The Golden Face: A Great 'Crook' Romance

That day I motored my pretty little friend over to Brighton, where we lunched at the Métropole and arrived back for tea. Her husband, she said, had that morning telegraphed to her from Hamburg regretting that he could not rejoin her at present as he was on his way to Italy.

“I suppose all our plans are upset again!” she remarked with a pretty pout, as she sat at my side while we went carefully through the old-world town of Lewes. She had become just a little inquisitive about myself. It seemed that she enjoyed her dances with me. Indeed, she admitted it, but I could discern that she was a good deal puzzled as to my means of livelihood. I had to be very circumspect, yet for the life of me I could not imagine why I had been ordered to carry on what was, after all, a mild flirtation with a very pretty young married lady.

I could see that the other visitors at the hotel were whispering, and more especially had I incurred the displeasure of a Mrs. Glenbury, an elderly lady of distinctly out-of-date views, who with pathetic effort tried to ape youth.

Late in the evening after our return from Brighton, I took a long stroll alone along the lower promenade, close to the beach, which at night is very ill-lit, being below the level of the well-illuminated roadway. I suppose I had walked for quite a couple of miles when, on my return, I discerned in front of me two figures, a man and a woman. A ray of light from the roadway above shone on them as they passed, and I noticed that while the woman wore an ordinary dark cloth coat, the man was in tweeds and a golf cap.

An altercation had arisen between them.

“All right,” he cried. “You won’t live here very much longer – I’ll see to that! You’ve tried to do me down, and very nearly succeeded. And now you refuse to give me even a fiver!”

Those words aroused my curiosity. I held back; for my feet fell noiselessly because of my rubber heels. I strained my ears to catch their further conversation.

“I’ve never refused you, Arthur!” replied the woman’s voice.

I held my breath. The voice was Lady Lydbrook’s. I could recognize it anywhere!

I watched. The young man’s attitude was certainly threatening.

“I don’t intend now that you’ll get off lightly. You’ll have to pay me not a fiver but fifty pounds to-night. So go back to the hotel and bring me out a cheque. I’ll wait at the Wish Tower. But mind it isn’t a dud one. If it is, then, by gad! I’ll tell them right away. And won’t the fur fly then, eh?”

He spoke in a refined voice, though his appearance was that of a loafer.

His companion was evidently in fear. She tried to argue, to cajole, and to appear defiant, but all was useless. He only laughed triumphantly at her as they walked along the deserted promenade in the direction of the hotel.

Suddenly they halted. I held back at once. They conversed in lower tones – intense words that I could not catch. But it seemed to me that the frail little woman who was so often my companion was cowed and terrified. Why? What did she fear?

She left him, while he drew back into the shadow. I waited also in the shadow for nearly ten minutes, then I passed on, ascended some steps and reëntered the hotel. In the lounge I sank into a seat in a hidden corner and lit a cigarette. Presently I heard the swish of a woman’s skirt behind me, and rising, peered out. It was Lady Lydbrook on her way out. She was carrying the cheque to the mysterious stranger!

Alone in my room that night I threw myself into a chair and pondered deeply. I had learned that Lady Lydbrook was under the influence of that ill-dressed man who spoke so well, and whom I at first took to be an undergraduate or perhaps a hospital student.

It was a point to report to Rayne. Somehow I felt a rising antagonism towards the young man who had successfully extracted fifty pounds from my dainty little companion who was so passionately fond of jewels and who frequently wore some exquisite rings and pendants. What hold could the fellow have upon her?

Next morning she appeared bright and radiant at breakfast – which, of course, she took with her rather retiring friend Elsie Wallis – and I smiled across at her. She was, after all, a bright up-to-date little married woman possessed of great wealth and influence, her whole life being devoted to self-enjoyment at the expense of her elderly and despised husband. She was a typical girl of society who had married an old man for his money and afterwards sought younger male society. We have them to-day in hundreds on every side.

After breakfast we went together along the sea-front where the band was playing. The weather was glorious and Eastbourne looked at its best.

I now regarded her as a mystery after what I had witnessed on the previous night.

“I’m horribly bored here!” she declared to me, as in her white summer gown she strolled by my side towards the town. “Owen is not coming, so I think I shall soon get away somewhere.”

