Chapter 3

Here on an island they had got him. He was
weaving evidence that could be used against him by making this display
of interest in Private Smith. Captain Edgell could give testimony that
would not help his case.

"Here you are," said Edgell genially, "I've taken the liberty of calling
you an old golfing pal. I've done all I could but Colonel Langley is not
easy of approach. I'm not at all hopeful."

"It isn't really serious," Trent explained after thanking him, "but I'd
like to see him again. He did undoubtedly save my life and carried me
into safety. Quite a physical feat for one of his weight. What do you
suppose he weighs?"

"About ten stone seven," the other answered.

That was one hundred and forty-seven pounds. Trent was gradually
building up a portrait of the man he feared.

"And about five feet seven in height?" he hinted.

"That's the man," Edgell asserted. "Quite a good looking chap, too, if
you care for the type. Rather too effeminate for me although, God knows,
he is a man."

It was not easy to see Colonel Langley, D.S.O. Trent knew that county
magnates such as he was did not see everyone who desired an interview.
He stayed at a good hotel in Norwich and enclosed Captain Edgell's
letter in one of his own.

The answer came back in the third person. It was favorable and
punctiliously polite. Colonel Langley would be happy to see Mr. Anthony
Trent at eleven o'clock on a certain morning. Dereham Old Hall was a
dozen miles from Norwich, city of gardens, city of Norman cathedrals and
many quaintly named parish churches. Trent hired a motor car and drove
through the leafy Norfolk lanes.

Colonel Langley's residence was the work of Inigo Jones and a perfect
example of the Renaissance style. It stood at least a mile from the high
road. The lodge keeper telephoned to the house and Trent's driver was
permitted to drive through the deer park and pull up before the great
front doors.

The room in which Anthony Trent waited for the colonel was evidently a
sort of smoking room. Trophies of the chase adorned the walls. It was
evident Langley was a hunter of great game and had shot in all parts of
the globe from Alaska to Africa.

He was a man of six feet four in height, grizzled and wore a small
clipped military moustache. It was not a hard face, Trent noted, but
that of a man who had always been removed from pursuits or people who
wearied him. There was a sense of power in the face and that inevitable
keenness of eye which a man who commanded a regiment could not fail to
have acquired.

He bowed his visitor to a seat. He did not offer to shake hands.

"You have come," he said politely, "from my former adjutant to ask a
question concerning the regiment which he writes he could not tell you.
I can think of nothing to which this would apply. He had every thread of
the business in his hands."

"Captain Edgell could not tell me the real name of one of his men who
enlisted under the name of William Smith."

There was no change of expression on the rather cold face of the lord of
broad acres.

"And what made Captain Edgell assume I could help you, sir?"

"I don't know all the particulars but he was certain you knew his real
identity."

"If I do," Colonel Langley returned, "I shall keep that knowledge to
myself. I regret that you have had this trouble for nothing."

"William Smith," Trent told the other, "saved my life. I want to thank
him for it. Is there anything odd in that? You alone can help me so I
come to you. I want to help William Smith. I have money which I should
not have been able to enjoy but for him."

"You imagine, then, that William Smith is penniless, is that it?"

"He told me he was," Trent answered promptly. "I can offer him an
opportunity to make good money in New York."

He looked at Colonel Langley as he said it. If Smith was indeed of a
great family the idea of being offered money and a job must amuse the
one who knew his real name and estate. Sure enough a flicker of a smile
passed over the landowner's face.

"I am happy to inform you," he said, "that Mr. Smith is living at home
with his family financially secure enough not to need your aid."

"That," said Trent deliberately, "is more than you can say."

"I am not in the habit of hearing my word doubted," the older man said
acidly.

"I am not doubting it," Trent said suavely, "I mean merely to remind
you that he may need my aid although it may not be monetary aid. You
will remember that there have been passages in Mr. Smith's life which
have not been entirely creditable."

