnight," Guillot continued, shaking his fist in the other'sface, "I shall have done that thing which brought me to England and Ishall have disappeared. I shall have done it in spite of your watchers,in spite of your spies, in spite, even, of you, Monsieur le Baron deGrost. There is my challenge. Voila. Take it up if you will. At midnightyou shall hear me laugh. I have the honor to wish you good-night!"
Peter opened the door with his own hands.
"This is excellent," he declared. "You are now, indeed, the MonsieurGuillot of old. Almost you persuade me to take up your challenge."
Guillot laughed derisively.
"As you please!" he exclaimed. "By midnight tonight!"
The challenge of Monsieur Guillot was issued precisely at four minutesbefore seven. On his departure, Peter spent the next half-hour studyingcertain notes and sending various telephone messages. Afterwards, hechanged his clothes at the usual time and sat down to a tete-a-tetedinner with his wife. Three times during the course of the meal hewas summoned to the telephone, and from each call he returned moreperplexed. Finally, when the servants had left the room, he took hischair around to his wife's side.
"Violet," he said, "you were asking me just now about the telephone.You were quite right. These were not ordinary messages which I havebeen receiving. I am engaged in a little matter which, I must confess,perplexes me. I want your advice, perhaps your help."
"I am quite ready," she answered, smiling. "It is a long time since yougave me anything to do."
"You have heard of Guillot?"
She reflected for a moment.
"You mean the wonderful Frenchman," she asked, "the head of the criminaldepartment of the Double-Four?"
"The man who was at its head when it existed. The criminal department,as you know, has all been done away with. The Double-Four has now nomore concern with those who break the law, save in those few instanceswhere great issues demand it."
"But Monsieur Guillot still exists?"
"He not only exists," answered Peter, "but he is here in London, a rebeland a defiant one. Do you know who came to see me the other morning?"
She shook her head.
"Sir John Dory," Peter continued. "He came here with a request. Hebegged for my help. Guillot is here, committed to some enterprise whichno one can wholly fathom. Dory has enough to do with other things, asyou can imagine, just now. Besides, I think he recognizes that MonsieurGuillot is rather a hard nut for the ordinary English detective tocrack."
"And you?" she demanded, breathlessly.
"I join forces with Dory," Peter admitted. "Sogrange agrees with me.Guillot was associated with the Double-Four too long for us to have himmake scandalous history either here or in Paris."
"You have seen him?"
"I have not only seen him, but declared war against him."
"And he?"
"Guillot is defiant," Peter replied. "He has been here only thisevening. He mocks at me. He swears that he will bring off thisenterprise, whatever it may be, before midnight to-night, and he hasdefied me to stop him."
"But you will," she murmured, softly.
Peter smiled. The conviction in his wife's tone was a subtle complimentwhich he did not fail to appreciate.
"I have hopes," he confessed, "and yet, let me tell you this, Violet.I have never been more puzzled. Ask yourself, now. What enterprise isthere worthy of a man like Guillot, in which he could engage himselfhere in London between now and midnight? Any ordinary theft is beneathhim. The purloining of the crown jewels, perhaps, he might consider, butI don't think that anything less in the way of robbery would bring himhere. He has his code and he is as vain as a peacock. Yet money is atthe root of everything he does."
"How does he spend his time here?" Violet asked.
"He has a handsome flat in Shaftesbury Avenue," Peter answered, "wherehe lives, to all appearance, the life of an idle man of fashion. Thewhole of his spare time is spent with Mademoiselle Louise, the danseuseat the Empire. You see, it is half-past eight now. I have eleven menaltogether at work, and according to my last report he was dining withher in the grill-room at the Milan. They have just ordered their coffeeten minutes ago, and the car is waiting outside to take Mademoiselle tothe Empire. Guillot's box is engaged there, as usual. If he proposes tooccupy it, he is leaving himself a very narrow margin of time to carryout any enterprise worth speaking of."
