A Secret Service E-Book

Fred Merrick White

• Herausgeber: Fred Merrick White
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Ida Vanstone looked out over the dismal array of chimney pots, saw the drifting pall of smoke like the shadow of her own hopes and fears, and, for the first time in her life, was afraid. And yet she could have ended it all had she liked; a sheet of notepaper and a penny stamp would have finished this struggle and privation. Ah, anything but that! She thought as she watched the smoke-wreaths whirling under the leaden March sky. It was a strange position for a girl, well bred and well nurtured as she was. Still, the fact remained that she had parted with her last coin and there was no prospect of another penny. And, to add to the rest of her troubles, she was several weeks in arrears with her rent, and unless it was forthcoming on the morrow she would be turned out into the street. The position had been hopeless from the first. She had left home with her eyes open—she had not underrated the struggle that lay before her. But anything seemed better to her than the loveless marriage into which her father was attempting to force her. She had fought against it with the courage of despair.

Leseprobe

Fred Merrick White

A Secret Service

UUID: a758b386-79b4-11e6-aa82-0f7870795abd

This ebook was created with StreetLib Write (http://write.streetlib.com)by Simplicissimus Book Farm

Table of contents

CHAPTER I.—ALONE IN LONDON.

CHAPTER II.—VALERIE BRUNE.

CHAPTER III.—IN HIGH PLACES.

CHAPTER IV.—THE ARGUS EYE.

CHAPTER V.—"ON WITH THE DANCE—"

CHAPTER VI.—THE PRINCESS' DIAMONDS.

CHAPTER VII.—THE FAWN COAT.

CHAPTER VIII.—THE TREASURE TROVE.

CHAPTER IX.—FOLLOWING THE TRACK.

CHAPTER X.—DIAMONDS OF PASTE.

CHAPTER XI.—THE MONEY-SPINNER

CHAPTER XII.—THE SUPPER BOX.

CHAPTER XIII.—IN THE DARK.

CHAPTER XIV.—A FRIEND IN NEED.

CHAPTER XV.—GLASGOW IS MAGNANIMOUS.

CHAPTER XVI.—HIDE AND SEEK.

CHAPTER XVII.—A BERLIN.

CHAPTER XVIII.—THE PHOTOGRAPH.

CHAPTER XIX.—ENTER THE PRINCESS.

CHAPTER XX.—AN IMPORTUNATE CREDITOR.

CHAPTER XXI.—A RASH RESOLVE.

CHAPTER XXII.—ON THE THRESHOLD.

CHAPTER XXIII.—RUPERRA'S NEXT MOVE.

CHAPTER XXIV.—A PRISONER OF WAR.

CHAPTER XXV.—THE SECRET WAY.

CHAPTER XXVI.—THE ONE ALTERNATIVE.

CHAPTER XXVII.—ONE WAY OUT.

CHAPTER XXVIII.—GLASGOW TO THE RESCUE.

CHAPTER XXIX.—ROGUES IN COUNCIL.

CHAPTER XXX.—THE DIAMONDS AGAIN.

CHAPTER XXXI.—BEHIND THE BARS.

CHAPTER XXXII.—THE WINGS OF THE WIND.

CHAPTER XXIII.—THE WAITING GAME.

CHAPTER XXXIV.—"ALL THAT GLITTERS—"

CHAPTER XXXV.—"WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT—."

CHAPTER XXXVI.—THE FAWN COAT AGAIN.

CHAPTER XXXVII.—THE LETTERS.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.—REPAID IN FULL.

CHAPTER I.—ALONE IN LONDON.

