Chapter 1

WYNDHAM MARTYN
IS ALSO THE AUTHOR OF
"ANTHONY TRENT, MASTER CRIMINAL"
"ALL THE WORLD TO NOTHING"
"THE MAN OUTSIDE"

THE SECRET OF
THE SILVER CAR

FURTHER ADVENTURES OF ANTHONY
TRENT, MASTER CRIMINAL

BY
WYNDHAM MARTYN

AUTHOR OF
THE MAN OUTSIDE; ALL THE WORLD TO NOTHING;
ANTHONY TRENT, MASTER CRIMINAL; ETC.

* * * * *

* * * * *

NEW YORK
MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY
1920

COPYRIGHT, 1920
BY MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY

THEIR FATHER
DEDICATES THESE FURTHER
ADVENTURES OF ANTHONY TRENT TO
PHYLLIS AND CYNTHIA
BUT NOT WITHOUT A GUILTY FEELING THAT THERE
MUST HAVE BEEN SOMETHING
LACKING
IN THE ETHICAL TRAINING OF THESE
ESTIMABLE CHILDREN
SINCE THEY TAKE SUCH INTEREST IN THE
CAREER
OF A MASTER CRIMINAL

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE
I THE PUZZLING PASSENGER 1
II THE MAN IN THE DARK 14
III THE BEGINNING OF THE SEARCH 25
IV A LADY INTERRUPTS 63
V THE MAN WHO DENIED 80
VI FRESH FIELDS 101
VII THE SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT 119
VIII COUNT MICHÆL TEMESVAR 133
IX PAULINE 146
X THE GREATER GAME 174
XI ANTHONY PLAYS HIS HAND 186
XII SAINT ANTHONY 214
XIII DOWN TO THE SEA 236
XIV THE CABINET MEETING 266
XV ANTHONY THE TRIUMPHANT 277

CHAPTER ONE

_THE PUZZLING PASSENGER_

"Stop him," the second officer yelled, "he's going to jump overboard!"

The man who dashed past him and through a group of passengers waving
hands at friends on the deck below, was too quick for those who sought
to stay him. He balanced himself for a moment on the rail and then
jumped ten feet down to the pier.

The gangplanks had already been withdrawn and the great liner bound for
New York was too mighty a piece of momentum to pause now. Furthermore
her commander was going down the river on a favoring tide and nothing
short of a signal from the port authorities would have made him put back
for a passenger who had chosen such a singular moment for a leap into
the dark.

An hour or so later in the smoking room the disappearance was discussed
with fervor. A collar manufacturer of Troy, named Colliver, was holding
his group for the reason he had been standing by the rail when the young
man jumped and had even sought to restrain him.

"He was too quick for me," Colliver declared. "I surely thought he'd
hurt himself jumping ten feet down."

"What did he do after he jumped?" a man demanded.

"Picked himself up and looked around as if he expected to see someone.
The last I saw of him was going from group to group of people asking
something I couldn't hear."

"Very mysterious," another passenger commented. "I don't believe he was
crazy. I believe he jumped off just at the right moment--for him. I
believe we shall find he took some loot with him. The purser is making
an investigation now."

"I've got a theory," another smoker asserted. "I was just going to ask
him for a light when he began that run down the deck to the rail and
believe me he can sprint. Just as I was about to open my mouth I saw his
face suddenly change. Evidently he had seen or heard something that
frightened him."

"So he ran away from danger?" Colliver added. "That might be. I tell you
on a big boat like this we are surrounded by crooks, male and female,
and they look on us as their lawful prey. He might have been a gambler
who spotted a victim he was afraid of."

"Or a murderer," a Harvard theologian replied nervously. "I never feel
really safe on a great liner like this. We all have to take one another
on trust. I have been introduced to you gentlemen as a professor of
pastoral theology. I may be a professional murderer for all you know.
Mr. Colliver here isn't known to me personally and he may be a really
high class bank robber for all I can tell."

Mr. Colliver took the suggestion sourly.

"Everybody in Troy knows me," he replied with dignity.

