The Slave of Silence

Beatrice started violently. The words had recalled a painful time to her. She recollected now with vivid force that on the night of Sir Charles's disappearance a little crooked man in a hansom cab had been the directing party in the outrage.

The girl's instinct had led her swiftly to the truth. She felt, as sure as if she had been told, that this man before her was at the bottom of this business. She knew that she stood face to face with the man who had stolen the body of Sir Charles Darryll. For a moment Beatrice fought hard with the feeling that she was going to faint. Her eyes dilated and she looked across at the man opposite. He was lying back in his chair feasting his eyes upon her beauty, so that the subtle change in the girl's face was not lost upon him.

"I seem to have alarmed you about something," he said. "What was it? Surely the spectacle of a crooked little man like me in a hansom cab is not so dreadful as all that. And yet those words must have touched upon a chord somewhere."

"It – it recalled my father to me," Beatrice stammered. "The police found certain things out. They discovered the night my father disappeared that outside the hotel was a black hansom cab with a man inside who was a cripple."

"You don't mean to say that!" Sartoris cried.

In his turn he had almost betrayed himself. He could have cursed himself aloud now. As it was, he forced an unsteady smile to his lips.

"I mean to say that the police are very clever at that kind of thing," he went on. "But surely you would not possibly identify me or my remark with the monster in question! There are a great many people in this big London of ours who would answer to that description. Now tell me, did the police find anything more out?"

The question was eager, despite the fact that Sartoris imparted a laugh into it. But Beatrice was not to be drawn any further. She felt absolutely certain of the fact that she was talking to the real culprit who was picking her brain so that he could get to the bottom of what the police had discovered, with an eye to the future.

"Really, I don't know," the girl said coldly. "That is all that I overheard. The police I find are very close over these matters, and in any case they do not usually choose a woman as their confidant. You had better ask Colonel Berrington."

It was an unfortunate remark in more senses than one. Beatrice did not quite realize how quick and clever was the man to whom she was talking. If his instinct had told him much his cleverness told him more. Berrington was in the confidence of the police. And Sartoris had imagined that the soldier was working out the problem on his own behalf. He had counted, too, on Berrington's affection for Mary to do as little harm as possible.

"I'll ask the Colonel," he said between his teeth. "Oh, yes, I will certainly do that. What are you looking at so closely?"

Beatrice had risen to her feet in her eagerness. She pointed to two cabinet photographs.

"Those people," she stammered. "Why, I know them. They call themselves Countess de la Moray and General Gastang. They were staying at the Royal Palace Hotel the night of the tragedy. They pretended to know me and all about me. I am quite sure that they are actors in disguise. But seeing that you know them – "

Sartoris turned away his face for a moment, so that Beatrice should not see its evil expression. He cursed himself for his inane folly. But he was quick to rise to the situation.

"A very strange thing," he said. "As a matter of fact, I don't know those people. But some friends of mine in Paris were their victims some little time ago, and they were anxious that the police here should be warned, as the precious pair had fled to England. Perhaps they were proud of this guise, perhaps their vanity impelled them, but they had those photographs taken and my friends got copies and sent them to me. They only arrived to-day or they would not be here. They will go to Scotland Yard in the morning."

Beatrice inclined her head coldly. She knew the whole thing was a quick and ready lie, and she could not for the life of her pretend to believe it. She buttoned her jacket about her and stood up.

"I will not detain you any longer," she said. "If I can find what you desire I will let you know. I can find my own way to the door."

"Wait till Berrington returns," Sartoris urged. "He will not be long. He is not in the house yet, but he will be sorry he has missed you."

Beatrice stood before the glass putting her hat on straight. She could see over her shoulder in the direction of the door, and there in the gloom with his finger to his lips stood Berrington. There was just a suggestion of surprise in his eyes, surprise and annoyance, but the look which he passed the girl was a command to keep herself well in hand. The mere fact that help was so near gave her a new courage. She smiled as she turned to Sartoris.

