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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
In "The White Glove," Fred M. White masterfully weaves a narrative that delves into themes of social stratification and the elusive nature of identity within the constraints of a rigid society. Set in the late 19th century, the novel employs a rich, descriptive style that captures the opulence and treachery of the upper class, juxtaposed with the stark realities of those on the periphery. As characters navigate a labyrinth of deception and ambition, White's intricate plotting reveals the moral dilemmas faced by those who don the titular white glove'Äîa symbol of both privilege and pretense. Fred M. White, a prolific author of adventures and mysteries, drew on his own insights into Victorian society and its complexities, which informed his nuanced portrayals of character and setting. His experiences in journalism and intrigue with social commentary allowed him to craft a story that not only entertains but provokes thoughtful reflection on the human condition. White's deft hand at creating suspenseful situations and multi-dimensional characters adds depth to his critique of societal norms. This compelling read is recommended for those who appreciate a blend of mystery and social critique. "The White Glove" not only entertains but also challenges readers to consider the facades people uphold in the quest for acceptance and success. For enthusiasts of historical fiction and keen observers of social dynamics, this novel is an essential addition to your collection.
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The White Glove
Table of Contents
I - DESPERATION
The sweet face in the tangle of golden hair looked strangely out of place there. One does not usually meet with such beauty and refinement in a dingy restaurant where bread and butter is retailed by the slice and the coffee makes a tardy appearance in a pint pot. And yet the shabby hat and worn, thin jacket told a tale. As Clifford Marsh glanced at his wife a passionate anger shook him, and a yearning look came into his honest, grey eyes.
"I'm sorry I brought you here, darling," he said. "But when one comes down to one's last sovereign—Well, well. But I'm not beaten yet."
Marsh spoke with a certain fierce energy. The sweet face opposite smiled bravely. Madeleine Marsh was slender and pretty as a dainty picture by Greuze; nothing could rob her of her inherent refinement. Even a fuzzy-headed, bold-eyed waitress recognised the presence of a lady, and lowered her strident voice accordingly. As for Clifford Marsh, he would have passed anywhere. He was well dressed enough. But, then, he was 'looking for work,' and Madeleine knew by bitter experience how desirable appearance was. Most of her own clothes and all her little articles of jewellery had gone. She had parted from them with the utmost cheerfulness. Clifford felt that he had never loved his wife as he did at this moment. And yet there was a certain sense of shame behind his passion.
"I'm afraid you'll have to go back to Crowborough without me," he said. "Barrymore's people said that Sir Arthur might see me if I called back again at six. I dare not miss this chance, Maddy. If you don't get back by the excursion you'll have to pay full fare."
And she had come up to town to try and sell some of her Christmas cards that her whilom friends used to praise so much. She was finding out the difference now between trifling as an amateur and competing with the professional for bread.
"All right, Clifford," she said, with the sunniest of smiles. "You'll get back to-night. Please pay for the tea and let us go."
Clifford changed his last sovereign, blushing a little as the fuzzy-headed waitress refused to accept the threepence offered her. The kindly significance of the refusal touched Clifford, and the hard lump at his heart melted a little. It was just five as he saw Madeleine into the train at Victoria, and then Marsh turned his steps citywards.
"Poor little girl," he said softly. "I was a beast to marry her, to take her away from all that wealth and refinement. Old Forfitt said he would make me pay for it, and he has! And here am I, a mining engineer with a practical knowledge of diamonds, three years' experience of the war, and that other distinction, and I can't get a living for my darling! And if I do get that billet in Sir Arthur Barrymore's office, and old Matthew Forfitt finds out, I shall be dismissed to a certainty. It's hard on a fellow like me when he incurs the undying enmity of a millionaire—even if he is one's father-in-law."
The palatial offices of Barrymore and Co. were reached at length. Clifford's knees shook slightly as he passed up the stairs, his throat was dry and husky. He was perilously near to eating the bread of charity as it was. The pretty, rose-colored cottage at Crowborough, where he and Madeleine at present resided, had been placed at the girl's disposal by an old nurse at present visiting some relatives in Scotland. But for that lucky happening, Clifford shuddered to think what kind of quarters he and Madeleine would have come to by this time.
