The Secret Adversary
them. Slowly they mounted the rickety stairs. At the top was the ragged
curtain hiding the recess where Tommy had hidden that day. Tuppence had
heard the story from Jane in her character of “Annette.” She looked at
the tattered velvet with interest. Even now she could almost swear it
moved--as though _some one_ was behind it. So strong was the illusion
that she almost fancied she could make out the outline of a form....
Supposing Mr. Brown--Julius--was there waiting....
Impossible of course! Yet she almost went back to put the curtain aside
and make sure....
Now they were entering the prison room. No place for anyone to hide
here, thought Tuppence, with a sigh of relief, then chided herself
indignantly. She must not give way to this foolish fancying--this
curious insistent feeling that _Mr. Brown was in the house_.... Hark!
what was that? A stealthy footstep on the stairs? There _was_ some one
in the house! Absurd! She was becoming hysterical.
Jane had gone straight to the picture of Marguerite. She unhooked it
with a steady hand. The dust lay thick upon it, and festoons of cobwebs
lay between it and the wall. Sir James handed her a pocket-knife, and
she ripped away the brown paper from the back.... The advertisement
page of a magazine fell out. Jane picked it up. Holding apart the frayed
inner edges she extracted two thin sheets covered with writing!
No dummy this time! The real thing!
“We’ve got it,” said Tuppence. “At last....”
The moment was almost breathless in its emotion. Forgotten the faint
creakings, the imagined noises of a minute ago. None of them had eyes
for anything but what Jane held in her hand.
Sir James took it, and scrutinized it attentively.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “this is the ill-fated draft treaty!”
“We’ve succeeded,” said Tuppence. There was awe and an almost wondering
unbelief in her voice.
Sir James echoed her words as he folded the paper carefully and put it
away in his pocket-book, then he looked curiously round the dingy room.
“It was here that our young friend was confined for so long, was
it not?” he said. “A truly sinister room. You notice the absence of
windows, and the thickness of the close-fitting door. Whatever took
place here would never be heard by the outside world.”
Tuppence shivered. His words woke a vague alarm in her. What if there
_was_ some one concealed in the house? Some one who might bar that door
on them, and leave them to die like rats in a trap? Then she realized
the absurdity of her thought. The house was surrounded by police who,
if they failed to reappear, would not hesitate to break in and make a
thorough search. She smiled at her own foolishness--then looked up with
a start to find Sir James watching her. He gave her an emphatic little
nod.
“Quite right, Miss Tuppence. You scent danger. So do I. So does Miss
Finn.”
“Yes,” admitted Jane. “It’s absurd--but I can’t help it.”
Sir James nodded again.
“You feel--as we all feel-- _the presence of Mr. Bown_. Yes”--as
Tuppence made a movement--“not a doubt of it-- _Mr. Brown is here_....”
“In this house?”
“In this room.... You don’t understand? _I am Mr. Brown_....”
Stupefied, unbelieving, they stared at him. The very lines of his face
had changed. It was a different man who stood before them. He smiled a
slow cruel smile.
“Neither of you will leave this room alive! You said just now we had
succeeded. _I_ have succeeded! The draft treaty is mine.” His smile grew
wider as he looked at Tuppence. “Shall I tell you how it will be? Sooner
or later the police will break in, and they will find three victims of
Mr. Brown--three, not two, you understand, but fortunately the third
will not be dead, only wounded, and will be able to describe the attack
with a wealth of detail! The treaty? It is in the hands of Mr. Brown. So
no one will think of searching the pockets of Sir James Peel Edgerton!”
He turned to Jane.
“You outwitted me. I make my acknowledgments. But you will not do it
again.”
There was a faint sound behind him, but, intoxicated with success, he
did not turn his head.
He slipped his hand into his pocket.
“Checkmate to the Young Adventurers,” he said, and slowly raised the big
automatic.
But, even as he did so, he felt himself seized from behind in a grip of
iron. The revolver was wrenched from his hand, and the voice of Julius
Hersheimmer said drawlingly:
“I guess you’re caught redhanded with the goods upon you.”
The blood rushed to the K.C.’s face, but his self-control was
marvellous, as he looked from one to the other of his two captors. He
looked longest at Tommy.
“You,” he said beneath his breath. “_You!_ I might have known.”
Seeing that he was disposed to offer no resistance, their grip
slackened. Quick as a flash his left hand, the hand which bore the big
signet ring, was raised to his lips....
“‘_Ave, Cæsar! te morituri salutant_,’” he said, still looking at
Tommy.
Then his face changed, and with a long convulsive shudder he fell
forward in a crumpled heap, whilst an odour of bitter almonds filled the
air.
CHAPTER XXVII. A SUPPER PARTY AT THE _SAVOY_
THE supper party given by Mr. Julius Hersheimmer to a few friends on the
evening of the 30th will long be remembered in catering circles. It took
place in a private room, and Mr. Hersheimmer’s orders were brief and
forcible. He gave carte blanche--and when a millionaire gives carte
blanche he usually gets it!
Every delicacy out of season was duly provided. Waiters carried bottles
of ancient and royal vintage with loving care. The floral decorations
defied the seasons, and fruits of the earth as far apart as May and
November found themselves miraculously side by side. The list of guests
was small and select. The American Ambassador, Mr. Carter, who had taken
the liberty, he said, of bringing an old friend, Sir William Beresford,
with him, Archdeacon Cowley, Dr. Hall, those two youthful adventurers,
Miss Prudence Cowley and Mr. Thomas Beresford, and last, but not least,
as guest of honour, Miss Jane Finn.
