The Pauper of Park Lane

morning."

  And the pair finished their luncheon and parted, Adam, of course,entirely unsuspicious of the part Statham had played in upsetting hisdeeply-laid plans.

  To every address which Marion's brother had furnished he had gone atpost-haste, only to draw blank every time. Charlie had, at Statham'sinstructions, gone first to Constantinople, then to Odessa and Batoum,after which he had returned direct to London.

  In Odessa he had been met by a special messenger from the London officebearing a number of documents, and his business in that city hadoccupied him nearly a fortnight. Therefore it was early in Octoberwhen, arriving by the evening train at Charing Cross from Paris, he tooka cab straight to Park Lane.

  In greeting him, old Sam was rather curious in his manner, he thought.There was a lack of cordiality. Usually, when he came off a longjourney, the old fellow ordered Levi to bring the decanter of whisky anda syphon. But on this occasion the head of the great financial housemerely sat in his chair at his desk and heard his secretary's reportwithout even suggesting that he might be fagged by his rush acrossEurope.

  Rolfe related, briefly and plainly, the various points upon which he hadfailed, and those upon which he had been successful. Some of hisdecisions had brought many thousands of pounds into the alreadyoverflowing coffers of Statham Brothers, and yet the old man made nosign. He heard all without any comment save now and then a grunt ofsatisfaction.

  The younger man could not disguise from himself the fact that themillionaire was not himself. His face was paler and more transparent,while the green-shaded electric lamp shed upon it a hue that was unrealand ghastly. Old Levi, too, as he flitted in and out like awhite-breasted shadow, seemed to regard him with unusual suspicion anddistrust.

  What could it all mean?

  He looked from one to the other in puzzled surprise.

  He was unaware that only on the previous night a thin, dark, bearded manhad been ushered into that very room and had sat for two hours with thegreat financier. His countenance, his gestures, the cut of his clothes,all showed plainly that he was not English. Besides, the consultationwas in French, a language which old Sam knew fairly well.

  That man was a spy, and he was from Belgrade.

  From the moment Charlie Rolfe had descended at the station to the momenthe had left it, secret observation had been kept upon his movements.And to furnish the report to his master the spy had travelled fromServia to London. Samuel Statham trusted nobody. Even his mostconfidential assistant was spied upon, and his own reports compared withthose of a spy's.

  More than once, as Charlie Rolfe, all unconscious of the surveillanceupon him, related what had occurred in King Peter's capital, the old mansmiled--in disbelief. This the younger man could not understand. Hewas in ignorance of the great conspiracy in progress, or of themillionaire's ulterior motives. The old man's face was sphinx-like, asit ever was--a countenance in which no single trait was visible, neitherwas there human joy or human sympathy. It was the face of a statue--theface of a man whose greed and avarice had rendered him pitiless.

  And yet, strangely enough, this very man was, to Charlie's knowledge, aphilanthropist in secret, giving away thousands yearly to the deservingpoor without any thought of laudatory comment of either press or public.

  Samuel Statham was not well; of that Charlie felt assured. He noticedthe slight trembling of the thin white hands, the fixed, anxious look inhis eyes, the curl of the thin grey lips, all of which caused himanxiety. In his ignorance he had grown to be greatly fond of theeccentric old man who pulled so many of the financial wires of Europeand whose word could cause the stock markets to fluctuate. A scribbledword of his that night would be felt in Wall Street on the morrow,whilst the pulses of the Bourse of Berlin, Paris, and Vienna were readyat any moment to respond instantly to the transactions of StathamBrothers, often so gigantic as to cause a sensation.

  Presently Sam Statham commenced his cross-questioning regarding theexact situation in Belgrade, the attitude of the Minister-President, andthe strength of the Opposition in that wooden shed-likeParliament-house, the Skuptchina, of whom he had seen, and whatinformation he had gathered regarding the tariff-war with Austria.