In a vague, dreamy way, Clifford listened to a smart clerk who was saying something. As a matter of fact, Clifford was faint and weak for want of proper food. Then it came to him more tangibly that Sir Arthur had gone away for the day—had been called away on special business. With something like despair in his heart, Clifford stumbled down the steps. This meant coming up again to-morrow—another precious four shillings gone.
It was getting dark as Clifford turned into Maiden Lane, behind Holborn. He felt disposed to envy every well-dressed man and woman who passed him. He wondered who they were and whence they came, and what they would think if they knew his story. There was a tall woman, lithe and graceful, her features hidden by a veil, her superb dress held up by a gloved hand. Quite idly Clifford noticed that the glove was white velvet. He had never seen a lady wearing a velvet glove before. The woman seemed to fascinate him.
She waited for a block of traffic to pass, then darted impatiently across the street. Then there was a shout and a roar, a quick dissolving view of a prostrate figure, and before Clifford quite knew what had happened he was half-carrying the tall lady with the velvet glove into a little chemist's shop, and cursing the curious crowd that seemed to rise out of inaction and block his way. Clifford pushed through the people steadily. He had forgotten his own hunger and faintness now in the sheer joy of doing something. The woman hung on his shoulder a mere dead weight, hungry eyes looked out of the darkness.
"For goodness sake clear out all this lot," Clifford said fiercely.
"This way."
Without ceremony Clifford pushed on into the little room at the back of the shop. Outside a policeman was driving the curious crowd on. Somebody was saying something about a doctor. The chemist looked in on inquiry as to whether he could do anything. Meanwhile the unconscious figure lay on a shabby sofa, one arm hanging down, the long, slim fingers in the velvet glove touching the floor.
"She seems to have fainted," the chemist said. "Evidently no bones are broken. See how regularly she is breathing."
"There's mischief here somewhere," said Clifford, as his quick eye detected a curious spasm in the fingers of the left hand. "Seems to have been crushed. Get that glove off."
They proceeded to strip the left glove away when the woman snatched her hand with a sudden and unexpected energy. She spoke like one in her sleep.
"No, no," she cried; "not that one. What am I saying? It doesn't matter. But I am quite right by this time. I must go away at once. Call a cab."
The stranger pulled herself up fiercely, but her will was too strong for her body. She fell back again with a queer, defiant, pitiful laugh. The veil was closely drawn, but Clifford could see the dark eyes gleaming almost savagely behind it. The one velvet glove had fallen unheeded to the floor, the maimed hand was hidden in the woman's breast as if it hid a secret that she was prepared to guard with her life.
"I am not hurt," she said in a voice at once pleading and commanding. "I swear to you I am not hurt. Call me a cab, if you please. Hark! what is that?"
Merely a voice in the shop proclaiming the fact that a doctor had arrived. But the voice had a marvellous effect on the listener. She jumped to her feet, her lithe, graceful body quivering, with fear and anger like a tiger brought to bay.
"Send him away," she whispered. "For God's sake say I have gone. Tell him some lie—some subtle and ingenious lie. Oh, why don't you go?"
The chemist crept away. The woman came close to Clifford and laid her right hand upon his shoulder. The likeness to the tiger had strangely intensified.
"I am in danger," she whispered. "Turn down the gas. Ah, that is better. Ask no questions, and remember only that you are helping a defenceless woman. I am faint and giddy yet, so I must lean on you...There must be a back way out. Lead me down the yard and put me into a cab. Come along."
Clifford obeyed more or less mechanically. He found the way down a crowded yard into a little alley beyond. A cab was passing, and he hailed it. Without a word of thanks, the woman scrambled in, and muttered an address in Grosvener Road that Clifford could not catch, and was gone. Then he made his way back to the chemist's little parlor again. He could hear the so-called doctor still talking in the shop. He saw the long, slender, velvet glove as it lay neglected and forgotten upon the floor. In a fit of idle curiosity Clifford picked it up. There was not a stain upon it, and yet it felt heavy, as if the hand, or part of the hand, was still inside. Clifford peeled back the fingers.