Violet was thoughtful for several moments. Then she crossed the room,took up a copy of an illustrated paper, and brought it across to Peter.He smiled as he glanced at the picture to which she pointed, and the fewlines underneath.
"It has struck you, too, then!" he exclaimed. "Good! You have answeredme exactly as I hoped. Somehow, I scarcely trusted myself. I have bothcars waiting outside. We may need them. You won't mind coming to theEmpire with me?"
"Mind!" she laughed. "I only hope I may be in at the finish."
"If the finish," Peter remarked, "is of the nature which I anticipate, Ishall take particularly good care that you are not."
The curtain was rising upon the first act of the ballet as they enteredthe most popular music-hall in London and were shown to the box whichPeter had engaged. The house was full--crowded, in fact, almost toexcess. They had scarcely taken their seats when a roar of applauseannounced the coming of Mademoiselle Louise. She stood for a moment toreceive her nightly ovation, a slim, beautiful creature, looking outupon the great house with that faint, bewitching smile at the corners ofher lips, which every photographer in Europe had striven toreproduce. Then she moved away to the music, an exquisite figure, thepersonification of all that was alluring in her sex. Violet leanedforward to watch her movements as she plunged into the first dance.Peter was occupied looking around the house. Monsieur Guillot was there,sitting insolently forward in his box, sleek and immaculate. He evenwaved his hand and bowed as he met Peter's eye. Somehow or other, hisconfidence had its effect. Peter began to feel vaguely troubled. Afterall, his plans were built upon a surmise. It was so easy for him to bewrong. No man would show his hand so openly, unless he were sure of thegame. Then his face cleared a little. In the box adjoining Guillot's,the figure of a solitary man was just visible, a man who had leaned ove
rto applaud Louise, but who was now sitting back in the shadows. Peterrecognized him at once, notwithstanding the obscurity. This was so muchto the good, at any rate. He took up his hat.
"For a quarter of an hour you will excuse me, Violet," he said. "WatchGuillot. If he leaves his place, knock at the door of your own box, andone of my men, who is outside, will come to you at once. He will knowwhere to find me."
Peter hurried away, pausing for a moment in the promenade, to scribble aline or two at the back of one of his own cards. Presently he knockedat the door of the box adjoining Guillot's and was instantly admitted.Violet continued her watch. She remained alone until the curtain fellupon the first act of the ballet. A few minutes later, Peter returned.She knew at once that things were going well. He sank into a chair byher side.
"I have messages every five minutes," he whispered in her ear, "and I amventuring upon a bold stroke. There is still something about the affair,though, which I cannot understand. You are absolutely sure that Guillothas not moved?"
Violet pointed with her program across the house. "There he sits," sheremarked. "He left his chair as the curtain went down, but he couldscarcely have gone out of the box, for he was back within ten seconds."
Peter looked steadily across at the opposite box. Guillot was sittinga little further back now, as though he no longer courted observation.Something about his attitude puzzled the man who watched him. With asudden quick movement he caught up the glasses which stood by his wife'sside. The curtain was going up for the second act, and Guillot hadturned his head. Peter held the glasses only for a moment to his eyes,and then glanced down at the stage.
"My God!" he muttered. "The man's a genius! Violet, the small motor iscoming for you."
He was out of the box in a single step. Violet looked after him,looked down upon the stage and across at Guillot's box. It was hard tounderstand.
The curtain had scarcely rung up upon the second act of the ballet whena young lady who met from all the loungers, and even from the doorkeeperhimself, the most respectful attention, issued from the stage-door atthe Empire and stepped into the large motor car which was waiting, drawnup against the curb. The door was opened from inside and closed at once.She held out her hands, as yet ungloved, to the man who sat back in thecorner.
"At last!" she murmured. "And I thought, indeed, that you had forsakenme."
