Part 11 (1/2)

This was the form and frame hidden behind such a mask of bored manner and faultless attire as could only be a.s.sumed by a Scarlet Pimpernel in his leisure moments. He was truly a man to be feared, and Doctor Malsano had learnt by bitter experience to run when his little, astute enemy loomed on the horizon. The recognition had been mutual at the time of the stumble, and Herrion knew the doctor was not staying in the Hotel Royal for the cause of philanthropy. When the incident that produced the recognition had ceased to attract attention, the detective dodged through a service door used by the staff, and, making his way along corridors, knocked at an office door. Responding to the invitation to enter, he said to the rotund, bald-headed little man, ensconced in a big chair and surrounded by a maze of books and papers, ”Forgive me, signor, for my brusque intrusion. Have you the Baroness von Sa.s.sniltz staying in your hotel?”

”Ah, inspector! It is you. I thought it was what you call ze greased lightning. I don't know whether the baroness you speak of is staying in the hotel, but I will inquire,” and, ringing a bell, the jovial little manager continued: ”You see at Nice we have so many barons, counts, ze English lords and people with t.i.tles, and at the Royal,”--this he said with a whimsical smile--”you see, Mr Inspector, we have the _creme de la creme_ of what you call the _haut-ton_, the best society.”

In response to a bell a man in livery entered, and, with the deference of an inferior, asked for instructions. The manager, with an austere manner that contrasted with his previous geniality, ordered: ”Go to the bureau and ask whether the baroness--what is the name, Mr Herrion?”

The man started and looked surrept.i.tiously at the detective. Herrion frowned and said, ”The Baroness von Sa.s.sniltz, signor.”

As the man closed the door to go on his errand, the inspector said: ”I'm sorry you disclosed my ident.i.ty to that man. Who is he? Has he been long in the service of the hotel?”

”Ah, I'm very sorry, Mr Herrion. I did not think it would matter down here in this old office of mine. Again, Mr Herrion, I see my mistake.

I am sorry.”

The messenger returned, and said, ”The Baroness von Sa.s.sniltz is staying in the hotel, signor, with her maid, the Fraulein Schneider.”

”Thank you,” and, as the man glared at the detective again, the manager repeated, ”You can go.”

Herrion followed him to the door and proceeded to talk to the manager.

Suddenly wheeling, the officer opened the door and hauled from without the messenger.

”You were listening to our talk outside,” he said to the man, and turning to the manager, asked: ”Do you know this man, signor? I don't think you will find him a very good servant for such an aristocratic hotel as the Royal.”

The little manager rose from his chair and said furiously: ”Go! go at once, this hotel is no place for a man like you. Go! I tell you, go, and I will see to it that you do not stay in Nice.”

The man attempted to explain, but the manager of a Riviera hotel is a despot in such matters, and the good name of a hotel must not be smirched by an inferior servant.

When the man had gone, Herrion continued his talk: ”The Baroness von Sa.s.sniltz is very wealthy, signor, and she carries with her jewellery that is almost priceless. These people who will carry jewellery around with them are a great trouble to us. Before I intruded in your office I saw a man in the foyer, who is one of the most accomplished thieves in Europe. He is not here for a good purpose. That messenger whom I hauled, _sans ceremonie_, into the room, is, I have reason to believe, in league with this other criminal. I have seen a man skulking around at night in the costume of what might be the Quartier Latin of Paris, but he looks more like an Apache, and I strongly suspect this is the same man.”

”_Ma foi_! Mr Herrion, but if that is so, I and my proprietors are profoundly grateful to you.”

”Well it is, in some sense, my duty to prevent crime as well as to hunt down criminals and bring them to justice. I am not in Nice for this particular piece of work, but I saw a chance of nipping this man's plans, and I hope I have done it. The rest of the work I leave to you.

Good day, signor!”

When Herrion had left, the rotund little man leant back in his chair and laughed to himself.

”_Ma foi_! But when I was in London the crooks of Soho, Hatton Garden, and the other quarters used to laugh at the English detectives, with their big boots, pipe, and what they call a skull cap. But, this man Herrion, he's what they call `in another cla.s.s.'”

CHAPTER TEN.

THE MYSTERY OF SOME DISAPPEARANCES.

The doctor, after his encounter with Herrion, hastily ascended the main staircase and made his way to his room. Gilda was in the foyer talking to Sir Raife Remington. With a surprising agility, the doctor flung his belongings into his valises and then scribbled a note. Ringing the bell he called for his bill, at the same time instructing the waiter to hand the note to Miss Tempest, whom he would find in the foyer. ”Call Miss Tempest,” he added, ”by saying that I wish to speak to her. Don't hand her the note in the presence of Sir Raife.”

The waiter, with a profound bow, withdrew to obey the instructions, slightly elevating his eyebrows.

A few more instructions and Doctor Malsano left the hotel, ostensibly for a stroll along the Promenade des Anglais. He soon doubled his tracks and secured a motor-car. Seated in this he donned motor goggles of the mask type, attached to a jaunty looking cap. A gaily-coloured silk m.u.f.fler from his overcoat pocket, with the other alterations he had effected in his room, completed a transformation that had converted the sombre personality into a somewhat flashy-looking tourist. The modest luggage was easily negotiated, and a trail of white dust was all that remained of the courtly old doctor.

Gilda's conversation with Raife was interrupted by the arrival of the discreet waiter, who invited Miss Tempest to meet Doctor Malsano upstairs. Raife looked lovingly at her retreating figure. As she disappeared behind a marble pillar he saw the waiter hand her a note, which she hastily secreted in her bodice.

His heart gave a desponding throb. What was this fresh mystery? Why was the progress of their strange courts.h.i.+p to be jarred by a series of uncanny surprises?

He rose from his seat and crossing the foyer glanced up as her transcendingly beautiful but fragile form swept with a stately grace along the landing. She stood for a moment and started to read the note.

Then, catching sight of Raife, she lowered it to her side and continued her journey upwards. More torture. Why did she disguise the note?