Ida Vanstone looked out over the dismal array of chimney pots, saw the drifting pall of smoke like the shadow of her own hopes and fears, and, for the first time in her life, was afraid. And yet she could have ended it all had she liked; a sheet of notepaper and a penny stamp would have finished this struggle and privation. Ah, anything but that! She thought as she watched the smoke-wreaths whirling under the leaden March sky. It was a strange position for a girl, well bred and well nurtured as she was. Still, the fact remained that she had parted with her last coin and there was no prospect of another penny. And, to add to the rest of her troubles, she was several weeks in arrears with her rent, and unless it was forthcoming on the morrow she would be turned out into the street. The position had been hopeless from the first. She had left home with her eyes open—she had not underrated the struggle that lay before her. But anything seemed better to her than the loveless marriage into which her father was attempting to force her. She had fought against it with the courage of despair."Nothing will induce me to marry him," she had assured her father. "I will rather go out and earn my living."Robert Vanstone placidly sipped his port. There was a peculiar smile on his handsome, cynical face."Very well, my child," he answered. "You can't say that I prevented you. I have told you exactly how matters stand; if you don't marry Wilfred Avis I am a ruined man. I shall have to part with all my luxuries, sell this beautiful, old house, and end my days in some shabby foreign watering-place. But, of course, that gives you no concern. You have had everything you have asked for during the last twenty years, and when I beg for a little return like this you refuse. Avis declared last night that he would release me the moment you consented to be engaged to him. Upon my word, I don't see why you shouldn't humor him to this extent.""And break my word afterwards, father?""Why not?" Vanstone retorted, coolly. "My dear girl, what does it matter? Isn't it the privilege of your charming sex to change your mind? Avis is a hard man, and he's got me into a tight place—but I don't feel in the least melodramatic about it. With a bit of luck I should have had him in a tight place. It's all part of the game, as you would know if you had been venturing in the city as long as I have. But what's wrong with Avis? He's a fine looking chap, enormously rich, and half the girls of your acquaintance would be only too glad of your chance. And let me tell you this—Avis can have a title whenever he wants it. No man knows more of the working of the Secret Service than he does—but perhaps I'm saying more than I ought to. Now, do be sensible, Ida.""I don't love him," the girl replied quietly. "I might go further, and say I don't like him. Oh, perhaps I shall learn your worldly cynicism in time, and come to believe that money is everything, and honor and honesty of no account. We shall see, father. You have thrown down a challenge, and I accept it. I'm going to earn my own living, to try to turn my sketching to account.""In that case you must look to me for nothing.""So I understand," Ida went on. "I may succeed or I may fail, and if I do utterly fail, and have to ask your assistant then I will return home, and, if Wilfred Avis is still in the same mind, become his wife.""Vanstone smiled as he helped himself to another glass of port. He glanced complacently around the dining-room with its mellowed oak walls and the velvety mez-zo-tints upon them, on the silver and glass and the litter of dessert on the table. Comfort and luxury and artistic surroundings were to him as the very breath of life. For them he was prepared to sacrifice everything that the man of honor holds most dear. With all his cleverness, however, he had that certain vein of indolence which always stands in the way of victory. No one could plan a finer coup than Vanstone and no financial adventurer could carry it so far. Then perhaps a day's pleasure would lure him from his post just when his presence was most essential. He had, too, that contempt for other people's ability which so often is fatal to success. But as regarded his worldly knowledge and cynicism, there was no question."I'm infinitely obliged to you, my dear child," he said. "To put it brutally, I look upon the thing as done. It will only mean a little patience on Avis' part and when you marry him you will do so gladly instead of—well, against the grain. Your poor mother was the same at one time, and yet she was happy enough.""I suppose she was," Ida remarked doubtfully."Of course, she was. Now, don't let's pursue this unpleasant subject any further. And, please don't make a scene. You are going away to earn your own living, but when you want me, send me the inevitable letter, and I shall be pleased to come and, er, er, take