"Exactly," the theologian answered. "But Troy is not on the ship's
passenger lists to any such extent as to corroborate your statement.
There may be Harvard men on board who know me by name but for all they
know I may be made up to represent Professor Sedgely so as to gain your
confidence and rob you."

"My collars encircle the necks of more men than those of any other
maker," said Colliver quoting one of his advertisements. "My name is
known everywhere. No man is perfectly dressed without my collars. I
presented a swimming pool to Troy and there isn't a man or woman in the
city but would resent any slur on me."

"My dear sir," said the professor smiling, "I am not attacking your good
name or your city's fame. I am only saying that if you were crossing
with the idea of making a killing at games of chance I should not
benefit because you assumed the name of one who ornaments the cervical
vertebræ of perfectly dressed men. I only meant that anything can take
place on a ship such as this is and that this man who escaped tonight
may have done so to avoid capture and possible imprisonment or even
death."

"The purser had a wireless sent to the company's office and no doubt
has a reply by this time," another passenger broke in.

"He is probably in prison now," Professor Sedgely remarked.

"You certainly have a cheerful mind," Colliver commented.

"I read for mental relaxation the lightest forms of fiction," the
professor answered, "and I am prepared for anything. I maintain that
every passenger on a fast ship like this is regarded as a possible
victim by the cleverest criminals in existence. For myself I have
nothing of value, being poorly paid, but our friend there who has so
finely benefitted his home city wears a diamond pin of great value.
Furthermore there is a sapphire set in platinum on his finger which
might well tempt the professional robber."

"Say," said Colliver a little uneasily, "you're observant all right.
Anything else you saw?"

"That you have a gold cigar case with initials in emeralds. I have," the
professor said modestly, "trained my powers of observation. I do it to
protect myself."

He rose from his chair and bowed a courteous goodnight to the immediate
group and then went on deck.

"I don't trust that man," said the manufacturer. "I never trust any man
on a ship who wears smoked glasses. He wanted to conceal his eyes. I'll
bet he never saw Harvard except on a picture postal. Damn it!" Colliver
cried peevishly, "Why can't a man wear a passable ring and stickpin
without it attracting the attention of other people?"

The Harvard theologian had sown seeds of suspicion. Colliver, as amiable
a manufacturer of collars as any in Troy, looked over at Myers Irving
who ran an advertising agency in New York and suspected him of being a
confidence man.

"It's a pretty good looking ring," Irving said heartily. He wished he
had one like it. Now that he knew who Colliver was he thirsted after his
account. His overtures were accepted with marked reserve and a gloom
fell upon the party until the entrance of the genial purser.

"Who was the mysterious man?" Colliver asked.

"His name was Anthony Trent," said the purser.

A man in the uniform of a captain in the United States army who had been
playing solitaire and had taken no part in this talk, looked up with
such sudden interest at the name that the purser turned to him.

"Do you know Anthony Trent?" he demanded.

"Yes," said Captain Sutton, "I do."

"Can you think of any reason why he should jump ashore just as we were
starting for the Hudson River?"

"He might have been saying goodbye to his best girl and taken no heed of
the warning to go ashore."

"That won't do," the purser declared. "All his kit is in his stateroom
and he had already seen his table steward and arranged about his seat.
He went off on the impulse of the moment and I'd like to know what that
impulse was."

"Has anyone missed anything?" Colliver asked.

"Don't know," the purser said. "Haven't heard of anything so far. I
wirelessed the office and the pier superintendent and they have lost all
trace of him. The last they heard of him was that he was seen offering a
taxicab driver double fare to drive fast."

"He saw someone on the ship he was afraid of," Colliver said with the
air of one called upon to solve a deep mystery.

The purser was determined not to let Captain Sutton get back to his
solitaire.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you more about your friend," he said
smiling, "the whole thing is so unusual that the old man wants a
thorough investigation. In confidence, is there anything fishy about
this Anthony Trent?"

"In confidence, I may tell you," Captain Sutton answered, "but my
confidence will be in the captain's cabin and not here."

