The Golden Face Part 18

But Duperre only grunted, and I saw by the expression of his face that he was far from pleased that the old man was not alone.

"I don't want to be introduced yet," he said. "At present, though we can meet here in the hotel, we must be strangers outside."

"And what is the game?" I demanded boldly, for we were together in my bedroom overlooking the great square and the door was locked.

"Nothing that concerns you, Hargreave," was his hard reply. "I know you're foolishly squeamish about some things. Well, in this affair just act as Rudolph orders and don't trouble about the consequences."

I realized that some evil was intended. Yet it was prevented by the presence there of Sylvia Andrews. What could it be?

Next day I met uncle and niece as usual, and we went for a motor ride together out to Aranjuez, where we saw the Palacio Real, and then on to Toledo where we visited the wonderful cathedral and the great Elcazar. I did not get back to the hotel till past ten o'clock that night, but I found Duperre anxious and perturbed. Why, I failed to understand, except that he seemed filled with annoyance that his plans had somehow gone awry.

Two days later when I called at the Ritz with the intention of accompanying Mr. Lloyd and his niece over the mountains to Valladolid, I found them both greatly excited.

"Sylvia had a telegram an hour ago recalling her to London as her mother is ill, and I am going with her. I cannot allow her to travel alone. We leave by the express at six o'clock this evening," Mr. Lloyd said. "I am so very sorry to depart so suddenly, Mr. Hargreave. We were both enjoying our visit so much," he added apologetically.

This surprised me until I returned to my hotel to luncheon, when Duperre, meeting me eagerly in the hall, asked:

"Well, is the girl going?"

"Yes," I said. "How do you know?"

He smiled meaningly, and I felt that in all probability the telegram recalling the girl had been sent at his instigation, as indeed I afterwards knew it had been. So cleverly had matters been arranged by the crooks that Mrs. Andrews was actually very unwell.

"Yes, she's off to-night--and the old man also," I said, glad that he was to get out of the mysterious danger that undoubtedly threatened him.

"What!" cried my companion, staggered. "Is the old fellow actually leaving also? At what time?"

"By the six o'clock train--the express to Irun," I replied.

He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said abruptly in a thick voice:

"I don't want any lunch. I want to think. Come up to my room when you've had your meal," and then, turning on his heel, he ascended in the lift.

On going to his room after luncheon I found him standing by the window, with his hands in his pockets, looking blankly out upon the great square below.

Close by, upon the writing-table, was a small medicine phial and a camel-hair brush, together with several pieces of paper. It struck me that he had painted one of the pieces with some of the colorless liquid, for, having dried, it was now crinkled in the center.

"Look here, Hargreave," he said. "I want you to telephone to the girl Andrews and ask her to meet you this afternoon at four, say in the ladies' cafe in the Cafe Suzio, so that you can have tea together.

When you've done that come back here."

I obeyed, in wonder at what was intended. Then when I returned, he said:

"Sit down and write a note to the old man, asking him to let you have his address so that you can collect any letters from the Ritz for him and forward them. He'll think it awfully kind of you. And enclose an envelope addressed to yourself; it will save him trouble."

This I did, taking paper and envelope from the rack in front of me. I was about to address the envelope to myself, when he said:

"That's too large, have this one! It will fit in the other envelope,"

and he took from the rack one of a smaller size which I used according to his suggestion.

"Now," he said, "you go and take the girl out and I'll see that this letter is delivered--and that you get an answer."

I met Sylvia, and we had quite a jolly tea together. Then, at five o'clock, I left her at the door of the Ritz, saying that I had sent a letter to her uncle asking for his address, and that knowing he would be very busy preparing to leave I would not come in.

On entering the Hotel de la Paix the concierge handed me two letters, one from old Mr. Lloyd in reply to my note and the other that had been left for me by Duperre.

"I have already left Madrid," he wrote briefly. "Whatever you hear, you know nothing, remember. Wait another week and then come home."

I was not long in hearing something, for within a quarter of an hour Sylvia rang me up asking me to come round at once to the Ritz.

In trepidation I took a taxi there and found old Mr. Lloyd in a state of unconsciousness, with a doctor at his side, Sylvia having found him lying on the floor of the sitting-room. The doctor told her that the old gentleman had apparently been seized by a stroke, but that he was very slowly recovering.

Sylvia, however, pointed out that his dispatch-box had been broken open and rifled. What had been taken she had no idea.

Inquiries made of the hotel staff proved that just after his niece had gone out a boy had arrived with a note requiring an answer, and had been shown up to Mr. Lloyd's room. The old gentleman wrote the answer, and the boy left with it. To whom the answer was addressed was not known.

The only person seen in the corridor afterwards was a guest who occupied a room close by, a Spaniard named Larroca.

I recollected the name. It was the man I had seen at the Unicorn at Ripon!

I made discreet inquiries, and discovered that Madame Martoz was living in the hotel.

The truth was plain. I longed to denounce them, but in fear I held my secret.

Old Mr. Lloyd hovered between life and death for a week, when at last he recovered, but to this day he cannot account for the mysterious seizure. I, however, know that it was due to a certain secret colorless liquid with which the gum upon the envelope I had addressed to myself had been painted over by Duperre. The old gentleman had licked it, and within five minutes he had fallen unconscious.

When he was sufficiently well to be shown his dispatch-box he grew frantic.

In it had been his cheque-book containing four signed cheques, as it was his habit to send weekly cheques to the woman who acted as housekeeper at his flat at Hove, which, by the way, he very seldom visited.

By some means Rayne had got to know of this, and by that clever ruse his accomplice got possession of the cheques, and ere the old man could wire to London to stop payment, all four had been cashed for large amounts without question.

Rayne and his friends netted nearly ten thousand pounds, but to this day old Mr. Lloyd entertains no suspicion.

CHAPTER XI

THE GENTLEMAN FROM ROME

I knew that my love for Lola was increasing, yet I did not know whether my affection was really reciprocated.

We were close friends, but that was all. I was seated with her in the pretty morning-room one day about a fortnight after my return from Madrid, when the footman entered with a card.

"Mr. Rayne is not in, sir. Will you see the gentleman?"

"_Cav. Enrico Graniani--Roma_," was the name upon the card.