style="font-size:15px;"> I had the cabin to myself, which was pleasant, and I spent most of the day stretched out in my bunk. Oh, how I longed every hour for the terribly boring voyage to come to an end!
It was a lovely morning when at last we steamed into the estuary of the Seine, and I shall never forget how beautiful the river and its banks looked as I peered out through my port-hole and we crept up towards Rouen. My meals had all been served in my cabin during the voyage, as I could not well have taken the suit-case with me into the saloon.
Now I felt like a prisoner about to be released.
Mr. Rayne had told me to stop at the post-office in Rouen on my way from the boat to Paris, as I might, he said, find a letter or a telegram awaiting me. I had managed to pass the suit-case through the Customs, and now my heart beat faster as a letter was handed to me, for I recognized Lola’s handwriting; I had seen it only once before – that was on a letter she had asked me to post for her.
I hurriedly tore open the envelope, and this was what I read:
“Private. I have suspicion that the suit-case you have you should get rid of at once. Destroy this!”
Undated and unsigned, the letter bore no address. At once thoughts and conjectures of all sorts came crowding into my mind. Could it be that the suit-case contained stolen jewelry and not documents?
Instantly I guessed why Rayne had sent me to Paris with it by that roundabout route. He must either himself be the thief, I concluded, or an accomplice in the theft, and by placing the stolen property in my charge and smuggling it out of England by a circuitous route…
One reflection led quickly to another. Paul, the valet, no doubt knew about his master’s private life – possibly was in his confidence. And if Rayne had committed the robbery he must be a professional crook. In which case, should the whereabouts of the stolen property be discovered, I should be arrested as an accessory to the crime! Clearly I had no time to lose if I wanted to safeguard myself. Even now the police, with their wonderful acumen, might be on my track!
I reached Paris at last, and as my taxi swung round from the Place Jeanne d’Arc into the Rue de Rivoli I began to feel extremely nervous.
In reply to my inquiry at the bureau of the smart Hôtel Ombrone I was told that I could be given a bed. Monsieur Duperré? Ah, monsieur had just gone out, but would be back soon, most likely.
I had been given the key of my room, and was about to enter the lift, when I noticed seated on a settee in the vestibule a well-dressed woman whose face seemed familiar. And then in a flash I recognized the lady who had been at Overstow Hall on the day I had arrived there!
She did not recognize me, or I concluded she did not, and naturally it was no business of mine to make any sign of recognition.
I had been in my room, I suppose, about two hours when the telephone bell rang.
“That Mr. Hargreave? The bureau speaking. Monsieur Duperré has come in and is coming up to you now.”
A minute later somebody knocked, and I called “Come in!” Then, to my amazement, who should enter but my old company commander in France in the early days of the war – Captain Vincent Deinhard, who later in the war had been court-martialed for misappropriating canteen funds and been subsequently cashiered! Altogether his Army record had been an exceedingly bad one.
Instantly I remembered the voice. It was Deinhard I had heard in conversation with Rayne at Overstow Hall!
He stood stock-still, staring at me.
“Why, Hargreave!” he exclaimed at last. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“I am Mr. Rayne’s chauffeur and general servant now, captain,” I replied. “Mr. Rayne told me to inquire on my arrival here for Monsieur Duperré and hand him that suit-case,” and I pointed to it.
He glanced quickly at the door, to make sure that it was shut, then, looking at me oddly, he said in a low voice:
“I am Duperré, Hargreave. You must forget that my name was ever anything else – I got myself into trouble in the Army, you remember – and you must forget that too – and that we have ever met before. So you are his new chauffeur, eh?” he went on, now talking naturally. “It never occurred to me that ‘Hargreave,’ the new chauffeur, would turn out to be the Hargreave who served under me for two years!” and he laughed dryly.
Then, without a word, he went over to the suit-case and picked it up.
“Come along to my room,” he said.
CHAPTER II
ROOM NUMBER 88
I accompanied him along the corridor to a private sitting-room at the end, numbered 88, and adjoining which was a bedroom. There he placed the suit-case upon the table, and taking a piece of paper scribbled a receipt.
“Better post that on to Rayne at once,” he suggested. “My wife will be here in a moment. We’ll have lunch later on.”
All that had already happened had so astonished me that I was only slightly surprised at finding a few moments later that the lady I had seen at Overstow Hall, and again a couple of hours before in the vestibule of the hotel, was Duperré’s wife. He must, I think, have told her that we had met before, for she seemed in no way astonished at Mr. Rayne’s chauffeur being presented to her.
I found her a pleasant woman, well-read, well-educated and widely travelled. She was, too, an excellent conversationalist. And yet, all the time we were talking, I could not help thinking of Lola, and wondering why Duperré’s wife should be in such evidence at Overstow Hall, indeed, apparently in authority there, also why Lola seemed to be so afraid of her.
Half an hour later I posted the receipt to Rayne, and later we all three lunched together in the restaurant. We took our coffee upstairs in the private room, when Duperré said, à propos of nothing, suddenly looking across at his wife:
“Hargreave may be of great use to us, Hylda.” Then, addressing me again, he said, lowering his voice and glancing at the door:
“In becoming associated with ‘The Golden Face,’ Hargreave, you are more fortunate than you may think. He’s a man who can, and who will, if he likes, help you enormously in all sorts of ways – you will find that you are more to him than a mere chauffeur. In fact, we can both help you, that is, if you fall in with our plans. Our only stipulation will be that you do what we tell you —without asking any questions. You understand – eh?”
“I suppose,” I said, smiling, “that by ‘The Golden Face’ you mean Mr. Rayne?”
“Yes. He’s called ‘Golden Face’ by his intimates. I forgot you didn’t know. He got the nick-name through going to the Bal des Quatre Arts, here in Paris, wearing a half-mask made of beaten gold.”
By that time I had become convinced that both Rayne and Duperré were men with whom I should have to deal with the utmost circumspection.
The only person I had met since I had engaged myself to Rayne in whom I could, I felt, place implicit confidence, was Lola.
When we had finished our coffee, Duperré excused himself, saying that he had some letters to write, and suggested that his wife should accompany me for a taxi drive in the Bois. This struck us both as a pleasant manner in which to spend the afternoon, therefore Madame retired to her room,