"Do you think we'd say anything to anyone about it?" Colliver demanded.
He feared he was to be robbed of interesting details.

"I'm a lawyer by profession," Captain Sutton returned, "and I know how
people talk even when they mean to be silent. Anthony Trent is a friend
of mine and I shall constitute myself his counsel. He served under me in
the war, was recommended for a commission, and won the _Croix de
Guerre_. He is an American with enough money to play golf and flyfish
for trout all he wants to. He was in a hospital in the Isle of Wight for
three months after being wounded and I had a letter from him saying he
would come over on this ship. I came by Liverpool just because I wanted
to see him; and when I didn't see him at dinner I thought he had changed
his plans. I can give no reason why he should have left the boat in the
manner he did but as a lawyer I can assure the company that it is his
affair and not theirs."

The purser was skilled in the ways of human beings. He had not
straightened out difficulties for his company on half a thousand trips
across the Atlantic for nothing. He could see plainly enough that
Captain Sutton knew something about Anthony Trent that he would not tell
the captain or anyone else unless process of law compelled. There had
been a quick look of fear on his face when he realized Trent was the man
of whom the group about him had been speaking. Whether Captain Sutton
knew the reason why his friend had leapt from the ship's rail was
doubtful; but that the act had conjured up sudden fear gave the purser
food for thought.

"The company certainly does not want to bring suit against a passenger
who has paid for a high priced state room and a number of excellent
meals and refuses to benefit by them. The old man was annoyed that
everyone was talking about it at his table and he wasn't able to get off
his little crop of chestnuts as usual. He'd appreciate it if you would
tell him what you know about Mr. Trent."

"If I see him it will be as Mr. Trent's lawyer," Sutton retorted.

The purser looked at him keenly.

"So you admit," he said genially, "that this mysterious Anthony Trent
needs a defender?"

"I admit nothing of the sort," Sutton replied quickly. But he felt he
had not conducted the affair with his usual skill. "There's been a lot
of hot air talked about crimes on board ship and I'm not going to have
my friend's name linked with that sort of thing."

"Of course not," the purser agreed. "I can understand why you come to
the rescue; still there is bound to be some misunderstanding about a man
who leaves all his baggage behind and takes a desperate jump as he did."

"He saw someone on this ship he was afraid of," Colliver insisted. "It
might have been you for all I know."

"What do you mean by that?" Sutton demanded and flushed dusky red.

Colliver was amazed at the sudden heat. The purser was more interested
than ever. He would have been even more amazed if he had known that
Captain Sutton honestly believed that it was because Anthony Trent had
seen him face to face that he had escaped. The letter of which he had
spoken was non-existent. He had lied because of the man whom he had, for
the first time, claimed as his friend.

Sutton had been the officer; Trent the enlisted man and the discipline
of the service prevented a friendship that would have been possible in
other days and, now war was finished, might again become practicable.
The space of an hour was the time the officer had been with the man and
yet he was determined to fight for his interests. And he suddenly
realized that he had begun his fight by antagonizing a very shrewd
purser.

"My dear sir," the purser said gently, "I am sure you are taking this
too much to heart. Nobody is accusing your client of anything more
serious than risking a broken leg which, after all, is more his affair
than even his counsel's. Captain Kingscote will ask you a few questions
which you must understand, as a lawyer, a ship's commander ought to ask.
There is such a thing as a log and it has to be written correctly.
Tomorrow morning perhaps? You will be offered an excellent cigar and a
drink that you can't get in all the length and breadth of your native
land."

"Any time at all," Sutton answered with an effort to be as genial as the
purser. "I only resented the idle chatter that centred around a man who
fought very gallantly."

"If you mean me by that reference," Colliver said angrily, "I'd like to
say that I have as much right to talk as anyone on board."

"Certainly," said Myers Irving, "and I can't see why anyone wants to get
excited about it. It was that professor who began it. Mr. Colliver what
do you say to a little smile?"

Colliver looked at the card Irving handed to him. He did not like
advertising men as a rule but he felt this debonair head of a big agency
was an exception. He had come to the aid of big business.

