Part 8 (1/2)
”Remember what Mr. Blumenfeld has promised us, George!” said Rayne as he turned to me merrily. ”Make a note of it!” And the breezy, easy-going man who at the moment was directing all sorts of crooked business in many cities on the Continent sipped his gla.s.s of port with the air of a connoisseur, as indeed he was.
That night, after I had gone to my room, Rayne suddenly entered and began to speak to me in a loud tone concerning some letters he wished to write early in the morning. Then, lowering his voice suddenly to a whisper, he added: ”I want you to be very nice to Mrs. Blumenfeld, Hargreave. Unfortunately Lola seems to have taken a violent dislike to her. Why, I don't know. So do your best to remedy what may result in a _contretemps_.”
Then again he spoke in his usual voice, and wis.h.i.+ng me good night left the room.
After he had gone I, full of wonder and apprehension, paced up and down the fine old paneled chamber--for I had been placed in a wing in the older part of the house which was evidently Jacobean. As an unwilling a.s.sistant of that super-crook whose agents were at work in the various cities of Europe carrying out the amazingly ingenious plans which, with Vincent Duperre, he so carefully formulated in that great old-world library of his at Overstow, I was constantly in peril, for I felt by some inexplicable intuition that the police must, one day or other, obtain sufficient evidence to arrest all of us, Lola included.
I recollect that Superintendent Arthur Benton of Scotland Yard was ever active in his inquiries concerning the great gang which Rayne controlled.
Had it not been that I was now pa.s.sionately in love with Lola--though I dared not declare it openly--I should have left my queer appointment long ago. As a matter of fact, I remained because I believed, vainly perhaps, that I might one day be able to s.h.i.+eld Lola from becoming their accomplice--and thus culpable.
According to Rayne's instructions I next day made myself as affable as possible to Mrs. Blumenfeld, but later in the afternoon I had an opportunity of chatting with Lola alone. She wanted to go to a shop in Warwick, and asked me to take her there in the car, which I did. The driver's seat was inside the car, hence, when alone, she always sat beside me.
”What do you think of Mrs. Blumenfeld?” I asked her as we sped along through the rain.
”Oh! Well, I don't like her--that's all,” was her reply, as she smiled.
”I think she's quite nice,” I said. ”She was most charming to me this morning.”
”And she is also charming to me. But she seems so horribly inquisitive, and asks me so many questions about my father--questions I can't answer.”
”Why not?” I asked, turning to her and for a second taking my eyes off the road.
”Well--you know, Mr. Hargreave--you surely know,” the girl hesitated.
”Why are we on this visit? My father has some sinister plans--without a doubt.”
”How sinister plans?” I asked, in pretence of ignorance.
”You well know,” she answered. ”I am not blind, even if Duperre and his wife think I am. They forget that there is such a thing as ill.u.s.trated papers.”
”I don't follow,” I said.
”Well, in the _Daily Graphic_ three days ago I saw the portrait of a man named Lawrence, well-known as a jewel thief, who was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude at the Old Bailey. I recognized him as Mr.
Moody, one of my father's friends who often came to see us at Overstow--a man you also know. Why has my father thieves for his friends, unless he is in some way connected with them?”
”Moody sentenced!” I gasped. ”Why, he was one of Duperre's most intimate friends. I've met them together often,” I remarked, and then the conversation dropped, and we sat silent for a full quarter of an hour.
”I'm longing to get back to Overstow, Mr. Hargreave,” the girl went on presently. ”I feel that ere long Mrs. Blumenfeld, who is a very clever and astute woman, will discover something about us, and then----”
”And if she does, it will upset your father's plans--whatever they are!”
”But Mr. Blumenfeld, as a great financier, has agents in all the capitals, and they might inquire and discover more about us than would be pleasant,” she said apprehensively. ”I wonder why we are visiting these people?” she added.
I did not reply. I was constantly puzzled and bewildered by the actions and movements of Rayne and his questionable friends.
That evening after dinner, while old Blumenfeld played billiards with his guest, I marked. They played three closely contested games, for both were good players; until at eleven o'clock we all three went to the great drawing-room to bid the ladies good night. With our host I returned to the billiard-room, leaving Rayne to follow. Mr. Blumenfeld poured me out a whisky-and-soda and took a gla.s.s of port himself. Then a few minutes later he suggested, that as Rayne had not returned, he and I should have a final game before retiring.
He had made about twenty-five when of a sudden he leaned heavily against the table, his face blanched, and placing his hand to his heart, exclaimed:
”Oh! I have such a pain here! I--I----”