"Well, I am afraid that I must be going," she said. "Please tell the Colonel when he comes in that I am sorry to have missed him. He will understand that."

There was the faint click of a key in the front door, and two people came noisily into the room. They were a young and handsome man and an equally young and handsome woman, well dressed, smartly groomed, and well bred. And yet, though they were strangers to Beatrice, they were at the same time curiously familiar. The girl was trying to recall where she had seen them both before.

"We are rather late," the man said with a wink at Sartoris. "Business detained us. Yes, we are also rather hungry, having had no dinner to speak of. Hullo, I say, look here. Do you mean to say that you are fool enough to keep our photographs in our very last disguise?"

Something like an oath broke from Sartoris as he glanced at Beatrice. The girl could not control herself for the moment; she could not hide from Sartoris and the others that she knew now that she was in the presence of Countess de la Moray and General Gastang in their proper person.

"Those are not your photographs at all," Sartoris croaked. "As a matter of fact I only got them from Paris to-day. If you will – "

The speaker paused as Beatrice was stepping towards the door. All of them realised that she knew everything. Sartoris made a sign and the man Reggie stood between Beatrice and the door.

CHAPTER XXXI

Somebody was knocking quietly at the door, and Sartoris had made no effort to move. That was the situation in which we left Sartoris and Berrington before Beatrice came. Nobody could have failed to notice that he was greatly disturbed and agitated. With a feeling that he was going to learn something, Berrington turned as if to leave the room.

"I am going to save you the trouble of going," he said.

Sartoris clasped his hands to his head. He was still throbbing and aching all over from the ill effect of the treatment accorded him by the Burmese visitors. Berrington had come down in the nick of time and saved him from a terrible fate, but Sartoris was not feeling in the least grateful. To a certain extent he was between the devil and the deep sea. Desperately as he was situated now, he could not afford to dismiss Berrington altogether. To do that would be to bring the authorities down upon him in double quick time. True, Berrington, out of his deep affection for Mary, might give him as much rope as possible. And again, Sartoris did not quite know how far Berrington was posted as to the recent course of events. True, Berrington suspected him of knowing something of the disappearance of the body of Sir Charles, but Sartoris did not see that he could prove anything.

But he did not want Berrington to go just yet, and he was still more anxious that the Colonel should not know who was knocking at the door. Unless his calculations were very wide of the mark, it was Beatrice Richford who was seeking admission. Sartoris would have given much to prevent those two meeting.

He smiled, though he was beside himself, almost, with passion. He seemed to have become very weak and impotent all at once. He would have to simulate an emotion that he did not possess. Once more there came the timid knock at the door.

"Berrington," he said desperately. "Do you believe that there is any good in me?"

The question was asked in almost a pleading voice. But Berrington was not in the least moved. He knew perfectly well what he had to deal with. Again, the knock at the door.

"I should say not a fragment," Berrington said critically. "I should say that you are utterly bad to the core. I have just saved you from a terrible fate which really ought to be a source of the greatest possible regret to me, but you are not in the least grateful. When that knock came for the first time, you looked at me with murder in your eyes. I am in your way now, I am possibly on the verge of an important discovery. If you could kill me with one look and destroy my body with another you would do it without hesitation. And that is the reason, my good friend, why I am going to the door."

"Don't," Sartoris implored. He had become mild and pleading. "You are quite wrong – Berrington; I once heard you say that there was good in everybody."

"Generally," Berrington admitted. "But you are an exception that proves the rule."

"Indeed I am not. There is good in me. I tell you and I am going to do a kind and disinterested action to-night. I swear that if you interfere you will be the cause of great unhappiness in a certain household in which I am interested. I implore you not to let your idle curiosity bring about this thing. I appeal to you as a gentleman."