"It must be the salt in the air," he confessed, "I don't mind if I do."

Left to himself Sutton closed his eyes and lived over again those
moments in France when Anthony Trent had been brought before him as
adjutant on extraordinary charges.

Once or twice he had seen Private Trent and had been vaguely reminded of
a forgotten face. It was only when Anthony Trent had been recommended
for promotion and had declined it that he remembered the name. Trent had
been the Dartmouth football captain in that historic year when Harvard
was humbled. Sutton, a graduate of ten years previously, had shouted
himself hoarse at the great run by which Trent had passed the crimson
score.

Private Trent had been chosen on very dangerous business and the
adjutant had no chance to speak to him as he had determined to do.
Anthony Trent was one of those who volunteered to clean up machine gun
nests left behind to harass the advancing troops of the Allies. He had
done so well that Captain Sutton was proud of him for the sake of the
old college in Hanover.

He remembered the shock he had when Lieutenant Devlin, a former
detective in New York and a man to whom he was not drawn, declared that
this same Anthony Trent was the most famous criminal of the day, a
master craftsman who had never been in police toils.

Sutton laughed at the very suggestion. It was absurd. Devlin's answer to
this made the soldier-lawyer less confident. Devlin said that Dr. Trent
had left his son but a few hundred dollars and a rambling mortgaged home
among New Hampshire hills. Young Trent had come to New York and settled
down to writing detective and criminal stories for the lesser magazines.
Then, suddenly, an Australian relative had died and left him a fortune.
This was a lie, Devlin declared. There was no such relation. It was done
to explain his sudden giving up of writing and living in a far better
style.

Trent owned, so the detective asserted, a beautiful camp on Kennebago
Lake in Maine, two automobiles and sundry other aids to a comfortable
existence which his writings would never have gained for him.

Still disbelieving, Captain Sutton was shown the dying depositions of an
English soldier who had been butler to a New York millionaire whose
house had been robbed. Austin, the butler, had seen Trent and assumed
him to be a friend of his employer. He had recognized him when British
and American troops were brigaded side by side and had told only Devlin
a detective who had worked on the case.

Evidence at last seemed conclusive. Devlin, dying in hospital wished for
the downfall of a man who had beaten him in three big cases. The
adjutant remembered well one case when the Dangerfield ruby worth almost
two hundred thousand dollars was taken.

Private Trent seemed quite calm. He assured his officer that these
charges were preposterous. "What else could they be?" he had asked.

"They might be the truth," Sutton had said gravely.

He remembered the visit to the hospital where Devlin lay dying but eager
to sign the testimony he had woven about his enemy. The ending of the
incident was very curious. It made him like Devlin after all. When
Devlin knew his end was come and the last rites of his church had been
administered he had given up his plans for revenge. He had looked into
the fearless eyes of the master criminal and he had seen there an
unconquerable spirit which he admired. And so, with his last effort he
had torn up the written evidence and declared that Anthony Trent was not
the man; that it was all a mistake.

Sutton remembered the relief with which he had put his hand on the
shoulder of the younger man and that he had said, "Trent, you were in
luck this time. Don't take a chance again."

After the signing of peace he had determined to look up the old athlete
and see if he could not offer him such opportunities that he could go
straight. Sutton was a man of immense wealth and had mining properties
in South America which needed supervision.

And now to find that Trent was aboard the ship and at the last moment
had risked a broken limb in order to escape. It was not likely that a
man who feared detection so much dare rely on the generosity of a man
who knew his secret. There were probably rewards for his capture which,
in the aggregate, offered immense inducement to deliver Anthony Trent
to justice. How was Trent to know that Sutton the adjutant was
financially secure enough to make the sacrifice? Undoubtedly he had seen
Sutton and made the desperate leap.

Sutton determined to safeguard his interests. The baggage for instance,
that should not be searched. There might be in it evidence as damaging
as that which the brothers of Joseph put into the younger's sack. It
would be far better to see the captain and make a friend of him. Why had
not Trent been a better reader of character and recognized that in
Captain Sutton he had a friend?