"Are you claiming to be friend or accomplice?" Langley snapped.

"Let us say friend and confidant," Trent smiled. "Perhaps he made
certain confessions to me--"

"To you also?" Langley cried.

In that moment he had said too much. During that hour when Edgell left
the private alone with his commanding officer the officer had obtained
his confidence and very likely a confession. He saw the soldier throw a
quick glance at one of those old safes which disguised themselves as
necessary articles of furniture. Trent's eyes dwelt on it no longer than
the owner's did, but he saw enough. Colonel Langley had told him plainly
that the confession was locked in the safe which looked like a black oak
sideboard on which decanters and a humidor were arranged.

"To me also," Trent repeated, "and it is because of it that I knew he
did what he did for the reason he needed more money than a younger son
could expect. Colonel Langley, I only want his real name. I want to help
him. That's why I spoke of offering him money."

"You will be glad to know," the colonel answered, "that Mr. Smith is at
present in no need of money."

"You mean," Trent said sharply, "that you will not give me his real name
and address?"

"I cannot tell you," Colonel Langley answered. "If you like I will write
and say you have called and give him the opportunity to do as he
pleases."

Trent reflected for a moment. If Smith were not already aware of his
presence in England it would be very unwise to advertise it. He was
beginning to see he had been less than cautious in calling upon Edgell
and Colonel Langley under his own name.

"I need not trouble you to do that," he said, "if you wish to conceal
his name it is no doubt your privilege and he will do well enough
without my thanks."

* * * * *

He made his chauffeur drive home at a temperate speed. The man knew all
about the Langleys and was glad to tell the affable stranger. As they
passed through the gates several carriages laden with men and some
station carts filled with baggage passed into the gravelled drive.

"Gentlemen come for the shooting," the chauffeur volunteered. "Tomorrow
is September the first when partridge shooting commences. The colonel is
a great shot and the King comes here often and the German Emperor has
shot over those turnips in the old days. This is supposed to be the best
partridge shoot in the kingdom and the birds are fine and strong this
year--not too much rain in the Spring."

"I suppose there'll be a regular banquet tonight," said Trent.

"Tomorrow night's the night," said the chauffeur grinning, "tonight
they all go to bed early so as to be up to an early breakfast and have
their shooting eyes. The colonel's terrible man if any of the guns only
wound their birds. They've got to shoot well tomorrow if they want to
come here again. I know because my uncle is one of the keepers."

The man was surprised at the tip his American passenger handed him when
they reached the Maids' Head Hotel, and charmed with his affability. He
told his fellows that Trent was a real gentleman. He did not know that
his unsolicited confidence had given the American a hint upon which he
would be quick to act.

As Trent had been driven along the Dereham Road approach to Norwich he
had seen a little cycle shop where gasoline was sold and repairs made.
The war had sent English people of moderate circumstances back to the
bicycle again and only the wealthy could keep cars or buy petrol at
seventy-five cents a gallon. In his drive he had seen several people of
seemingly good position pedalling cheerfully through the lanes. The
chauffeur had touched his hat to one and spoken of him as rector of a
nearby parish. Cycles were to be hired everywhere and the prevailing
rate seemed to be sixpence an hour or three and six for the day.

After dinner Anthony Trent found his way back to the little shop in the
Dereham Road. "The Wensum Garage" it proudly called itself. Here he said
he wished to hire a bicycle for a day. As dusk fell he was pedalling
along to Dereham Old Hall. Few people were about and those he passed
evinced no curiosity. Avoiding the main road which passed in front of
the lodge and gates by which he had entered, he hid his wheel between
two hay stacks which almost touched. Then he made his way through the
kitchen gardens to the rear of the house. It was now ten o'clock and the
servants' part of the big house seemed deserted. Already the lights in
the upper stories were evidence that some guests were retiring to rest
well before the "glorious first."