  To all the questions Charlie replied in a manner which showed him to beperfectly alive to all the requirements of the firm. To those in OldBroad Street, City, secret information regarding the future policy ofServia means the gain or loss of many thousands, and though during hissojourn in the City of the White Fortress his mind had been so perturbedover his own private affairs, he had certainly not neglected those ofthe great firm who employed him.

  The old man gave little sign of approbation, and after nearly an hoursuddenly dismissed him abruptly, saying:

  "Very well. You're tired, I expect. You'd better go to dinner. I'llsee you in the morning."

  "There's another matter I wanted to speak to you about," Charlie said,still remaining in his chair, watching the old fellow as he turnedtowards his desk and drew some papers on to his blotting-pad.

  "Eh? What?" asked the old fellow sharply, turning again to the other.

  "You did very well in Odessa. I was very pleased to receive that lastcable from you. Souvaroff grew frightened evidently--afraid I shouldwithdraw and let the whole business go into air." And he chuckled tohimself in delight at how he had worsted a powerful Russian banker whowas his enemy.

  "It was not of that I wish to speak," remarked Rolfe quietly. "It waswith regard to my sister Marion."

  The old fellow started uneasily at his secretary's words. "Eh? Yoursister?" he said. "What about her?"

  "She's left Cunnington's," Charlie said. "According to what I hear,she's been discharged in some disgrace."

  "Ah! yes," was the old man's response, as though recalling the fact."I've heard so. Your friend Barclay came to see me, and told me somelong story about her. I wrote to Cunnington, but I haven't seen anyreply from him. It may have gone to the office."

  "My sister has left Oxford Street--and hidden herself, in disgrace. Wecan't find her."

  "Then if you can't find her, Rolfe, I don't see how I can assist you,"remarked the elder man. "Girls entertain strange fancies, you know--especially the sentimental-minded. Been reading novels, perhaps--eh?Was she given to that?"

  "The girls at Cunnington's have little time for reading," he said,piqued at Statham's careless manner. Hitherto he had believed that theold man was genuinely interested in her, but he now saw that her futurewas to him nothing. He was too much occupied in piling up wealth totrouble his head over a girl's distress, even though that girl might bethe sister of the man who by his acute business foresight often won forhim thousands in a single day.

  Charlie rose, full of suppressed anger. He did not notice the look ofanxiety and shame upon the old man's face, for his head was bowedbeneath the lamplight as he pretended to fumble with his papers.

  "Perhaps your sister was tired of the place--too much hard work.Thought to better herself."

  "My sister was, like myself, much indebted to you, Mr Statham," wasRolfe's reply. "If she has been discharged in disgrace, it is, I feelconfident, through no fault of her own. Therefore, I beg of you, to askfit. Cunnington to make full inquiry."

  "What is the use? It is Cunnington himself who engages the hands anddischarges them," replied Statham evasively. "I can't interfere."

  "But," Rolfe argued, "for the sake of my sister's good name you willsurely do me this one small favour?"

  "I have already seen Barclay, who says he's engaged to her. Call onhim, and he'll explain what I have already said and the inquiry I havealready made," replied the old man in growing impatience.

  "But weeks have gone by, and you've received no reply from Cunnington.He does not usually treat you with such discourtesy."

  "I can only think that he acted as his own judgment directed him," themillionaire replied. "You know how strict the rules are that governshop-assistants, and I suppose he could not favour your sister any morethan the others."
br />   "Marion wanted no favours," he declared. "She never asked one ofanybody at Oxford Street. She only desires justice and troth--and Imean to have them for her."

  "Then go and see Cunnington for yourself," snapped the old man. "I'vedone all I can do. If your sister chooses to go away and hide herself,how can I help it?"

  "But she was sent away?" cried Rolfe in anger. "Sent away in disgrace,and I intend to discover what charge there is against her--and the truthconcerning it?"