you out of pawn.""And if I succeed, father?""My dear child, that contingency is too remote to be considered. Kindly pass me the cigarettes."This incident rose painfully and clearly before Ida's eyes as she sat in the gathering darkness, gazing with despairing eyes across London. For six months she had been struggling on, hoping against hope, and getting each day deeper and deeper into the mire of despair. It had not taken her long to discover the cruel difference between the work of a talented amateur and the slick smoothness of even a second-rate professional artist. She tried her hand at nearly everything, and always with the same result. At first editors had been kind, but the time came when Ida found it impossible to pass beyond the office-boy. In the six months she had not earned as many pounds; she had learnt the dire straits of poverty; she could enter the swinging doors of a pawnshop without a blush. The end had arrived. She had literally nothing except the clothes she stood up in, nothing but her youth and her beauty and her fine courage, which as yet was not entirely broken."I won't go back," she determined. "I'll try something else. Why has it taken me six months to find out that my artistic work is worthless? I'll go into service; I'll scrub floors before I own myself defeated. I wonder if I went to a registry office—" She put on her hat and jacket and went down the dingy stairs, and paused outside a room, and listened. She heard someone moving about and caught the whirr of a sewing machine. She hesitated for a moment and then opened the door and looked in."Are you very busy?" she asked.A pair of pathetic brown eyes were lifted from the sewing machines and a wan, beautiful, pallid face smiled."Well, I am," the seamstress said. "I wonder if you would help me a bit. I have been doing pretty well nothing for the last week and now everything comes with a rush. I've been in bed for about three days with that dreadful rheumatism and my fingers have grown terribly stiff.""Oh, I am so sorry!" Ida said. "I ought to have come and seen you before. I don't know why I didn't."The slim, pale girl smiled again. Elsie Harness was not much older than Ida, but she had seen a great deal more of the world's misery and distress. There was a tragedy hidden, somewhere, but concerning her past Elsie had said nothing. The girls had drifted together, and there was a bond of sympathy between them, but they had not yet reached the stage when confidences are exchanged."Would you be angry if I spoke plainly?" Elsie asked."I don't think so," Ida smiled. "I'd rather be scolded than left alone with my own troubles. What is it?""Well, then, you didn't come to see me because you are too proud. Oh, I respect your pride, my dear! It's about the only thing I have left. You can't keep these things secret, especially when we have a coarse-minded, hard-hearted landlady who does not keep her lodgers' affairs to herself. I know all about it. If nothing turns up before to-morrow, Mrs. Preece will turn you out. You need not blush!—I've been on the verge of a like catastrophe many a time. Now, do let me help you. Because, if you do, you can help me. Let me pay that horrible old woman the rent you owe. You can work it out, and, besides, if I don't have you. I must ask somebody else. I would much rather have a lady like yourself than a girl who has been in some factory. Because, you see, I am a lady, too.""I knew, that from the first," Ida said. "But, my dear girl, how can I take the money that you earn so hardly?""Nonsense! Didn't I tell you that I must have an assistant? The doctor says it is positively dangerous to go out in these east winds and I am actually losing work because I cannot fetch it. I could easily earn three times as much if I had some help with the machine. You see, I am a dress designer. Some of the big houses in the West-End send me a mass of beautiful materials and I blend them together. I suppose I have an eye for that sort of thing. It makes such a wonderful difference just how a piece of embroidery is inserted here or a splash of color sewn on there. I want someone who will save my poor fingers and fetch and carry for me. Now, will you do it?"Ida bent over the table and covered her face with her hands. The blessed relief moved her to tears. It seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, as if somebody had removed the iron hand winch had been gripping at her heart for weeks. The night and the fog and the dread thought of the Embankment no longer oppressed. For she intended to accept Elsie's offer, and was grateful for an opportunity which a while ago she would have spurned."You are very good to me," she whispered. "You will never know how thankful I am. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will put heart and soul into it. I wish you to feel you have made no mistake to-night."

