The Secret Adversary
into the trap. My door happened to be ajar, and I heard her talking to
some one in the passage. _She was one of them!_ They still fancied it
might be a bluff on my part, and she was put in charge of me to make
sure! After that, my nerve went completely. I dared trust nobody.
“I think I almost hypnotized myself. After a while, I almost forgot
that I was really Jane Finn. I was so bent on playing the part of Janet
Vandemeyer that my nerves began to play me tricks. I became really
ill--for months I sank into a sort of stupor. I felt sure I should
die soon, and that nothing really mattered. A sane person shut up in a
lunatic asylum often ends by becoming insane, they say. I guess I was
like that. Playing my part had become second nature to me. I wasn’t even
unhappy in the end--just apathetic. Nothing seemed to matter. And the
years went on.
“And then suddenly things seemed to change. Mrs. Vandemeyer came down
from London. She and the doctor asked me questions, experimented with
various treatments. There was some talk of sending me to a specialist in
Paris. In the end, they did not dare risk it. I overheard something that
seemed to show that other people--friends--were looking for me. I
learnt later that the nurse who had looked after me went to Paris,
and consulted a specialist, representing herself to be me. He put her
through some searching tests, and exposed her loss of memory to be
fraudulent; but she had taken a note of his methods and reproduced
them on me. I dare say I couldn’t have deceived the specialist for a
minute--a man who has made a lifelong study of a thing is unique--but
I managed once again to hold my own with them. The fact that I’d not
thought of myself as Jane Finn for so long made it easier.
“One night I was whisked off to London at a moment’s notice. They took
me back to the house in Soho. Once I got away from the sanatorium I felt
different--as though something in me that had been buried for a long
time was waking up again.
“They sent me in to wait on Mr. Beresford. (Of course I didn’t know
his name then.) I was suspicious--I thought it was another trap. But he
looked so honest, I could hardly believe it. However, I was careful in
all I said, for I knew we could be overheard. There’s a small hole, high
up in the wall.
“But on the Sunday afternoon a message was brought to the house. They
were all very disturbed. Without their knowing, I listened. Word had
come that he was to be killed. I needn’t tell the next part, because
you know it. I thought I’d have time to rush up and get the papers from
their hiding-place, but I was caught. So I screamed out that he was
escaping, and I said I wanted to go back to Marguerite. I shouted the
name three times very loud. I knew the others would think I meant
Mrs. Vandemeyer, but I hoped it might make Mr. Beresford think of the
picture. He’d unhooked one the first day--that’s what made me hesitate
to trust him.”
She paused.
“Then the papers,” said Sir James slowly, “are still at the back of the
picture in that room.”
“Yes.” The girl had sunk back on the sofa exhausted with the strain of
the long story.
Sir James rose to his feet. He looked at his watch.
“Come,” he said, “we must go at once.”
“To-night?” queried Tuppence, surprised.
“To-morrow may be too late,” said Sir James gravely. “Besides, by
going to-night we have the chance of capturing that great man and
super-criminal--Mr. Brown!”
There was dead silence, and Sir James continued:
“You have been followed here--not a doubt of it. When we leave the house
we shall be followed again, but not molested, _for it is Mr. Brown’s
plan that we are to lead him_. But the Soho house is under police
supervision night and day. There are several men watching it. When we
enter that house, Mr. Brown will not draw back--he will risk all, on the
chance of obtaining the spark to fire his mine. And he fancies the risk
not great--since he will enter in the guise of a friend!”
Tuppence flushed, then opened her mouth impulsively.
“But there’s something you don’t know--that we haven’t told you.” Her
eyes dwelt on Jane in perplexity.
“What is that?” asked the other sharply. “No hesitations, Miss Tuppence.
We need to be sure of our going.”
But Tuppence, for once, seemed tongue-tied.
“It’s so difficult--you see, if I’m wrong--oh, it would be dreadful.”
She made a grimace at the unconscious Jane. “Never forgive me,” she
observed cryptically.
“You want me to help you out, eh?”
“Yes, please. _You_ know who Mr. Brown is, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Sir James gravely. “At last I do.”
“At last?” queried Tuppence doubtfully. “Oh, but I thought----” She
paused.
“You thought correctly, Miss Tuppence. I have been morally certain of
his identity for some time--ever since the night of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s
mysterious death.”
“Ah!” breathed Tuppence.
“For there we are up against the logic of facts. There are only two
solutions. Either the chloral was administered by her own hand, which
theory I reject utterly, or else----”
“Yes?”
“Or else it was administered in the brandy you gave her. Only three
people touched that brandy--you, Miss Tuppence, I myself, and one
other--Mr. Julius Hersheimmer!”
Jane Finn stirred and sat up, regarding the speaker with wide astonished
eyes.
“At first, the thing seemed utterly impossible. Mr. Hersheimmer, as the
son of a prominent millionaire, was a well-known figure in America. It
seemed utterly impossible that he and Mr. Brown could be one and the
same. But you cannot escape from the logic of facts. Since the thing
was so--it must be accepted. Remember Mrs. Vandemeyer’s sudden and
inexplicable agitation. Another proof, if proof was needed.
“I took an early opportunity of giving you a hint. From some words of
Mr. Hersheimmer’s at Manchester, I gathered that you had understood and
acted on that hint. Then I set to work to prove the impossible possible.
