Part 31 (1/2)
”What rubbish are you talking?” demanded Rayne.
”Rubbis.h.!.+” echoed the stranger. ”I am talking no rubbish. I am simply reminding you of a very serious and secret matter, namely, the mysterious end of Monsieur Gerard, of the Chateau du Sierroz in the Jura, and of the Avenue des Champs Elysees. The Surete, in combination with the Danish detective service, are still trying to clear up the affair. You and I can do it,” he said; and, after a pause, he looked Rayne straight in the face, and asked: ”Shall we? It rests with you!”
Rayne frowned darkly. Never before had I witnessed such an evil look upon the face of any man. I knew that his brain was working swiftly, and I also saw that our visitor was most unwelcome--evidently an accomplice who had managed by some unaccountable means to penetrate the veil of secrecy in which the super-crook had always so successfully enveloped his ident.i.ty.
”Well,” he laughed. ”You really are a most dramatic person, Signor Gori, or whatever your name may be. I really don't understand you, unless you are attempting to blackmail me. And if you are, then I'll get my servant to show you the door.”
The stranger smiled meaningly, and asked quite quietly:
”Is it not to your advantage, Signor Rayne, to talk this little matter over in a friendly spirit? I offer you the opportunity. If you refuse it----” And he shrugged his shoulders meaningly, without concluding his sentence.
Rayne was silent for a few seconds. Then he said in quite a changed and genial tone:
”I am much mystified at your visit, Signor Gori, for I certainly have no knowledge of you. But the hour is late. If you are staying in the neighborhood could you call again at noon to-morrow, when we will go further into this tangled affair? We seem to be at cross-purposes to-night.”
”As you wish,” replied the visitor, bowing with exquisite politeness.
”I am staying at the Fleece Hotel, at Thirsk, and I have motored out here. To-morrow at noon I will call upon you.” And then he added in a hard, relentless tone: ”And then I trust your memory will be refreshed. Signori, I wish you both _buona sera_.”
”Stay! I quite forgot! I shall not be here to-morrow,” Rayne replied quickly. ”I have to be out some part of the day, and also I expect visitors.”
”Then the day after?” suggested the visitor politely, to which Rayne sullenly replied:
”Yes. The day after to-morrow, at six o'clock in the evening. I will be here to see you, if you still persist in pestering me. But I warn you, Signor Gori, that it is quite useless.”
The Italian smiled, bowed, and again wis.h.i.+ng us good night, crossed the room as Rayne pressed the electric b.u.t.ton for the servant.
I realized that a big cloud of trouble had unexpectedly descended upon Overstow. When he had gone Rayne broke out into a furious series of imprecations and vows of vengeance upon some person whom he did not name, but whom he suspected of having made a _faux pas_.
Suddenly, however, he bade me good night in his usual manner, as though nothing had occurred to disturb him. He was a man of abnormal intellect, defiant, fearless, and with a brain which, had it been put to proper usage, would undoubtedly have made him a world-famous Englishman. After all, the brains of great criminals, properly cultivated and directed, are the same brains as those possessed by our great leaders, whether political, commercial, or social.
That night I scarcely closed my eyes in sleep. The Damoclean sword had apparently fallen upon the Squire of Overstow. And I recollected his daughter's warning.
Next morning, directly after breakfast, which he ate with relish, and seemed quite his normal self, I drove with him at his orders over to Heathcote Hall, about five miles away, where lived Sir Johnson Burnham, one of the old Yorks.h.i.+re aristocracy, who was also chairman of quarter sessions.
I waited at the wheel while he called. I knew that the baronet was not at home, as a week before Lola had told me that he had gone to San Remo. Nevertheless, Rayne went inside, and was there quite half an hour. I was puzzled at his absence, but the reason seemed plain when the butler, bowing him out, exclaimed:
”I am so sorry, Mr. Rayne, but the telephone people are, I fear, very slack in these days. It takes so long to get a number.”
So Rayne had gone to Heathcote in order to telephone to somebody in great urgency--somebody he dare not speak with from Overstow.
As we drove back again, Rayne said:
”Of course, George, you will never breathe a word of this--well, this little _contretemps_--or of its result. When I'm up against the wall I always. .h.i.t hard. That's the only way. I'm not going to be blackmailed!”
”The affair does not concern me,” I replied. ”What I hear in your presence I never repeat.”
”I'm glad you appreciate your position,” he answered. ”I'm a good employer to those who trust me, but an infernally bad one to those who doubt, who blunder, or who betray me, as you have probably learned,”
he said in a hard voice, as we swung into the handsome lodge gates of Overstow.
Just before luncheon Rayne was called to the telephone. I was in the room at the time. He apparently recognized the voice, and scribbled something upon the pad before him.