CHAPTER II.—VALERIE BRUNE.

"The obligation is all on one side," Elsie retorted. "Just look at this. Here is a costume I am finishing of a lady who is going to a charity ball to-night. It was made for her by one of the best houses, and when it was done she didn't care about it. It did not convey the distinctive note she required, and the stupid man milliner confessed he did not understand what she meant. He said it was one of the most beautiful gowns they had ever turned out, and so it is. Nine out of every ten Society women would only be too pleased to be seen in it. It is a wonderful black Grecian drapery, but, to my mind, a little bit too sombre. It needs a red woman to wear that costume, and I understand that Miss Valerie Brune is very dark—but I'll put on the dress and you shall see. I should like your opinion."

Elsie wreathed herself in the soft folds and stood where the light fell fully upon her. Her lithe, slim figure showed to great advantage; she seemed to be transformed, to have become another creature altogether.

"Oh, it is exquisite!" Ida cried. "My dear Elsie, how beautiful you are. I never realised—"

"Would it had been otherwise!" Elsie said quietly. "But we won't go into that. You see, I am fair, and that is why the dress suits me. Let me put it on you, and if you look at yourself in the cheval glass there you will appreciate what I am saying. You are a dark beauty, with something of the South about you."

"My mother was an Italian," Ida explained.

"Ah, that is where you get those liquid eyes and that perfect olive complexion. Now, I just wrap the drapery about you—so, and fasten it with a few safety pins. One of the advantages of this costume is that it will fit anybody if it is properly adjusted. Turn to the glass and you will see for yourself what I mean. You are a pretty girl, Ida, and colouring is perfect, but all that soft, dead black makes your complexion look almost muddy. Suppose we have some spots of white and some of this marvellous embroidery. You see it is green and gold and red and a trifle audacious. I place some of it round your neck, and again at the hem of the skirt. Now, look at this green sash—did you ever see anything more beautiful? That is the best of dead black for a background—one can be so daring with it. There, what do you think of the combination? A moment ago you were merely a pretty girl, and now you are a dazzling, beauty who might have stepped out of one of Raeburn's frames. You must admit that there is an extraordinary difference."

Ida gazed at herself in the long glass opposite. Her lips were slightly parted, and a delicate flush mounted her cheeks.

"Is that really me?" she exclaimed. "Elsie, you are a positive enchantress. I wouldn't have believed you could have made such a change with a mere handful of embroidery!''

"Ah, but such embroidery!" Elsie laughed. "No, don't take it off yet. I want you to be my model for a bit. I have another inspiration. When I have everything to my mind I'll tack that stuff on, and then you shall use the machine for me. By the way, have you ever done any sewing?"

It was a consolation to Ida that she could give Elsie that assurance. For the next hour or two they worked rapidly and silently, until at length Elsie pronounced, with a sigh of satisfaction, that the work was finished.

"You don't know what a relief that is to me," she said. "I should never have got it done if you hadn't come to my assistance. I had faithfully promised that the dress should be delivered at 45A, Grosvenor-square by 11 o'clock to-night. I want you to take it there and show Miss Brune all the tricks of it. You will have to act as a sort of lady's maid, but I hope you won't mind that; you won't be nervous?"'

"I'm ready to do anything," Ida declared. "If you only knew what a fate you've saved me from to-day! So long as Miss Brune doesn't recognise me I shan't mind a bit."

"What! Do you know her?"

"Oh, dear no, I never heard her name before. Only it is curious you should mention 45A, Grosvenor-square, because some friends of my father's live there. I heard they had let their house for six months. It will be very strange to go there as a milliner's assistant when I have been actually a guest under the same roof."

Nevertheless, Ida felt somewhat nervous when she rang the front door bell of the great house in Grosvenor-square. There was a chance her friends had left the servants behind, and she might be recognised. But the manservant who opened the door was a stranger to her, and a foreigner at that. He was a tall, thin man, with hard, glittering eyes, and a face like a mask. There was something in his manner, too, which did not suggest the typical manservant. His English was fairly good, and his accent did not lack refinement. He gave Ida an impression of unreality such as one gathers from the portraiture of a servant on the stage. In the large, brilliantly-lighted hall, with its pictures and statues and banks of flowers, other servants lounged, all of them quiet and subdued, with the same air of gentility about them; indeed, Ida might have been an expected guest from the courteous manner in which she was escorted to the drawing-room.

Miss Brune was engaged for the moment, she was told, but would not keep her long. A blaze of electric lights flooded the drawing-room, and through a pair of double doors another fine room could be seen. Here also the lights were fully on, but, so far as Ida could see, the place was empty. It was all very beautiful and very familiar, yet so strangely grand and impressive after the shabby attic in which Ida had lived so long. As she sat in the shadow at a screen, she was conscious that somebody had entered the further drawing-room. Her quick ears caught the rustle of a skirt, then a soft and liquid voice was heard, evidently issuing orders in a tongue which Ida took to be either Spanish or Italian. Presently a door closed softly and, as Ida turned her head in the direction of the inner room, she saw a woman standing there with a letter in her hand.