“What about your friend Elsie?” I asked, wondering whether her decision had any connection with the unwelcome arrival of that mysterious young man in tweeds.

“Oh, she’s going back to London to-day – so I shall be horribly lonely,” she replied.

I recollected her nervousness and apprehension before she had paid the man who had undoubtedly blackmailed her, and became more than ever puzzled.

CHAPTER VIII

THE CAT’S TOOTH

That night I went to my room at about ten minutes before midnight, and waited for the appearance of my secret visitor.

Just as midnight struck the handle of the door slowly turned and a well-dressed, dark-mustached man of about thirty-five entered silently and bowed.

“Mr. Hargreave?” he asked with a foreign accent. “Or is it Cottingham?”

“Which you please,” I replied in a low voice, laughing.

“I have this to hand to you,” he said as he produced the portion of the visiting-card which I found fitted exactly to that which I had received from Rayne.

“Well?” I asked, inviting him to a chair and afterwards turning the key in the door. “What message have you for me?” Then I noticed for the first time that he bore in his hand a small brown leather attaché-case.

“I know you well by name, Mr. Hargreave,” he said. “You are one of us, I know. Therefore ‘The Golden Face’ sends you a message.”

“Have you seen him?” I asked.

“No,” was his reply. “Though we have been in association for several years, I always receive messages through Vincent Duperré.”

I knew that only too well. Rudolph Rayne took the most elaborate precautions to preserve a clean pair of hands himself, no matter what dirty work he planned to be carried out by others.

“Duperré saw me in London yesterday, gave me that piece of card, and told me to come here and explain matters,” the Italian went on in a low voice. “You see this case. I am to hand it to you,” and as he took it, he touched the bottom, which I saw was hinged and fell inwards in two pieces, both of which sprang back again into their places by means of strong springs. My small collar-box stood upon the dressing-table.

“You see how it works,” he said, and placing the attaché-case over the collar-box, he snatched it up and the collar-box had disappeared inside! It was an old invention of thieves and possessed no originality. I wondered that Rayne’s friends employed such a contrivance, which, of course, was useful when it became necessary that valuable objects should disappear.

“Well, and what of it?” I asked, as, opening the case, he took out my collar-box and replaced it upon the table.

“I am told that you are on very friendly terms with Lady Lydbrook. Our friend old Hesketh has been here and watched your progress – a grey-mustached man with a slight limp. I dare say you may have noticed him.”

I recollected the silent watcher who I had feared might be a detective, and who had recently left the hotel. So Rayne had set secret watch upon my movements – a fact which irritated me.

“Yes. I know Sir Owen’s wife,” I said. “Why?”

“Possibly you don’t know that she has in a small dark-green morocco case a rope of pearls worth twenty thousand, as well as some other magnificent jewels. Haven’t you seen her wearing her pearls?”

“I have,” I said, “but I put them down as artificial ones.”

“No – every one of them is real! They were a present to her from her husband on her marriage,” said the foreigner, his dark eyes glowing as he spoke. “We want them,” he whispered eagerly. “And as you know her, you’ll have to get them.”

“I shall do no such thing!” I protested quickly. “I may be employed by Mr. Rayne, but I’m not paid to commit a theft.”

My visitor looked me very straight in the face with his searching eyes, and after a moment’s pause, asked:

“Is that really your decision? Am I to report that to Duperré – that you refuse?”

“If you want to steal the woman’s pearls why don’t you do it yourself?” I suggested.

“Because I am not her friend. You have called at her room for her, Hesketh has reported. You would not be suspected, being her friend,” he added with sly persuasiveness.

“No. Tell them I refuse!” I cried, furious that such a proposition should be put to me.

The foreigner, in whom I now recognized a polished international crook, shrugged his shoulders and elevated his eyebrows. Then he asked:

“Will you not reconsider your decision, Signor Hargreave? I fear this refusal will mean a great deal to you. When ‘The Golden Face’ becomes hostile he always manages to put those who disobey him into the hands of the police. And I have knowledge that he intends you to act in this case as he directs, or – well, I fear that some unpleasantness will arise for you!”

“What do you threaten?” I demanded angrily. “I don’t know who you are – and I don’t care! One fact is plain, that you, like myself, are an agent of the man of abnormal brain known as ‘The Golden Face,’ but I tell you I refuse to become a jewel-thief.”