Sutton did not know that long ago Trent had seen that in the rich lawyer
there was one whom he need not fear. Few were more skilled than the
master criminal in the reading of those signs by which men reveal for a
second or so the depths of their natures.

Anthony Trent had not jumped from the rails of the big ship because he
had seen Sutton. He had no idea his old adjutant was on board. He had
not jumped ashore because of any person on the liner. He took his
reckless leap because among those who waited on the pier he heard the
voice of the one man he feared, the man he had been trying to find since
that day in France when death seemed at last to have claimed him.

CHAPTER TWO

_THE MAN IN THE DARK_

One day late in October when the Allies were moving with such speed
against the enemy Private Trent had been struck with a piece of
shrapnel. There was the recognized noise of the flying fragments and
then a sudden flaming pain in his left arm followed by black
unconsciousness.

He came back very slowly to the realization that he was not seriously
hurt. His wounded arm was bandaged. He was still rather weak and lay
back for some moments before opening his eyes. Then he opened them to
meet only a wall of unrelieved night. "I'm blind!" he thought.

Groping about him he felt dank earth, the earth he had been accustomed
to in the trenches, slimy, sweating clay. With his undamaged hand he
felt the bandages that were about his head. There was no wound near his
eyes; but that would not be necessary, for he had seen so many cases of
blindness due to the bursting of high explosives. It might be temporary
blindness or it might be permanent.

There was a great silence about him. Gone were the myriad sounds of war
that had enveloped him before his injury. Perhaps he was deaf, too. "My
God!" he groaned thinking of this new infliction and then grew a little
less miserable when he recognized the sound of his own voice. Well,
blindness was enough! Never again to see the green earth or the morning
sun stealing down the lake where his home was. At a little past thirty
to see only through the eyes of others. No more golf, no more hunting
and fishing trips, and of course no more of those taut-nerved nights
when he, a single human being, pitted his strength and intelligence
against the forces of organized society--and won. There was small
consolation in thinking that now, at all events, Anthony Trent, master
criminal would not be caught. He would go down in police history as the
most mysterious of those criminals who have set the detectives by the
heels.

A little later he told himself he would rather be caught, sentenced to a
term of life imprisonment if only he might see a tiny ribbon of blue sky
from his cell window, than condemned to this eternal blackness.

Then the miracle happened. A few yards from him came a scratching sound
and then a sudden flame. And in that moment he could see the profile of
a man bending over a cigarette. He was not blind!

"Who are you?" Anthony Trent cried not yet able to comprehend this
lifting of what he felt was a sentence imposed. "Where am I?"

The man who answered spoke with one of those cultivated English voices
which Trent had once believed to be the mark of decadence or
effeminacy, a belief the bloody fields of France had swept from him.

"Well," said the man slowly, "I really don't see that it matters much
now to anyone what my name may be."

"The only thing that matters to me," Trent cried with almost hysterical
fervor, "is that I'm not blind as I thought I was."

The answer of the unknown man was singular; but Trent, who was not far
from hysteria on account of bodily pain and the mental anguish through
which he had been, did not take note of it.

"I don't think that matters much either," the voice of the man in the
dark commented.

"Then where are we?" Trent demanded.

"There again I can't help you much," the unknown answered. "This _was_ a
common or garden dug-out."

"_Was_," Trent repeated, "What is it now?"

"A tomb," the stranger told him puffing at his cigarette. "I found you
bleeding to death and I bandaged your arm. I was knocked out myself and
your men and mine had gone on and there was never a Red Cross man or
anyone else in sight so I carried you into this dug-out. All of a sudden
some damned H. E. blocked up the opening. When the dust settled I
explored with my few matches. Our tomb is sealed up--absolutely. I've
often heard of it happening before. It looks as if a house had been
lifted up and planted right on this dug-out."

"So that's why you said it didn't matter much if I could see or not?"

"Does it?" the man asked shortly.

"Have you another match?" Trent asked presently. "I'd like to explore."