In spite of himself Berrington was touched. He had never regarded Sartoris as anything of an actor, and he seemed to be in deadly earnest now. Was it just possible that the man had it in him to do a kindly thing? If so it seemed a pity to thwart him. Berrington looked fairly and squarely into the eyes of the speaker, but they did not waver in the least. The expression of Sartoris's face was one of hopelessness, not free altogether from contempt.

"I can't say any more," he said. "Open the door by all means, and spoil everything. It is in your hands to do so and curse your own vulgar curiosity afterwards. Call me mad if you like, but I had planned to do a kind thing to-night."

"So that you may benefit from it in the end?" Berrington suggested.

"Well, put it that way if you like," Sartoris said with fine indifference. "But it does not matter. You can sit down again. The knocker has gone, evidently."

But the door sounded again. Sartoris turned aside with a sigh. Despite his suspicions, Berrington felt that his conscience was troubling him. He would never forgive himself if he prevented a kind action being done to one who cruelly needed it. He rose and crossed the room.

"Let it be as you like," he said. "I will promise not to interfere. As soon as you have finished I should like to have a few words with you here. After that I shall feel free to depart."

Sartoris nodded, but the triumph that filled him found no expression on his face. Berrington was no better than a fool, after all; a few fair words had disarmed him. Sartoris would gain all he wanted and when that was done he would take good care that Berrington did not leave the house. The man was by no means at the end of his cunning resources yet. He moved his chair in the direction of the hall.

"You have made a very wise decision," he said. "And I thank you for having some confidence in me. Will you wait for me in the dining-room?"

Berrington intimated that he would go into the dining-room and smoke a cigar. He was free to depart now, but he was going to do nothing of the kind. Sartoris was likely to be engaged for some time, and meanwhile Berrington was able to make investigations. He was desirous of finding out the secret of the dining-room, the way in which things were changed there, and the like. Of course, it had all been done by human agency, and what one man can invent another can find out. There was not likely to be a more favourable opportunity.

Berrington stepped into the dining-room and closed the door behind him. But he closed it with his hand hard on the turned lock so that it should sound as if it had banged to, whereas, directly the handle was released it would fall open a little way. Berrington was not going to leave anything to chance, and he had no hesitation in playing the spy.

From where he stood he could hear the wheels of Sartoris's chair rattling over the parquet flooring of the hall, he heard the front door open, and the timid voice of a girl speaking. It did not sound like the voice of anybody with evil intent, and just for an instant it occurred to Berrington that perhaps his suspicions had been misplaced.

But only for an instant, until the voice spoke again. He had no difficulty now in recognising the voice as that of Beatrice Richford. Berrington was a little staggered, for he had not expected this. He had totally forgotten the letter, but it came flashing back to his mind now, and Mary's promise that no harm should come of it.

And yet Mary had either overestimated her powers or placed too low a value on the cunning of her brother. At any rate, there could be no doubt of the fact that the letter had been delivered, and that Beatrice was here in reply to it.

"Very good," Berrington said between his teeth. "I will see that no harm comes of this thing. Beatrice has been brought here to be pumped as to her father's papers and the like. Still, thanks to my little adventure to-night I have a pretty good idea what these scoundrels are after. I'll just go as far as the study and see that it is all right."

Berrington slipped off his boots and crept along the hall. So far as he could see all was quiet. There was a double door to the study, so that Berrington could not hear much, but the inner door had not been closed. It was only necessary to swing back the baize door to hear all that was taking place in the study.

But Berrington decided that he would leave that for the present. It mattered very little what Sartoris said to Beatrice, for the gist of the conversation could easily be gathered from the girl on some future occasion. But opportunities for examining that strange dining-room did not offer themselves at every hour, and Berrington made up his mind to make the best of it. He pulled on his boots again, and set to work.

For some time there was nothing to reward his search. The carpet appeared to be intact, the table a solid structure of mahogany. And yet there must be some means of moving that table up and down, much in the same way as the thing used to be done in the case of a certain French king and the lady of his affections.