“Very well, if that is your irrevocable decision I will return to-morrow and report,” he answered in very good English, though he was typically Italian. “But I warn you that mischief is meant if you do not obey. Duperré told me so. Like myself you are paid to act as directed and to keep a silent tongue. Only six months ago Jean Durand, in Paris, refused to obey a demand, and to-day he is in the convict prison in Toulon serving a sentence of seven years. He attempted to reveal facts concerning ‘The Golden Face,’ but the judge at the Seine Assizes ridiculed the idea of our head director living respected and unsuspected in England. You may believe yourself safe and able to adopt a defiant attitude, but I, for one, can tell you that such a policy can only bring upon you dire misfortune. Once one becomes a servant of ‘The Golden Face’ one remains so always, extremely well paid and highly prosperous providing one is alert and shrewd, but ruined and imprisoned if one either makes a slip or grows defiant. I hope you will understand me, signor. I have been given a master-key to the hotel. It will open Lady Lydbrook’s door. Here it is.”

“But I really cannot accede to this!” I declared. “Though I have fallen into a clever trap and have assisted in certain schemes, yet I have never acted as the actual thief.”

“‘The Golden Face,’ whose marvelous activity and influence we must all admire, has decided that you must do so in this case,” he said inexorably.

I craved time to consider the matter, and after some further conversation told him I would meet him near the bandstand on the sea-front at noon next day, for we did not want to be associated in the hotel.

That night I slept but little, for I realized that if I refused I must assuredly be cast into the melting-pot as one who might, in return, give Rayne away. I thought of Lola with whom I was so madly in love, and whom I intended to eventually rescue from the criminal atmosphere in which, though innocent, she was compelled to live.

I hated to take such a downward step, though the innocent-looking little attaché-case with the steel grips and spring bottom was there by my bedside ready for use. I was torn between the path of honesty from which, alas! I had been slowly slipping ever since I had made that accursed compact with Rudolph Rayne, and my love for Lola, who had, I knew, every confidence in me, while at the same time she was growing highly suspicious of her father.

The reader will readily realize my feelings that night. I had taken a false step, and to withdraw would mean arrest, conviction and imprisonment, notwithstanding any disclosures I might make. Rudolph Rayne remained always with clean hands, the rich country gentleman and personal friend of certain Justices of the Peace, officials, and others, with whom he played golf and invited to his shooting parties on the Yorkshire moors which he rented with money stolen in divers ways and in various cities.

So, to cut a long story short, I met the mysterious Italian crook next day – and I fell, for I took the master-key and agreed to attempt the theft of Lady Lydbrook’s pearls!

I now saw through Rayne’s devilish plot. I was to be used still further as his cat’s-paw, and he had planned that because of my friendship with the pretty young woman, at his orders I was to steal her property.

I felt myself alone and in a cleft stick. That afternoon, as I sat at tea in the lounge with the woman whose jewels I was ordered to steal, I was torn by a thousand emotions, yet I pretended to be my usual self, and at my invitation she went out for a motor run between tea and dinner.

Though I laughed at my foolishness, I somehow suspected that she now viewed me with distinct misgiving. It now became necessary for me to prospect for the little morocco case in which I knew she kept her pearls. Therefore I at last summoned courage, and one evening, just before half-past seven, while she was dressing for dinner, I knocked and made excuse to ask her if she would go to the theater with me.

“Do come in,” she cried, for she was already dressed in a bright sapphire-colored gown which greatly heightened her beauty. As she admitted me, I saw the little jewel-case standing upon a tiny side-table near the window. She was not wearing her beautiful rope of pearls, therefore they were, without a doubt, safe in the case.

She thanked me and accepted, so I quickly went downstairs and told the hall porter to telephone for two stalls.

That night, on arrival back at the hotel, it occurred to me that if the little jewel-case had been left where it was my chance had now arrived. I was being forced against my will to become a thief. Rayne, the man who held me in his grip, had driven me to it and had placed the means at my disposal. To refuse would mean arrest and the loss of Lola.