He took her hands and held them tightly, but he answered only in awhisper. He wore a sombre black cloak and a broad-brimmed black hat. Amuffler concealed the lower part of his face. She put her finger uponthe electric light, but he stopped her.
"I must not be recognized," he said thickly. "Forgive me, Louise, if Iseem strange at first, but there is more in it than I can tell you. Noone must know that I am in London to-night. When we reach this place towhich you are taking me, and we are really alone, then we can talk. Ihave so much to say."
She looked at him doubtfully. It was indeed a moment of indecision withher. Then she began to laugh softly.
"Dear one, but you have changed!" she exclaimed, compassionately. "Afterall, why not? I must not forget that things have gone so hardly withyou. It seems odd, indeed, to see you sitting there, muffled up likean old man, afraid to show yourself. You know how foolish you are? Withyour black cape and that queer hat, you are so different from all theothers. If you seek to remain unrecognized, why do you not dress as allthe men do? Any one who was suspicious would recognize you from yourclothes."
"It is true," he muttered. "I did not think of it."
She leaned towards him.
"You will not even kiss me?" she murmured.
"Not yet," he answered.
She made a little grimace.
"But you are cold!"
"You do not understand," he answered. "They are watching me--evento-night they are watching me. Oh, if you only knew, Louise, how I havelonged for this hour that is to come!"
Her vanity was assuaged. She patted his hand but came no nearer.
"You are a foolish man," she said, "very foolish."
"It is not for you to say that," he replied. "If I have been foolish,were not you often the cause of my folly?" Again she laughed.
"Oh, la, la! It is always the same! It is always you men who accuse! Forthat presently I shall reprove you. But now--as for now, behold, we havearrived!"
"It is a crowded thoroughfare," the man remarked, nervously, looking upand down Shaftesbury Avenue.
"Stupid!" she cried, stepping out. "I do not recognize you to-night,little one. Even your voice is different. Follow me quickly across thepavement and up the stairs. There is only one flight. The flat I haveborrowed is on the second floor. I do not care very much that peopleshould recognize me either, under the circumstances. There is nothingthey love so much," she added, with a toss of the head, "as finding anexcuse to have my picture in the paper."
He followed her down the dim hall and up the broad, flat stairs, keepingalways some distance behind. On the first landing she drew a key fromher pocket and opened a door. It was the door of Monsieur Guillot'ssitting-room. A round table in the middle was laid for supper. One lightalone, and that heavily shaded, was burning.
"Oh, la, la!" she exclaimed. "How I hate this darkness! Wait till I canturn on the lights, dear friend, and then you must embrace me. It isfrom outside, I believe. No, do not follow. I can find the switch formyself. Remain where you are. I return instantly."
She left him alone in the room, closing the door softly. In the passageshe reeled for a moment and caught at her side. She was very pale.Guillot, coming swiftly up the steps, frowned as he saw her.
"He is there?" he demanded, harshly.
"He is there," Louise replied, "but, indeed, I am angry with myself.See, I am faint. It is a terrible thing, this, which I have done. Hedid me no harm, that young man, except that he was stupid and heavy, andthat I never loved him. Who could love him, indeed! But, Guillot--"
He passed on, scarcely heeding her words, but she clung to his arm.
"Dear one," she begged, "promise that you will not really hurt him.Promise me that, or I will shriek out and call the people from thestreets here. You would not make an assassin of me? Promise!"
Guillot turned suddenly towards her and there were strange things in hisface. He pointed down the stairs.
"Go back, Louise," he ordered, "back to your rooms, for your ownsake. Remember that you have left the theatre too ill to finish yourperformance. You have had plenty of time already to get home. Quick!Leave me to deal with this young man. I tell you to go."
She retreated down the stairs, dumb, her knees shaking with fear.Guillot entered the room, closing the door behind him. Even as he bowedto that dark figure standing in the corner, his left hand shot forwardthe bolt.