"Good heavens!" he cried. "What have we got here? Surely it is not possible that—"
Yes, part of a human hand—four white, slender fingers severed at the top of the second joint, and ringed with two magnificent diamond hoops. The sudden feeling of nausea passed as the full extent of the discovery flashed upon Clifford.
The portion of the exquisite hand was perfectly, humanly modelled in a wax!
Clifford's excitement passed away altogether. He was quite cool and collected now, and he had entirely forgotten his own present troubles. With his wits clear and sharpened, he was wondering how he could turn this discovery to the best account. The woman was evidently rich, she moved in the best of society, as her dress and speech clearly proved; at the same time, she was evidently mixed up in some strange conspiracy. She had been dreadfully afraid lest the secret of her left hand should have been discovered; and, indeed, she might probably have preserved that intact had she not been far weaker than she thought, and had not the doctor come upon the scene.
But was he a doctor at all, or merely somebody on the track of the mysterious lady? Certainly the woman's conduct on hearing the intruder's voice pointed to the latter conclusion. Clifford decided that he would like to see the doctor. He crept cautiously as far as the little glass door, and peeped into the shop.
Certainly the stranger bore little resemblance to the ordinary surgeon who would be likely to have a practice in that locality. To begin with, he was too well-dressed, his air was redolent of Bond Street, his dark moustache was carefully groomed. There was something sinister about his smile, a hard look in the dark eyes. One thing Clifford carefully noted, the stranger kept his left hand thrust inside the breast of his overcoat all the time. His cigarette had gone out, but even when he re-lighted it the hand was not removed. The coincidence made a strong impression upon Clifford.
The stranger puffed a long trail of blue smoke in a highly unconcerned fashion, and left the shop. If he was in the least baffled, he did not show it.
"The lady has gone," Clifford said. "I suppose it was all right, but a very strange case all the same. Wonder why she was so anxious not to see a doctor."
The little chemist shrugged his shoulders.
"Can't say," he replied. "I don't care about mysteries of this kind, and personally I owe you one for getting rid of her. Mystery generally means crime, and crime means being dragged into a witness-box a score of times when one's business is going to the deuce."
"I see," Clifford nodded. "A fashionable doctor, that."
"Doctor, be hanged! He was no doctor. I could see that from his hand and the scent he had about him. Probably the woman's husband, or something of that kind. Good night."
Clifford took the hint and departed. There was nothing for it but to go home after all. A glass of milk and a bun first, he decided to have. Mechanically he felt for his purse. He tried one pocket after another. But the purse was gone.
II - THE STREETS OF LONDON
The dreadful discovery almost broke Clifford down for a moment. In his weak state he could have sat down and cried. He had no watch or rings to pawn—they had all gone long ago—even his return ticket to Crowborough had been lost.
Well, there was no help for it. Clifford steeled himself to face the inevitable ordeal. Like many a better man before him, he resolved to walk the streets all night. Perhaps he would be able to see Sir Arthur Barrymore early to-morrow before the rush and fret of the day's work began, and secure a post, and once that was done it might be possible to request an advance. The fit of trembling passed away, and left Clifford cool and collected again. No doubt his pocket had been picked as he had carried the mysterious lady to safety.
Clifford shut his teeth together, and resolved to go through with the business now. No doubt in the hours to come, when the great city grew quieter, he might find some sheltered spot to sleep where he would be free from the attentions of the gentlemen in blue. But the secluded spot would have to be somewhere near the City. Morning would find him worn out and exhausted, and the closer he was to the office where all his hopes and fears were centred the better.
It was nearly nine o'clock when Clifford dragged himself wearily along Cheapside. There were very few people about in Long Lane, where the offices of Barrymore and Co. were situated, and Clifford was languidly surprised to see a carriage and a pair of horses, a very high-class equipage, stop at one of the big buildings, and a graceful girl alight.
Clifford looked on in a dazed, sleepy kind of way. What was that pretty girl doing here at this time of the evening? Perhaps she was coming to fetch some relative who had been working late, and take him to the theatre. But the carriage, with its blood horses, had gone at a swift trot, and turned into Cheapside, as if they were not required again—at any rate, not for some considerable time. It was poor sort of curiosity, but it kept Clifford from dwelling on himself, for he felt that way madness lay.