  "Dear me, Rolfe!" snapped the old man impatiently. "Do go home, forheaven's sake. You're tired and hungry--consequently out of temper."

  "Yes," he cried, "I am out of temper because you refuse to render mysister justice! But she shall have it--she shall?"

  And he stalked out of the room and closed the door noisily behind him.

  Then, after the door had closed, old Sam raised his head, and his eyesfollowed the young man. In them was a look such as was seldom seenthere--a look of double cunning which spoke mutely of false anddouble-dealing.

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

  TELLS OF A DETERMINATION.

  Entering his chambers in Jermyn Street half an hour later, Rolfe was metby the faithful Green, to whom he gave orders to "ring up" Mr Barclayat Dover Street.

  Then he went along to his room to wash and dress.

  A few moments later Green came in, saying:

  "Mr Barclay left town five days ago, sir. He's up at Kilmaronock."

  His master made no reply for some moments. Then at last he said:

  "Pack my suit-case, and 'phone to Euston to reserve me a seat to Perthon the ten-five to-morrow morning."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And to everybody except my sister, if she calls, you don't know whereI've gone--you understand?"

  "Perfectly, sir."

  And the man set about packing up his master's traps.

  "You may as well put in a dinner-coat Max may have friends," Rolfe said.

  "Very well, sir."

  His master dressed quickly and went alone to the club for a late dinner.Most of his friends were away shooting, therefore he idled alone for anhour over the paper and then returned to his chambers.

  Next morning he scribbled a hasty note to Mr Statham, making an excusefor his sudden absence, and directly after ten was seated in the Scotchexpress travelling out of London.

  At eight that evening he stepped out upon the big, dark station atPerth, sent a telegram to the Crown Inn at Kilmaronock village for a"machine," as a fly is called, and then took the slow branch line thatruns by Crieff and skirts Loch Earn to the head of Glen Ogle, where laythe old castle and fine shooting of which Max Barclay was possessor.

  A drive of three miles on the road beside Loch Voil brought him to thelodge-gates, and then another mile up through the park he came to thegreat portico of the castle.

  It was nearly midnight. Lights were still in the billiard-room of thefine old castellated mansion, which Max's father had modernised andrendered so comfortable, and when Charlie rang, Burton, the butler,could not suppress an exclamation of surprise.

  In a few moments, however, Charlie burst into the room where Max andfive other men were playing "snooker" before retiring.

  The host's surprise was great, but the visitor received a heartywelcome, and an hour later, when the guests had gone to their rooms, thetwo friends stood alone together in the long old-fashioned drawing-roomwhich, without a woman's artistic hand to keep things in order, wasrapidly going to decay.

  A big wood fire blazed cheerfully in the wide old-fashioned grate, forOctober evenings in the Highlands are damp and chill, and as the two menstood before it they looked at one another, both hesitating to speak.

  Across Charlie's mind flashed those suspicions which had oppressed himin Belgrade. Was the man before him his enemy or his friend?

  "Well," he blurted forth, "I've come straight up to see you, Max. Ionly arrived home last night. I want to see you concerning Marion."

  His companion's lips hardened.

  "Marion!" he exclaimed. "I have done all I can. I've left no effortuntried. I have sought the aid of the best confidential inquiry agencyin London, and all to no avail. She's disappeared--as completely asMaud has done!"

  "Yes, I know," replied her brother, thrusting his hands deep into thetrousers-pockets of his blue serge travelling-suit. "I've seenStatham."

  "And so have I. He wrote to Cunnington's, but the latter has notreplied. I saw Cunnington myself."

  "And what did he say?"

  "The fellow refused to say anything," he replied in a hard tone.

  Silence again fell between the pair.