"Monsieur," he said--
"What is the meaning of this?" the visitor interrupted, haughtily. "I amexpecting Mademoiselle Louise. I did not understand that strangers hadthe right of entry into this room."
Guillot bowed low.
"Monsieur," he said once more, "it is a matter for my eternal regretthat I am forced to intrude even for a moment upon an assignation soromantic. But there is a little matter which must first be settled. Ihave some friends here who have a thing to say to you."
He walked softly, with catlike tread, along by the wall to where thethick curtains shut out the inner apartment. He caught at the thickvelvet, dragged it back, and the two rooms were suddenly flooded withlight. In the recently discovered one, two stalwart-looking men in plainclothes, but of very unmistakable appearance, were standing waiting.Guillot staggered back. They were strangers to him. He was like a manwho looks upon a nightmare. His eyes protruded. The words which hetried to utter, failed him. Then, with a swift, nervous presentiment,he turned quickly around towards the man who had been standing in theshadows. Here, too, the unexpected had happened. It was Peter, Baron deGrost, who threw his muffler and broad-brimmed hat upon the table.
"Five minutes to eleven, I believe, Monsieur Guillot," Peter declared."I win b
y an hour and five minutes."
Guillot said nothing for several seconds. After all, though, he hadgreat gifts. He recovered alike his power of speech and his composure.
"These gentlemen," he said, pointing with his left hand towards theinner room--"I do not understand their presence in my apartments."
Peter shrugged his shoulders.
"They represent, I am afraid, the obvious end of things," he explained."You have given me a run for my money, I confess. A Monsieur Guillotwho is remarkably like you, still occupies your box at the Empire, andMademoiselle Jeanne Lemere, the accomplished understudy of the ladywho has just left us, is sufficiently like the incomparable Louise toescape, perhaps, detection for the first few minutes. But you gave thegame away a little, my dear Guillot, when you allowed your quarry tocome and gaze even from the shadows of his box at the woman he adored."
"Where is--he?" Guillot faltered.
"He is on his way back to his country home," Peter replied. "I thinkthat he will be cured of his infatuation for Mademoiselle. The assassinswhom you planted in that room are by this time in Bow Street. The pricewhich others beside you knew, my dear Guillot, was placed upon thatunfortunate young head, will not pass this time into your pocket. Forthe rest--"
"The rest is of no consequence," Guillot interrupted, bowing. "I admitthat I am vanquished. As for those gentlemen there," he added, wavinghis hand towards the two men who had taken a step forward, "I have alittle oath which is sacred to me concerning them. I take the liberty,therefore, to admit myself defeated, Monsieur le Baron, and to take myleave."
No one was quick enough to interfere. They had only a glimpse of him ashe stood there with the revolver pressed to his temple, an impression ofa sharp report, of Guillot staggering back as the revolver slippedfrom his fingers on to the floor. Even his death cry was stifled. Theycarried him away without any fuss, and Peter was just in time, afterall, to see the finish of the second act of the ballet. The shamMonsieur Guillot still smirked at the sham Louise, but the box by hisside was empty.
"It is over?" Violet asked, breathlessly.
"It is over," Peter answered.
It was, after all, an unrecorded tragedy. In an obscure corner ofthe morning papers one learned the next day that a Frenchman, who hadapparently come to the end of his means, had committed suicide in afurnished flat of Shaftesbury Avenue. Two foreigners were deportedwithout having been brought up for trial, for being suspected persons.A little languid interest was aroused at the inquest when one ofthe witnesses deposed to the deceased's having been a famous Frenchcriminal. Nothing further transpired, however, and the readers of thehalfpenny press for once were deprived of their sensation. For the rest,Peter received, with much satisfaction, a remarkably handsome signetring, bearing some famous arms, and a telegram from Sogrange: "Welldone, Baron! May the successful termination of your enterprise nerve youfor the greater undertaking which is close at hand. I leave for Londonby the night train. Sogrange."