He looked up at the big building into which the pretty girl had disappeared, and he was not in he least surprised to see that it was the offices of Barrymore and Co. A strong electric light gleamed from two upper windows, evidently the office windows of some prominent employee of the big firm. Clifford stood staring at it stupidly.
Suddenly the big swing doors flew open, and the pretty girl in the evening dress came down the steps. Her wrap had been thrown aside, the electric lights gleamed on her golden hair. She looked very sweet and fragile and helpless, Clifford thought; then he noticed the terror in her eyes. An impulse to address her was not to be resisted.
"You are in trouble," he said. "Can I do anything for you—why, May!"
"Clifford!" the girl gasped. "What are you doing here? And yet you may ask me the same question. Where have you been all this long time? And Madeleine?"
"Madeleine is quite well, May. You see, there were reasons why she did not care to look up her old friends. But you are in trouble?"
"It is Sir Arthur Barrymore. He is my guardian, you know. But many things have happened since we last met—things I can't tell you of now. I came to fetch my guardian to the opera, and he was not quite ready, so I waited in the other office. I heard him cry out, and when I rushed in he was all huddled up in a chair. Somebody had been saying something to him on the telephone, but he seemed unable to reply."
"I'll come at once," Clifford said. "I feel there is a kind of providence here. But I am going to ask you to make me a promise, May."
"Dear Clifford, I promise anything if you will only come along."
"Then you are not to know me. I am a stranger that you picked up in the streets. Your guardian was ill, and you sought the first assistance that you could get. Now, lead the way."
May Denton led the way up the broad steps, so silent and deserted now. In a private office that might have passed for some millionaire's dining-room, save for the desks and the telephone, a man sat holding his head in his hands. A tall, white-haired, aristocratic-looking man, one evidently born to command. By his side stood a desk telephone, the bell of which was continually ringing, but the man with the staring eyes did not seem to heed.
"Who is this man, May?" he asked in a hollow tone.
"The young lady fetched me in," Clifford hastened to say. "You were ill, and she was frightened. The person at the other end of the telephone—"
"Cut it off. Answer for me—Sir Arthur Barrymore—and say I have left the office. If they ask when, say you don't know. And when you have done that, unlock yonder cabinet and give me a little brandy. I've—I've had a shock."
The man lay back in his chair almost numb from some sudden terror. And yet strength of character and firmness of will were written on his face. He nodded feeble approval as Clifford delivered his message to the unseen person at the other end of the telephone.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" the younger man asked.
Sir Arthur shook his head. A faint color was creeping back to his face again, but the lips were still as pale as ashes.
"I have had a great loss," he said, as if speaking more to himself than anybody else. "A loss so great that it has utterly unnerved me. Great heavens! that such a misfortune should come so suddenly. And I thought that I was absolutely safe. Who are you?"
Clifford explained hurriedly. He was to have seen Sir Arthur earlier in the day. He happened to be passing the office quite late, and the young lady had called him in.
"You were going to walk about all night?" Sir Arthur demanded.
Clifford flushed angrily, and the great man uttered something that might have been an apology. All the same, there was pluck here, and the silent evidence of trouble, and these were qualities that Sir Arthur admired greatly.
"I must try and do something for you," he said. "But I can only think of one thing to-night. You had better go for the police. Bah! what am I talking about? All the police in the world will not save me from hideous ruin. What's that?"
The sound of a door opening somewhere, and then steps coming upstairs. The door opened and a woman came in without the semblance of apology. A tall woman, wonderfully beautiful and commanding. There was just the suggestion of the foreigner in her carriage and the dainty way in which she walked, though when she spoke her English was perfect enough. Her smile bewildered and fascinated Clifford, she was so quickly changeable, so perfectly at home. Evidently a woman used to the highest society, Clifford thought.
And yet with it all he had a curious feeling that he had seen her before. He took in her dress of black satin, against which her skin glowed like old ivory. He saw the flashing diamonds in the dark hair. She threw back a wrap of costly furs, her right hand hung down by her side, the left was hidden by the flowing furs. And then on the right hand Clifford noted that she wore a velvet glove!