We sat down in the lounge and I called for drinks – she was thirsty and would like a lemon squash, she said. Before the waiter brought them, I made leisurely excuse to go to the bureau to see if there were any letters. Instead, I rushed up to my own room, obtained the “trick” attaché-case, and carrying it along to Lady Lydbrook’s room, stealthily opened the door with the master-key which Ansaldi had given me.

All was dark within. I switched on the light, when, before me, upon the little table, I saw the small green jewel-box.

In an instant I placed the attaché-case over it and next second it had disappeared.

But as I did so, I heard a movement behind me, and, on turning, to my breathless horror saw, standing before me, the pretty, fair-haired young woman whom I had robbed!

“Well, Mr. Cottingham – or whatever your name is,” she exclaimed in a hard, altered voice as, closing the door behind her, she advanced to me with a fierce light in her eyes. “And what are you doing here, pray?”

Then, glancing at the table and noticing her jewel-case missing, she added:

“I see! You have scraped acquaintance with me in order to steal my jewels. You have them in that case in your hand!”

I stammered something. What it was I have no recollection. I only know that my words infuriated her, and she dashed out into the corridor to raise the alarm, leaving me in possession of the trick bag with the jewel-case inside.

I dashed after her, seizing her roughly by the waist as she ran down the corridor.

“Listen!” I whispered fiercely into her ear. “Listen one moment. You surely won’t give me away? Listen to what I have to tell you. Do – I – implore you,” I said. “I am no thief! I will tell you everything – and ask your advice. No harm has been done. Your pearls are here.”

“Yes,” she said, turning back upon me. “But you – the man I liked and trusted – are a common thief!”

“I admit it,” I said hoarsely as I dragged her back to her room, her dress being torn in the struggle. “I have been forced against my will into robbing you, as I will explain.”

Back in her bedroom she assumed a very serious attitude. She invited me to sit down, after I had handed back her jewel-case, and then, also seating herself in an arm-chair, she said in determination:

“Now look here, George Hargreave … you see, I know your real name. I know your game. By a word I can have you arrested, while, on the other hand, my silence would give you your liberty.”

“You will remain silent, Lady Lydbrook – I beg of you! I know that I have committed an unpardonable crime for which there is no excuse.” I thought of that strange midnight scene I had witnessed and it was on the tip of my tongue to mention it. But would it further infuriate her? So I refrained from alluding to it.

Her attitude towards me had completely altered. She was hard-mouthed and indignant, which, after all, was but natural.

“My whole future is in your hands,” I added.

She still hesitated. A word from her and not only would I be arrested, but Rayne would probably be exposed and arrested also. She seemed, I feared, to be aware of the whole organization, hence she was one of the last persons who should have been marked down as a victim. Rayne had evidently committed a fatal error.

“Well,” she said at last, “I am open to remain silent, and the matter shall never be mentioned between us – but on one condition.”

“And what is that?” I asked anxiously.

“I am in want of someone to help me. Will you do so?”

“I will do anything to serve you if you give me my liberty,” I said, much ashamed.

“Very well, then. Listen,” she said in a hard, strained voice. “If you resolve, in return for my silence, to assist me, you will be compelled to act at my orders without seeking for any motive, but in blind obedience.”

“I quite understand,” I replied. “I agree.”

No doubt she desired me to act against her enemy – the young fellow who had extracted fifty pounds from her by threat.

“You must say nothing to a soul but meet me in secret in Paris. Stay at the Hôtel Continental where I shall stay on the night of the twenty-fourth. That is next Wednesday. At ten o’clock I shall be on the terrace of the Café Vachette in the Boulevard St. Michel. Remember the day and hour, and meet me there. Then I will tell you what service I require of you. I shall leave here to-morrow, and I suppose you will leave also.” And she opened her jewel-case to reassure herself that her pearls and other ornaments were safe.

So she forgave me, shook my hand, and I went out of the room with the cold perspiration still upon me.

I made no report of my failure to Rayne, but on the following Wednesday night, after taking a room at the Continental, in Paris, an hotel which I knew well, I crossed the Seine at about half-past nine, and at ten o’clock sauntered up the boulevard to the popular, and rather Bohemian, Café Vachette, where at a little table in the corner, set well back from the pavement, I found her seated alone. She was wearing the same dark cloth coat in which I had seen her when she met the mysterious stranger at night at Eastbourne.