But there was absolutely nothing here to show that anything of the kind had been done. Berrington removed the flowers and the table cloth and looked underneath. So far without success. He rapped in a reflective way on the solid legs and they gave back a clear ringing sound. With a smile of satisfaction, Berrington took a pocket knife from his vest.

Then he bent down and slightly scraped one of the solid-looking legs. The edge of the knife turned up and a thin strip of bright gold showed beneath the vanish. The first discovery had been made. The legs of the table were of hollow metal.

There was something to go on with at any rate. Dining tables do not have legs made of hollow metal for nothing. Berrington tried to push the table aside, so that he could tilt it up and see the base of the legs, but the structure refused to budge an inch. Here was discovery number two. The table was bolted solidly into the floor.

"We are getting on," Berrington whispered to himself. "It seems to me that I need not worry myself any further about the table itself, seeing that, so to speak, it is attached to the freehold. It is the floor that I have to look to."

But the floor appeared to be quite intact. There were no seams along the Turkey carpet. Berrington turned the carpet back as far as it would go, but nothing suspicious presented itself to his searching eye. As he dropped the carpet back his foot touched the curb of the fireplace, and one end slid along. It seemed a curious thing that one end of the old oak curb should work on a pivot, but so it did, and Berrington pushed it as far as it would go. An instant later and he jumped nimbly into the fireplace.

It was just as well he did so, for the whole floor was slowly fading away, just up to the edge of the carpet, leaving the brown boards around intact. By accident more than anything else Berrington had stumbled on the secret. The pressure of a foot on the curb had set some hidden lever in motion; the clever machinery was doing the rest.

Standing in the fireplace Berrington watched for the effect. The floor sank away as if working on a pivot; it came around with the other side up, and on the other side was a carpet quite similar to the first in pattern. There was also another table which came up on a swinging balance so that everything on it would not be disturbed.

"Well, this is a pretty fine Arabian Nights' form of entertainment," Berrington muttered. "I wonder if I can keep the thing half suspended like that whilst I examine the vault beneath. I suppose if I push the lever half back it will remain stationary. That's it!" The lever being pushed half back caused the machinery to lock so that the floor was all on the slant. There was a kind of space below which appeared to be paved and bricked like a well. Into this the full rays of the electric light shone. It was easy to jump down there and examine the place, and Berrington proceeded to do so.

So far as he could see there was a heap of old clothes huddled together in a corner. In an idle way Berrington turned them over. A collar fell out from the rest and Berrington took it up – a white collar that had been worn for some little time. Berrington started as his eye fell on the name plainly set out in marking ink.

"Great Scott," he cried. "Why it is one of Sir Charles Darryll's!"

CHAPTER XXXII

Berrington was at a loss to know whether to be pleased or not at his discovery. It might prove to be an important clue, on the other hand it might point to more violence than Berrington had anticipated. It was not an old collar, as Berrington could see by the date of it; apparently it had only been worn once, for there was no laundry mark upon it, though it was dirty, more dirty than a fastidious man like Sir Charles would have used.

There was absolutely nothing further to be seen in the vault, so Berrington climbed thoughtfully out of it again. He readjusted the floor, for he had no wish for his handiwork to remain. He would wait now for Beatrice to emerge and see her safely on her way home. A little later on, perhaps, and he would have a great deal of useful information to impart to Inspector Field.

He opened the door of the dining-room and listened. It seemed to him that the voices in the study had been raised a little. If he could give Beatrice a warning he would do so. Very quietly he pushed back the swinging baize door and looked in. At the same moment Beatrice was adjusting her hat before the mirror. Their eyes met and Berrington was satisfied. He had told Beatrice as plainly as if he had spoken in words, that he was close by and that she was to look to him for protection if necessary. That being so, he crept silently away again.

It was a wise precaution, for the front door opened and two people came in, giving Berrington hardly time to get in the shelter of the dining-room. He was at no loss to identify the newcomers, for had he not met them in that very room when he had discovered the gang who were more or less instrumental in the disappearance of Sir Charles Darryll?