It was a peach-colored glove, but there it was. The coincidence was remarkable. And Clifford could study the lovely woman at his leisure, for the reason that, after one flashing, searching glance, she took no notice of his presence whatever. He felt a wild desire to see her left hand. It was the same woman he had befriended, but so different!
"Well, the inevitable has happened," she said.
"It was not inevitable," Sir Arthur retorted. "It was the very last thing to be expected. And how did you know of it?"
"Say I guessed it. I felt it by instinct. And when I could not get you on the telephone I was certain. What are you going to do now?"
"What can I do but call in the aid of the police?"
The beautiful woman shrugged her shoulders. She moved about with the finest possible grace, but never once did she expose her left hand.
"The police are useless," she said. "What we require now are pluck and daring and a matchless audacity. We seek for a soldier of fortune who is down on his luck, and anxious to retrieve his fallen fortunes, if he succeeds his fortune would be made; if he fails, the probability is the grave would be his portion. A strong, brave man who would be discreet and silent—a man who would face any danger without hesitation. Given a man like that we may yet succeed. And he would live in luxury ever after."
There was a ring of fire and passion in the speech that touched Clifford. Here was the opportunity that he was looking for. He had the courage and the audacity and the keen desire to succeed. When he thought of Madeleine's blue eyes and sweet smile, he felt capable, of anything. And all the time he felt that the woman was addressing him.
"I am your man," he said. "I have touched the bottom of my fortune; I am penniless. And I have one who is very dear to me waiting anxiously for me at home. Nothing that man dares I shrink from. Give me the chance."
Sir Arthur looked up and nodded. The woman whispered a few words to the girl, and she and May Denton left the room together. Presently the beautiful intruder returned alone. Sir Arthur sat moodily at the table stabbing his blotting pad. Was this really the same woman, Clifford wondered. She kept her left hand rigidly to her side. Clifford stepped across her so that he might get a glimpse of the limb. A quick flash of the eyes followed, then the flash melted into a dazzling smile.
"I think you are the man," she said. "I know you are quick and resourceful; I feel from your face that you possess the courage. But in this matter there is one thing you must beware of. Like all quick-witted, shrewd people, you are curious. You are burning with curiosity at this very moment, a curiosity that is not going to be gratified. Oh, I should advise you very strongly indeed to suppress that failing."
Clifford colored a little, and bowed. He perfectly understood, and in that moment he knew that he had no ordinary woman to deal with. She stooped down and shook Sir Arthur by the shoulder, her glance was just a little contemptuous.
"Wake up," she said. "Action, action, action. We wanted an ally, and fortune has sent us one. I am certain that we could not have made a better choice. If he wins—"
"If he wins he need never fear the future again," Sir Arthur said slowly. "If he fails—"
"I cannot be a greater failure than I am at present," Clifford said bitterly. "I am desperate, friendless, and I have a wife depending upon me. I tell you I am mad for action; I could yell aloud, I could tear my hair to think of my helplessness. Danger! Have I not been through the war? Only trust me, and you shall not repent it."
Sir Arthur sat up like a man who is just awake. He looked resolute enough now. He rose and switched off the light, and locked the door as the others preceded him.
"That is enough," he said. "Your task and your peril begin now. But first you must have a change and some food. My carriage is at the door, waiting for me. Do you still hesitate? No? Then follow me. There is no time to lose."
III - PARK LANE
Clifford Marsh stood back so that the others might precede him. After all, he was a little weaker and more dazed than he thought. The want of food, the bitter disappointment and the subsequent excitement had been too much for him. Time was when he had gone through critical dangers without so much as a qualm. But it was all different now, for his head was in a whirl, and his heart beating almost to suffocation.
"Steady, steady," he whispered to himself. "A brave, resolute man may snatch a great prize from fortune here, and hitherto I have not lacked the necessary qualities. For Madeline's sake I must be firm."