  The long, old-fashioned room, with its blue china, its chintz coverings,its grand piano, and its bowls of autumn roses, though full of quaintcharm, was weird and unsuited to the home of a bachelor. Indeed,Kilmaronock was a white elephant to Max. He received a fair rental fromthe farms on the estate, but he never went near the place except forsport for six weeks or so each autumn. The old place possessed somebitter memories for him, for his mother had died there quite suddenly ofheart disease on the night of a large dinner-party. He was onlyeighteen then, but he remembered it too well. It was that tragic memorywhich had caused him to abandon the place except when he invited a fewof his friends to shoot over the estate.

  "Let's go into my own room to talk," he suggested. "It's more cosythere." As a man hates all drawing-rooms, so did Max Barclay detesthis. It was for him full of recollections of his dear dead mother.

  And so they passed along the corridor to Max's own little den in theeast wing of the house, a pleasant little room overlooking the deepshady glen from whence rose the constant music of the ever-ripplingburn.

  As Charlie sank into the big armchair near the fire Max pushed thecigar-box towards him. Then he seated himself, saying:

  "Now, old fellow, what are we to do? Marion must be found."

  "She must. But you've failed, you say?"

  "Utterly," he sighed. "She was discharged from Cunnington's--disgraced!"

  "Why?"

  Max shrugged his shoulders. Both men knew well that the reason of thegirl's disappearance was the shame of her dismissal. Both men knew alsothat by lifting his finger Sam Statham could have reinstated her--orcould at least have had inquiry made as to the truth of what had reallyoccurred.

  But he had refused. Therefore both were indignant and angry. Duringthe next half-hour they discussed the matter fully and seriously, andwere agreed upon one main point, that Statham had acted against themboth in refusing his aid to clear the unfortunate girl.

  "Whatever fault she has committed," declared Max, "the truth should betold. I went to him acknowledging my love for her and beseeching hisaid. And yet he has refused."

  "Then let us combine, Max, in trying to discover the truth," her brothersuggested. "Marion shall not be cast aside into oblivion by thesedrapery capitalists who gain fat profits upon the labour and lives ofwomen."

  "You may imperil your position with Statham if you act withoutdiscretion," remarked Max warningly.

  "I shall do nothing without full consideration, depend upon it. Stathamrefused his assistance, therefore we must act for ourselves."

  "How? Where shall we begin?" asked Max.

  His friend raised his palms in a gesture of bewilderment.

  "Look here, Charlie," said the other in a confidential tone. "Has itnot occurred to you that there may be a method in old Statham'seccentricity regarding that house of his. Now tell me, what do you knowof its interior? Let's be frank with each other. You have lost bothyour sister and the woman you adored, while I have lost Marion, mywell-beloved. Let us act together. During these past weeks I've beenthinking deeply regarding the mystery of that house in Park Lane."

  "So have I, many times. I only know the ground floor and basement. Ihave never ascended the stairs, through that white-enamelled iron doorconcealed by the one of green baize."

  "Where does old Levi sleep?"

  "In a
room at the back of the kitchen--when he sleeps at all. He's likea watch-dog, on the alert always for the slightest sound."

  Max paused for a moment before making any further remark. Then he saidin a quiet voice:

  "There are some very queer stories afloat concerning that place,Charlie."

  "I know. I've heard them--about mysterious people who enter there atnight--and don't come forth again. But I don't believe them. Old Samhas earned a reputation for being eccentric, and his enemies have tackedon all sorts of sensational fictions."

  "But I've heard lately from half a dozen sources most extraordinarystories. Up at the Moretouns' at Inversnaid the night before last, theywere talking of it at dinner. They were unaware that I knew Statham."

  "Just as the gossips are unaware that the persons who come and go somysteriously at the Park Lane mansion are secret agents of the greatfinancier," Rolfe said. "Of course it would not do to say so openly,but that's who they are. The allegation that they don't come forthagain is, I feel confident, mere embroidery to the tale."

  "But," exclaimed Max with some hesitation, "has it not ever occurred toyou somewhat curious that, so deeply involved in Servian finance,Statham has never sought to solve the mystery of the doctor'sdisappearance? Remember, they knew