“Well? So you’ve kept the appointment, Mr. Cottingham!” she laughed cheerily as I sank into a chair beside her. “You’ll order a drink and pay for mine, eh?” she laughed.

Then when I had swallowed my liqueur, she suggested that we should stroll down the boulevard and talk.

This we did. The proposition which she made without much preliminary held me aghast.

“Though I like you very much, Mr. Cottingham,” she said as we conversed in low voices, “I cannot conceal from myself that you are a thief. Well, now to be perfectly frank, I want a thief’s help – and I know that, as we are friends, you will assist me. You know my inordinate love of jewels. Indeed, I wouldn’t have married Owen if he had not given me my pearls. And you know the other ornaments I have – which I might very well never have seen again, eh?”

“I know,” I said.

“Well, now, at the Continental there is at the present moment staying a Madame Rodanet, the widow of the millionaire chocolate manufacturer. She possesses among her jewels the famous Dent du Chat – the Cat’s Tooth Ruby. It is called so because it is a perfect stone and curiously pointed, the only one of its kind in the world. I want it, and you must get it for me – as the price of my silence regarding the affair at Eastbourne.”

I held my breath.

Her suggestion appalled me. I was to commit a second theft as the price of the first! The pretty wife of the great Sheffield ironmaster was a thief herself at heart! Truly, the situation was a strange and bewildering one.

I protested, and pointed out the risk and difficulties, but she met all my arguments with remarkable cleverness.

“I know Madame,” she said. “I will make your path smooth for you, and I myself will spirit the jewel out of France so that no possible suspicion can attach to you,” was her reply. “Will you leave it all to me?”

We walked on down the well-lit boulevard, my brain a-whirl, until at last, pressed hard by her, I consented to act as she directed.

I found, in the course of the next three days, that Lady Lydbrook’s whole life was centered upon the possession of jewels of great value, and I was amazed to discover how very cleverly she plotted the coup which I was to carry out.

One evening, after dinner, she introduced me casually to the rich widow, an ugly overdressed old woman who was wearing as a pendant the famous Dent du Chat. It was, to say the least, a wonderful gem. But I passed as a person of no importance.

Next night with Lady Lydbrook’s help I was, however, able to get into the old woman’s bedroom and carry out my contract for the preservation of silence concerning the affair at Eastbourne.

I shall always recollect the moment when I slipped the pendant into Lady Lydbrook’s soft hand as she stood in déshabille at the half-opened door of her bedroom and her quick whispered words:

“I shall be away by the first train. Stay here to-morrow and cross to London the next day. Au revoir! Let us meet again soon!” And she gripped my hand warmly in hers and closed her door noiselessly.

Ah! A week later I learned how, by Rayne’s devilish cunning, I had been tricked. When I knew the truth, I bit my lips to the blood.

The widow Rodanet had, it appeared, been staying at the Palais, in Biarritz, when Duperré and I had been there. She had been marked down by Rayne as a victim, for the Dent du Chat was a stone of enormous value.

The planned robbery had, however, gone wrong and we had been compelled to return to London. Then Rayne had conceived the sinister idea of sending me to Lady Lydbrook – who was not Sir Owen’s wife at all but one of his agents like myself, and whose real name was Betty Tressider – a girl-thief whose chief possession was a rope of imitation pearls.

I, alas! dropped into the trap, whereupon she, on her part, compelled me to steal old Madame Rodanet’s wonderful ruby; and thus, though I confess it to my shame, I became an actual thief and one of Rudolph Rayne’s active agents. What happened to me further I will now tell you.

CHAPTER IX

LOLA IS AGAIN SUSPICIOUS

The devilish cunning of Rudolph Rayne was indeed well illustrated by the clever trap which he had set for me by the instrumentality of that pretty woman-thief, Betty Tressider, who called herself Lady Lydbrook.

I now realized by Rayne’s overbearing attitude that he had, by a ruse, succeeded in his object in compelling me to become an active accomplice of the gang.

When back again once more in Yorkshire, I was delighted to find that Lola had returned from her visit to Devonshire. She was just as sweet and charming as ever, but just a trifle too inquisitive regarding my visits to Eastbourne and Paris. I was much ashamed of the theft I had been forced to commit in order to preserve secrecy regarding my first downfall, hence rather awkwardly, I fear, I evaded all her questions.