He thought of his wife. He could see her deep, steadfast blue eyes looking out of the darkness, and exhorting him to courage. He would show her yet that he had done her no wrong in taking her from a home of luxury to share his love in a cottage. He thought of nothing else as the carriage rolled westwards, and stopped at length before one of the greatest houses in Park Lane. Clifford had a glimpse of the magnificent hall filled with priceless furniture, half a dozen gorgeous footmen appeared to be languidly doing nothing—there were evidences of great wealth everywhere.
The owner of a palace like this must be rich beyond the dreams of avarice. There were magnificent pictures in the library, a carpet soft as velvet to the tread, all the electric light fittings were cunningly wrought in silver. And yet the owner of it all, as he lay back in a carved Tudor chair, did not look a happy man.
"You want to know something of your mission?" he asked.
"Presently, sir," Clifford said. He felt that his courage was coming back to him now. "But there is one important detail first. The British soldier is the best in the world, but even he cannot work unless he is fed. I have eaten practically nothing to-day. I have had no meat for close on a week. I—I am starving."
"I am a fool," Sir Arthur muttered. "I had forgotten also that I had not dined. You are quite right, Mr. Marsh. Please ring the bell."
One of the languid footmen entered, to receive a terse, vigorous command from his master.
He reappeared presently to say that dinner was served. Clifford had no eyes for the gorgeous table service, the wealth of flowers, the flash of crystal. Almost wolfishly he swallowed a few oysters, together with a glass of champagne. A little soup and chicken followed, and two more glasses of wine. By the time Clifford had finished, a new and joyous life seemed to run in his veins. He felt strong and uplifted now, and ready for anything. The mere idea of adventure appealed to him. There was a fine flavor in the cigarette that Sir Arthur pushed across the table.
"I think you'll do," the strange lady said with critical approval. She also dined, but all the time off light food and dainty entrees that only needed the necessity of a fork. Not once was her hand exposed. "Sir Arthur, we have found the right man. Tell him all that is necessary."
"It would be best to tell him nothing," Sir Arthur said meaningly.
"Perhaps you are right," the strange lady observed, after a moment's pause. "If he is found out, and gets into trouble, we must repudiate him."
"That is just the point," Sir Arthur went on. He rose from his chair and paced up and down the room with agitated strides. "We have suffered a great and unexpected loss. The loss is so great that unless it is repaired without delay I am absolutely ruined—ruined so hopelessly and shamefully that I could never hope to lift up my head again. Who this lady is and what connection she has with the trouble matters nothing. What you have to do is to find a certain man. To find him is quite easy. You have to locate him, to find out where he lives, to get into his house, to pry upon him, to search his belongings, and read his correspondence."
"It does not sound very congenial," Clifford said coldly.
"I admit it," Sir Arthur went on. "But, as there is a heaven above us, I swear that in doing this you are conferring a great service on humanity and preventing a deal of suffering. The man you are after is a mystery. He appears to be rich, his manners are perfect, he is wonderfully well informed, and he moves in very good society. And yet nobody has the least idea where he lives."
"That sounds very strange," Clifford murmured.
"It does, indeed. I repeat, nobody knows where he lives. He disappears at a certain time every night, and where he goes to is a mystery. It is for you to solve that mystery. But I warn you that there is great danger here. The man has his spies. He knows that I am moving against him. It is just possible that he has seen you enter this house to-night. On the other hand it may not be so, because you and I came together quite by accident. If that man really suspects you the chances are that you will disappear, and never be heard of again. You will not be the first one!"
Clifford nodded; there was no sort of fear in his heart now.
"You interest me," he said. "Pray continue. I am not going to draw back."
"Very well. Only I want to give you fair warning. I recognise the fact that nothing can be done without money, and when you leave this house presently you will do so with £500 in your pocket. It is every penny that I can spare for the present—indeed, I have no other ready money. Everything has been locked up in that which is lost, and which you have to recover. Be careful when care is needed, be lavish if the end justifies the expenditure."
"I am not likely to be extravagant," Clifford murmured.
"Very good. We are trusting you implicitly. There is only one other condition—if you get into trouble it is no use you coming to us. If you mention my name or this lady's we shall deny everything. If you fall we are not to be identified in that failure. And now are you prepared to go on?"