"No good," the other retorted. "I've been all round the damned place and
there isn't a chance, except that the thing may collapse and bury us."

"Then we are to starve to death without an effort?"

"We shall asphyxiate, we shan't starve. Don't you notice how heavy the
air is? Presently we shall get drowsy. Already I feel light headed and
inclined to talk."

"Then talk," Trent said, "Anything is better than sitting here and
waiting. The air is heavy; I notice it now. I suppose I'm going to be
delirious. Talk, damn you, talk. Why not tell me your name? What
difference can it make to you now? Are you afraid? Have you done things
you're ashamed of? Why let that worry you since it only proves you're
human."

"I'm not ashamed of what I've done," the other drawled, "it's my family
which persists in saying I've disgraced it."

Anthony Trent was in a strange mood. Ordinarily secretive to a degree
and fearful always of dropping a hint that might draw suspicion to his
ways of life, he found himself laughing in a good humored way that this
English soldier should imagine he must conceal his name for fear of
disgrace. Why the man was a child, a pigmy compared with Anthony Trent.
He had perhaps disobeyed an autocrat father or possibly married a chorus
girl instead of a blue blooded maiden.

"You've probably done nothing," said Trent. "It may be you were expelled
from school or university and that makes you think you are a desperate
character."

There was silence for a moment or so.

"As it happens," the unknown said, "I was expelled from Harrow and
kicked out of Trinity but it isn't for that. I'm known in the army as
Private William Smith of the 78th Battalion, City of London Regiment."

"I thought you were an officer," Trent said. Private Smith had the kind
of voice which Trent associated with the aristocracy.

"I'm just a plain private like you," Smith said, "although the lowly
rank is mine for probably far different reasons."

"I'm not so sure of that," Trent said, a trifle nettled. "I could have
had a commission if I wanted it."

"I did have one," Smith returned, "but I didn't mean what I said
offensively. I meant only that I dare not accept a commission."

Anthony Trent waited a moment before he answered.

"I'm not so sure of that," he said again.

The reasons for which Trent declined his commission and thereby endured
certain hardships not unconnected with sleeping quarters and noisy
companionship were entirely to his credit. Always with the fear of
exposure before his eyes he did not want to place odium on the status of
the American officer as he would have done had screaming headlines in
the papers spoken of the capture by police authorities of Lieutenant
Anthony Trent the cleverest of modern crooks. But he could not bring
himself to speak of this even in his present unusual mood.

"It doesn't matter now very much," Smith said laughing a little, "we
shall both be called missing and the prison camps will be searched for
us. In the end my family may revere my memory and yours call you its
chief glory."

"I haven't a family," Trent said. "I used to be sorry for it. I'm glad
now." He stopped suddenly. "Do you know," he said later, "you were
laughing just now. You're either crazy or else you must have your nerve
with you still."

"I may be crazy," returned Private Smith, "but I usually make my living
by having my nerve with me as you call it. It has been my downfall. If I
had been a good, moral child, amenable to discipline I might have
commanded a regiment instead of being a 'tommy' and I might be repenting
now. By the way you don't seem as depressed as one might expect. Why?"

"After a year of this war one doesn't easily lose the habit of laughing
at death."

"I've had four years of it," Smith said. "I was a ranker when it broke
out and saw the whole show from August 1914. On the whole what is
coming will be a rest. I don't know how they manage these things in
your country but in England when a man has been, well call it unwise,
there is always a chance of feeling a heavy hand on one's shoulder and
hearing a voice saying in one's ear, 'I arrest you in the King's name!'
Very dramatic and impressive and all that sort of thing, but wearing on
the nerves--very." Private Smith laughed gently, "I'm afraid you are
dying in rather bad company."

"We have something in common perhaps," Trent said. He grinned to himself
in the covering blackness as he said it. "Tell me, did you ever hear of
Anthony Trent?"

"Never," Private Smith returned quickly. "Sorry! I suppose I ought to
know all about him. What has he done?"

"He wrote stories of super-crookdom for one thing."

"That explains it," Smith asserted, "You see those stories rather bore
me.