From the shelter of the rose garden he could see a half score of men and
women on the great terrace in front of the splendid house. He could see
that they were all in evening dress. In a mosquitoless country this
habit of walking up and down the long stone terraces was a common
practice after dinner. Trent came so near to the guests that he could
hear them talking. The conversation was mainly about to-morrow's
prospects. He learned there was little disease among the birds, that
they were phenomenally strong on the wing and hadn't been shot over to
any extent since 1914. Some guests deplored the fact that dancing was
taboo on this night of nights but it was the Langley tradition and they
must bend to it.

"Think of it," he heard a woman say, laughing, "lights out at twelve!
How primitive and delightful." She yawned a little. "I'm looking forward
to it; we all stay up too late."

"Good night, Duchess," he heard the man say. "Sleep well and pray I may
be in form."

"Duchess!" In the old days Anthony Trent would have thrilled at the
title for it meant invariably jewels of price and the gathering of the
very rich. But he was waiting outside the masterpiece of Inigo Jones not
for any of those precious glittering stones for which he had sacrificed
all his prospects of fame and honor but for the documents which he
believed were hidden in the iron box, that ridiculous "pete" covered
with black English oak. It was another of the "hunches" which had come
to him. He had never been more excited about any of the many jobs he had
undertaken.

As he sat among the roses waiting for time to pass he reflected that the
few failures that had been his had not been attended by any danger. He
had lost the pearls that were wont to encircle the throat of a great
opera singer because her maid had chosen an awkward hour to prosecute
her amour with a chauffeur. The diamonds of the Mexican millionaire's
lady were lost to him because the house took fire while he was examining
the combination of the safe. But they would wait. He would yet have them
both. The booty for which he had come tonight was more precious than
anything he had ever tried for. It was probably the key to safety that
he sought. Trent did not doubt that there was a document in the safe
which would enable him to hold something over the head of Private
William Smith.

He waited until twelve had struck from the stable clock and the terrace
had been deserted a half-hour. To open the doors leading from the
terrace was simple. Anthony Trent always carried with him on business
bent two strips of tool steel with a key-blade at each end. With these
two "T" and "V" patterns he could open the world's locks. A nine inch
jimmy was easy to secrete. This was of the highest quality of steel and
looked to the uninitiated very much like a chisel. But it differed from
a chisel by having at its other end two brass plates set at right angles
to one another. These could be adjusted to what angles were needed by
turning countersunk screw bolts. It was the ideal tool for yale spring
locks.

He did not need it here. The doors opened at will with the "V" pattern
skeleton key. Great oriental rugs deadened sound and the boards of the
house were old, seasoned and silent. He found his way to the room in
which the colonel had received him with little difficulty. First of all
he opened the window and saw that he could spring clear out of it at a
bound and land in a bed of flowers only three feet below. Then he came
to the antiquated safe. The combinations were ridiculously easy. His
trained ear caught the faint sounds as he turned the lever easily. These
told him exactly the secret of the combination. It was not two minutes
work to open the doors. An inner sheeting of steel confronted him but
was opened by his jimmy. It was not safe to turn on the electric lights.
In so big an establishment with so many outdoor servants there might be
many to remark an unexpected illumination. His little torch showed him
all he wanted to know.

Colonel Langley had the soldiers' neatness. There were few valuables in
the safe. They would be presumably in his banker's strong boxes. There
were packets of letters tied up and one long envelope. On it was
inscribed, "Not to be Opened. In case of my death this must be destroyed
by my heir, Reginald Langley." On the envelope was the date, July 27,
1918, and the single word, "Ladigny."

Ladigny was a little village in France forever memorable by the heroic
stand of the City of London regiment when it lost so terribly and
refused to retreat. Trent opened the envelope in such a way that no
trace of the operation was seen. Then for ten minutes he read steadily.
Almost a half hour was expended in copying part of it in a note book.
Then the envelope was resealed and the safe closed. As he had worn
gloves there was no fear of incriminating finger prints. He did not
think anyone would notice that a jimmy had been used. Then he closed the
safe and its outer doors of black oak.