Julius had spared no pains to make Jane’s appearance a success. A
mysterious knock had brought Tuppence to the door of the apartment she
was sharing with the American girl. It was Julius. In his hand he held a
cheque.
“Say, Tuppence,” he began, “will you do me a good turn? Take this, and
get Jane regularly togged up for this evening. You’re all coming to
supper with me at the _Savoy_. See? Spare no expense. You get me?”
“Sure thing,” mimicked Tuppence. “We shall enjoy ourselves. It will be a
pleasure dressing Jane. She’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Hersheimmer fervently.
His fervour brought a momentary twinkle to Tuppence’s eye.
“By the way, Julius,” she remarked demurely, “I--haven’t given you my
answer yet.”
“Answer?” said Julius. His face paled.
“You know--when you asked me to--marry you,” faltered Tuppence, her
eyes downcast in the true manner of the early Victorian heroine, “and
wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ve thought it well over----”
“Yes?” said Julius. The perspiration stood on his forehead.
Tuppence relented suddenly.
“You great idiot!” she said. “What on earth induced you to do it? I
could see at the time you didn’t care a twopenny dip for me!”
“Not at all. I had--and still have--the highest sentiments of esteem and
respect--and admiration for you----”
“H’m!” said Tuppence. “Those are the kind of sentiments that very soon
go to the wall when the other sentiment comes along! Don’t they, old
thing?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Julius stiffly, but a large and
burning blush overspread his countenance.
“Shucks!” retorted Tuppence. She laughed, and closed the door, reopening
it to add with dignity: “Morally, I shall always consider I have been
jilted!”
“What was it?” asked Jane as Tuppence rejoined her.
“Julius.”
“What did he want?”
“Really, I think, he wanted to see you, but I wasn’t going to let him.
Not until to-night, when you’re going to burst upon every one like King
Solomon in his glory! Come on! _We’re going to shop!_”
To most people the 29th, the much-heralded “Labour Day,” had passed much
as any other day. Speeches were made in the Park and Trafalgar Square.
Straggling processions, singing the _Red Flag_, wandered through the
streets in a more or less aimless manner. Newspapers which had hinted at
a general strike, and the inauguration of a reign of terror, were forced
to hide their diminished heads. The bolder and more astute among
them sought to prove that peace had been effected by following their
counsels. In the Sunday papers a brief notice of the sudden death of Sir
James Peel Edgerton, the famous K.C., had appeared. Monday’s paper
dealt appreciatively with the dead man’s career. The exact manner of his
sudden death was never made public.
Tommy had been right in his forecast of the situation. It had been a
one-man show. Deprived of their chief, the organization fell to pieces.
Kramenin had made a precipitate return to Russia, leaving England early
on Sunday morning. The gang had fled from Astley Priors in a panic,
leaving behind, in their haste, various damaging documents which
compromised them hopelessly. With these proofs of conspiracy in their
hands, aided further by a small brown diary taken from the pocket of the
dead man which had contained a full and damning résumé of the whole
plot, the Government had called an eleventh-hour conference. The Labour
leaders were forced to recognize that they had been used as a cat’s
paw. Certain concessions were made by the Government, and were eagerly
accepted. It was to be Peace, not War!
But the Cabinet knew by how narrow a margin they had escaped utter
disaster. And burnt in on Mr. Carter’s brain was the strange scene which
had taken place in the house in Soho the night before.
He had entered the squalid room to find that great man, the friend of
a lifetime, dead--betrayed out of his own mouth. From the dead man’s
pocket-book he had retrieved the ill-omened draft treaty, and then
and there, in the presence of the other three, it had been reduced to
ashes.... England was saved!
And now, on the evening of the 30th, in a private room at the _Savoy_,
Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer was receiving his guests.
Mr. Carter was the first to arrive. With him was a choleric-looking old
gentleman, at sight of whom Tommy flushed up to the roots of his hair.
He came forward.
“Ha!” said the old gentleman, surveying him apoplectically. “So you’re
my nephew, are you? Not much to look at--but you’ve done good work, it
seems. Your mother must have brought you up well after all. Shall we
let bygones be bygones, eh? You’re my heir, you know; and in future I
propose to make you an allowance--and you can look upon Chalmers Park as
your home.”
“Thank you, sir, it’s awfully decent of you.”
“Where’s this young lady I’ve been hearing such a lot about?”
Tommy introduced Tuppence.
“Ha!” said Sir William, eyeing her. “Girls aren’t what they used to be
in my young days.”
“Yes, they are,” said Tuppence. “Their clothes are different, perhaps,
but they themselves are just the same.”
“Well, perhaps you’re right. Minxes then--minxes now!”
“That’s it,” said Tuppence. “I’m a frightful minx myself.”
“I believe you,” said the old gentleman, chuckling, and pinched her ear
in high good-humour. Most young women were terrified of the “old bear,”
as they termed him. Tuppence’s pertness delighted the old misogynist.
Then came the timid archdeacon, a little bewildered by the company in
which he found himself, glad that his daughter was considered to have
distinguished herself, but unable to help glancing at her from time
to time with nervous apprehension. But Tuppence behaved admirably. She