Clifford hesitated only for a moment. He was absolutely penniless, a fact that he had not taken the trouble to conceal from his new friends. They would, of course, understand that a portion of the £500 would go for his own needs. He had an absolutely free hand, and the chance of doing a signal service to a man ready and able to set his feet on the rungs of the ladder of fortune. On the other hand, starvation. Mandeline's blue eyes seemed to shine upon him again, and he made up his mind.
"I agree to all the terms," he said. "From time to time I am to report to you and secure your instructions. We can devise a safe way of doing that later on. Meanwhile, when am I to see this man of whom you spoke? Delay—"
"There will be no delay," the strange lady said. "You will see the man to-night. As to his name, or the name by which he goes, he is called Michel Rayne. I will point him out to you presently but you are on no account to speak to me or look at me; in fact, we are strangers. Do you understand that?"
"So far everything is perfectly plain," said Clifford.
"Then presently you are going to a great reception not very far from here. It is to Woodford House, the proprietor of which is Mr. Levi Raby, the great financier. The place will be crowded, which will be all the better for you."
"It would be better if I had an invitation," Clifford smiled, "and dress clothes. In my present garb I should create a sensation, but not of the kind I care for."
The strange lady waved her hand carelessly.
"All that is managed for you," she said. "I arranged it before dinner. Mrs. Raby is pushing into society. She therefore cultivates me. She even allows me to ask my friends to her smartest functions, spare cards for whom I have at home. By this time a packet of the latter have doubtless arrived. I fill in your name, and there you are."
"Still, it would be just as well for me to know your name," Clifford suggested.
"Oh, of course. I am Mrs. Geraldine Manton for society purposes. Please accept that, and all will be correct. At the same time, do not be too curious. You will take that card and stroll in. You will speak to your hostess, and mutter my name, and there you are. I shall be present at the proper time, and so will Michel Rayne. Was flag-wagging amongst the accomplishments you learnt in the Transvaal?"
"It was," Clifford admitted. "But why?"
"Oh, never mind, though the question is not superfluous. It is nearly ten o'clock, so the sooner you proceed to Woodford House the better."
"Provided always that you furnish me with the necessary suit of black and white," Clifford smiled.
"Pah! I had forgotten that for the moment. That also I have arranged for. A telephone message to one of the great costumiers settled that. Sir Arthur will take you up in his dressing-room, and there you will find everything. Only I should like to see you before you start. A change of dress makes a difference."
In Sir Arthur's dressing-room a great pile of clothing was laid out. The selection was a long job, but it was made at length. With his well-fitting coat, his white waistcoat, and his shining slippers, Clifford looked quite the easy man about town. A silk-lined overcoat and a soft hat completed the outfit. Marsh smiled at his looking at himself in the long looking-glass. His spirits were rising now. He was keen for the adventure. Sir Arthur regarded him with grave approval.
"Nothing could be better," he said. "You are the rich young man to the life. Still, it will be better to have all the little accessories. Take the gold cigarette case and this watch and chain, also the diamond-mounted sovereign purse. It is full of gold. Here are the notes I promised you, and a most elaborate case to put them in. As to your own wardrobe, you can come back and fetch it in the course of the night. I shall not go to bed before I have heard from you; indeed, sleep is out of the question for the present."
Clifford passed down into the dining-room again, where Mrs. Geraldine Manton greeted him with a fascinating smile of approval.
"You will do splendidly," she said. "You will meet all kinds of people in the house of my friend, Mrs. Raby. I will not fail to point out to you the man you need, but I shall do it in my own time and my own way. Now you had better go—Woodford House is the third round the corner. Here is the card."
Clifford stepped into the night, lighting a cigarette as he did so. He had always been fond of adventure, and here was one thrilling and mysterious enough for the most exacting. An hour or two before he had been plunged into the depths of despair, now he had dined, he was dressed well, and he had a large sum of money in his pocket. It would go hard if he did not grasp fortune out of this. He thought of Madeleine again, and smiled tenderly. It was too late to send her a telegram now—a fact that he regretted.
"Now for it," he muttered, as he threw away the end of his cigarette. "It will be no fault of mine if I fail to find something like a fortune in this."