That the precious pair were after no good, needed no saying. Berrington grimly congratulated himself on the fact that Sartoris had provided him with a weapon which was in his pocket at the very moment. He would lounge in the vicinity of the study, and if anything happened, if Beatrice called out for assistance or anything of that kind, he would be in a position to render efficient service. It was no part of his game to show himself to these people without urgent reasons for so doing.

He waited there while Beatrice was confronting the trio; she had made her discovery, and the others were aware of the fact. Beatrice was conscious that her heart was beating faster. She looked around for some avenue of escape. Then her courage rose again as she remembered that Berrington was close at hand and ready to assist her.

"I will not stay here any longer," the girl said. "It seems to me that I am in the way. Please to step aside and let me pass. Do you hear me?"

The man called Reggie grinned. He did not make the smallest attempt to move from the door. He would have touched Beatrice had she not drawn back.

"I do not desire to detain you," he said. "Only you made a certain remark just now that calls for an explanation. You mean that this lady and myself – "

"You know exactly what I mean," Beatrice cried. She was getting angry now, and the sneering smile on the face of Sartoris did not tend to soothe her. "Out of your own mouth you have proved what I did not know – that you are dangerous thieves."

"Oh, indeed. Do you not know that such language is actionable?"

"I know that it is true," Beatrice said coldly. "There are your photographs up there. Did you not say so only a moment ago? I am greatly obliged for the information."

The girl stepped across the room and removed the two photographs from their places. Nobody interfered; as a matter of fact, they were all secretly admiring the girl's courage.

"These two faces I know," she said. "That is Countess de la Moray, and that is the man who called himself General Gastang. They were staying at the hotel on the night that my poor dear father's body so strangely disappeared. The Countess was so good as to extend to me her deepest sympathy; she asked me to go and stay with her in Paris."

The woman called Cora laughed. The comedy of it appealed to her and she could not help it. She was thinking of the easy way in which she had deceived Beatrice. Something like an oath came from Sartoris. He had his own very good reasons why Beatrice should be deceived in this matter.

"I assure you that you are quite mistaken," he said.

"Indeed I am nothing of the kind," Beatrice cried. "Now that I know the truth, I can see the likeness plainly enough. I don't say that I should have done so had I not had so strong a hint a little while ago, but you cannot disguise features out of recognition. And I say that those two people are no more than vulgar swindlers."

Again the woman laughed, but the man's face grew dark.

"You are very bold," the man called Reggie growled. "If you have any friends near – "

It was on the tip of Beatrice's tongue to say that she had, but she wisely restrained herself. At the same time it was good to be reminded that Berrington was close by and that perhaps he was listening to the conversation at the present moment.

"I am stating no more than the truth," Beatrice went on. "The so-called Countess came to me and she pretended sympathy. She made me believe that she was an old friend of my father. Then she went away, leaving General Gastang to talk to me. I will tell you presently what she was going to do. I have been finding out things for myself."

The woman did not laugh this time; there was an angry spot on either cheek.

"You are piquante and interesting," she said. "Pray believe that I am listening to you with the deepest attention. It is good to have one's thoughts read for one in this fashion."

"I was alone with the General," said Beatrice, ignoring the last speaker altogether. "Fortunately for me, the General recognized some acquaintance – probably a police officer – for he disappeared discreetly and left me to myself and my suspicions. My suspicions led me to my bedroom presently, where I had left some extremely valuable diamonds."

"The same that you have in your pocket at the present moment," the woman Cora exclaimed. "If – "

A furious oath rang out from the man Reggie. Just for a moment it looked as if he were about to strike the incautious speaker. She reddened and grew confused. Sartoris listened, with an evil grin on his face. He seemed to be amused at something.

"It is good of my friends to come here to-night," he said. "So kind and disinterested. I shall know how to thank them later on. Pray proceed."