Mr. Beresford rang me up and told me, what I had already suspected,
that the photograph of Miss Jane Finn had never really been out of Mr.
Hersheimmer’s possession----”
But the girl interrupted. Springing to her feet, she cried out angrily:
“What do you mean? What are you trying to suggest? That Mr. Brown is
_Julius?_ Julius--my own cousin!”
“No, Miss Finn,” said Sir James unexpectedly. “Not your cousin. The man
who calls himself Julius Hersheimmer is no relation to you whatsoever.”
CHAPTER XXVI. MR. BROWN
SIR James’s words came like a bomb-shell. Both girls looked equally
puzzled. The lawyer went across to his desk, and returned with a small
newspaper cutting, which he handed to Jane. Tuppence read it over
her shoulder. Mr. Carter would have recognized it. It referred to the
mysterious man found dead in New York.
“As I was saying to Miss Tuppence,” resumed the lawyer, “I set to work
to prove the impossible possible. The great stumbling-block was the
undeniable fact that Julius Hersheimmer was not an assumed name. When I
came across this paragraph my problem was solved. Julius Hersheimmer set
out to discover what had become of his cousin. He went out West, where
he obtained news of her and her photograph to aid him in his search. On
the eve of his departure from New York he was set upon and murdered. His
body was dressed in shabby clothes, and the face disfigured to prevent
identification. Mr. Brown took his place. He sailed immediately for
England. None of the real Hersheimmer’s friends or intimates saw him
before he sailed--though indeed it would hardly have mattered if they
had, the impersonation was so perfect. Since then he had been hand and
glove with those sworn to hunt him down. Every secret of theirs has been
known to him. Only once did he come near disaster. Mrs. Vandemeyer knew
his secret. It was no part of his plan that that huge bribe should ever
be offered to her. But for Miss Tuppence’s fortunate change of plan, she
would have been far away from the flat when we arrived there. Exposure
stared him in the face. He took a desperate step, trusting in his
assumed character to avert suspicion. He nearly succeeded--but not
quite.”
“I can’t believe it,” murmured Jane. “He seemed so splendid.”
“The real Julius Hersheimmer _was_ a splendid fellow! And Mr. Brown is
a consummate actor. But ask Miss Tuppence if she also has not had her
suspicions.”
Jane turned mutely to Tuppence. The latter nodded.
“I didn’t want to say it, Jane--I knew it would hurt you. And, after
all, I couldn’t be sure. I still don’t understand why, if he’s Mr.
Brown, he rescued us.”
“Was it Julius Hersheimmer who helped you to escape?”
Tuppence recounted to Sir James the exciting events of the evening,
ending up: “But I can’t see _why!_”
“Can’t you? I can. So can young Beresford, by his actions. As a last
hope Jane Finn was to be allowed to escape--and the escape must be
managed so that she harbours no suspicions of its being a put-up job.
They’re not averse to young Beresford’s being in the neighbourhood, and,
if necessary, communicating with you. They’ll take care to get him out
of the way at the right minute. Then Julius Hersheimmer dashes up and
rescues you in true melodramatic style. Bullets fly--but don’t hit
anybody. What would have happened next? You would have driven straight
to the house in Soho and secured the document which Miss Finn would
probably have entrusted to her cousin’s keeping. Or, if he conducted the
search, he would have pretended to find the hiding-place already rifled.
He would have had a dozen ways of dealing with the situation, but the
result would have been the same. And I rather fancy some accident would
have happened to both of you. You see, you know rather an inconvenient
amount. That’s a rough outline. I admit I was caught napping; but
somebody else wasn’t.”
“Tommy,” said Tuppence softly.
“Yes. Evidently when the right moment came to get rid of him--he was too
sharp for them. All the same, I’m not too easy in my mind about him.”
“Why?”
“Because Julius Hersheimmer is Mr. Brown,” said Sir James dryly. “And it
takes more than one man and a revolver to hold up Mr. Brown....”
Tuppence paled a little.
“What can we do?”
“Nothing until we’ve been to the house in Soho. If Beresford has still
got the upper hand, there’s nothing to fear. If otherwise, our enemy
will come to find us, and he will not find us unprepared!” From a drawer
in the desk, he took a service revolver, and placed it in his coat
pocket.
“Now we’re ready. I know better than even to suggest going without you,
Miss Tuppence----”
“I should think so indeed!”
“But I do suggest that Miss Finn should remain here. She will be
perfectly safe, and I am afraid she is absolutely worn out with all she
has been through.”
But to Tuppence’s surprise Jane shook her head.
“No. I guess I’m going too. Those papers were my trust. I must go
through with this business to the end. I’m heaps better now anyway.”
Sir James’s car was ordered round. During the short drive Tuppence’s
heart beat tumultuously. In spite of momentary qualms of uneasiness
respecting Tommy, she could not but feel exultation. They were going to
win!
The car drew up at the corner of the square and they got out. Sir James
went up to a plain-clothes man who was on duty with several others, and
spoke to him. Then he rejoined the girls.
“No one has gone into the house so far. It is being watched at the back
as well, so they are quite sure of that. Anyone who attempts to enter
after we have done so will be arrested immediately. Shall we go in?”
A policeman produced a key. They all knew Sir James well. They had also
had orders respecting Tuppence. Only the third member of the party was
unknown to them. The three entered the house, pulling the door to behind