There was something about this woman that immediately riveted her attention. She was not particularly tall or commanding, her face was pale, and her eyes were dark and brooding. She seemed to read the letter more than once before she tore it into fragments and tossed them into the fire. Then another door opened and the woman was no longer alone. A man was by her side—a fine, well-made man in immaculate evening dress, sleek, well groomed, and unmistakably English. He occupied such a position that Ida observed his face in profile, and noticed that the features were hard and hawklike, and the clean-shaven lips were pressed firmly together.

"Well," the man said, and there was a challenge in the word, "Well, you see I am here. I knew you couldn't manage without me. You are a wonderful woman. Valerie, but there are times when you are too clever."

The woman laughed mirthlessly.

"Yes, and there are times when you are too exasperating. There are times when I hate you, when the blood rises before my eyes, and when I am dangerous, my friend. I will do you a mischief one of these days. It will be inevitable if you drive me too far. I know you think you can play for the cause, and for your own band at the same time, but you will find that it is impossible. It does not suit you that I should go to this dance to-night, and you are here to try to prevent me. Bah! Was there ever yet man born of woman who could prevent Valerie Brune from doing anything she had made up her mind to do? Of a certainty you are not that man. Whatever the consequences, I am going. And some day, the world may know the reason why. Leave me, please, for I have no time to waste. Will you go, or shall I summon my servants?"

"Oh, there's no occasion for that!" the man said. "You are doing a mad and foolish thing, and I have done my best to prevent it. Good-night, my dear Valerie."

He went silently from the room, and Valerie Brune came through the folded doors. She started slightly as she caught sight of Ida, and there was a questioning gleam in her eyes.

"You have brought my dress?" she asked. "I had forgotten you for the time. Did you hear what was said in the other room? But what does it matter? A child like you would not understand. Now stand there in the light so that I can see your face. Good heavens!"

Valerie Brune was staring intently at Ida, and the latter's eyes were full of strange amazement.

"Why, you are me!" cried Valerie Brune. "You are me and I am you— never was there such a likeness so strange and wonderful! A shop assistant from Bond-street who in the living image of Valerie Brune! Are you of my nationality, too?"

"My mother was an Italian," Ida said quietly. "But I should prefer not to discuss it, madam. As you remarked. I am only a shop assistant, who has come with your dress to see it properly fitted on."

"True, true!" Valerie Brune answered with a certain brooding thoughtfulness. "There is a time for everything, and there is always to-morrow. Will you take the dress out and put it on? You are like me in figure as in face. Lock the door in case we are interrupted. I have a whim to see you in that dress, and I will help you with it—Ah, yes, marvellous! They told me of a wonderful woman who can make crystals into diamonds, and behold, she has done it. My dear child, you look wonderful. I positively envy you."

"Is not that my role?"

"Not to-night, at any rate. Now let me speak freely. If I hurt your feelings, pray forgive me. There has come, to me an idea, an idea that must be carried out, you understand. You are a shop assistant, and therefore poor. You will do anything for money so long as you come by it honestly. You are my twin in everything, and therefore you have courage. For there is danger in this thing, mark you, though it will bring you more money than you've ever seen in your life. Now, are you ready to put yourself in my hands and do exactly what I ask?"

CHAPTER III.—IN HIGH PLACES.

Coffee, liqueurs, and cigarettes had been handed round, and Sir Walter Devant's guests were lounging carelessly at the perfectly appointed dinner-table. It was not a formal party, and the meal had been laid out in one of the morning-rooms of the British Embassy in Berlin. From the point of view of popular fiction, Sir Walter was not a great Ambassador. He had few of those subtle qualities which people like to read about: it had never been his mission to make history, and he had few dramatic triumphs to his credit. There was nothing mysterious or sinister about him; he was a plain, hearty, commonsense Englishman, who played his cards openly and straightforwardly—but he knew every move of the game, nevertheless. The underground wire-pulling and the network of intrigue, without which successful diplomacy is impossible, he was content to leave to his subordinate. In his day he had been a noted sportsman; he was still a fine fisherman and shot, and if his appointment had been, as critics said at the time, a "job," few of them now declined to believe that Walter Devant was a success. To begin with, he entertained royalty, for he was a man of means, and Lady Devant was one of the most popular figures in European society.