He permitted himself the luxury of a cigarette. He had done a good
night's work. If Private William Smith had sufficient evidence to place
Anthony Trent behind the bars the master criminal had sufficient certain
knowledge now to shut the mouth of the man he was tracking. Who would
have thought a man reared in such a family would have fallen so low! It
is a human failure to make comparisons whereby others invariably shine
with a very weak light, but Anthony Trent was saying no more than the
truth when he told himself that with Smith's opportunities he would
never have taken to his present calling.

With Smith's opportunities he would be sitting in a big room like this
and sitting in it without fear of interruption. The strain of the last
few days had not been agreeable and this strain must grow in intensity
as he grew older. It was always in such peaceful surroundings as these
that Trent felt the bitterness of crime even when successful.

He stopped suddenly short in his musing and crushed the bright tip of
his cigarette into blackness beneath his foot. Someone was fumbling with
the doorhandle, very quietly as though anxious not to disturb him. He
cursed the carelessness that had allowed him to leave it unlocked. He
had not behaved in a professional way at all. Very cautiously he rose to
his feet, meaning to leave by the open window when the door opened.
Trent sank back into the shadow of the big chair. To make a dash for the
window would mean certain detection. To stay motionless might mean he
could escape later. Similar immobility had saved him ere this.

The intruder closed the door and his sharp ears told him it was locked.
Then a soft-treading form moved slowly through the dim light and closed
the window, shut off his avenue of escape, and pulled across it two
curtains which shut out all light. There were two other high windows in
the room and across each one was pulled the light-excluding curtains.
Then there was a click and the room sprang into brilliance.

Anthony Trent saw the intruder at the same moment the intruder stared
into his face.

It was a girl in evening dress, a beautiful girl with chestnut hair and
a delicious profile. She wore an elaborate evening gown of a delicate
blue and carried in her hand a fan made of a single long ostrich plume.
Her hair was elaborately coiffured. She was, in fine, a woman of the
_beau monde_, a fitting guest in such a house as this. But what was she
doing in this room at one o'clock at night when the rest of the
household had long been abed?

The girl saw a slender but strongly built man of something over thirty
with a pale, clean-shaven face, shrewd almost hard eyes and a masterful
nose. He looked like a rising English barrister certain at some time to
be a judge or at the least a King's Counsel. He was dressed in a well
cut suit of dark blue with a pin stripe. He wore brown shoes and silk
socks. She noted he had long slender hands perfectly kept.

He rose to his feet and smiled at her a little quizzically.

"Really," he said, "you almost frightened me. I was sitting in the dark
making plans for the glorious 'first,' which has been here almost an
hour, when I heard you trying to open the door."

There was no doubt in her mind but that he was one of the guests who had
arrived from London on the late train and had not changed to evening
dress. There was a train due at Thorpe station at half past ten and the
motor trip would take forty minutes more.

"I had no idea anyone was here," she said truthfully, "or I shouldn't
have come. You see one can't sleep early even if one is sent to bed as
we all were tonight." She glanced at the clock. "I'm not shooting
tomorrow but if you are why don't you turn in? You know Colonel Langley
is a fearful martinet where the shooting is concerned and insists that
every bird is killed cleanly."

It was plain that she wished to get rid of him. Trent was frankly
puzzled. The girl had shown no fear or nervousness. Ordinarily the
conventions would have had their innings and she would have hesitated at
the possibility of being found alone with a good looking man at such an
hour. She would have excused herself and left him in the belief that he
was a guest she would meet tomorrow at dinner and dance with after it.
But she showed no such intention. He knew enough about women to see that
she had no intention of waiting for the pleasure of a friendly chat. She
had rather a haughty type of face and spoke with that quick imperious
manner which he had observed in British women of rank or social
importance.

"I have neuralgia," he said amiably, "and I prefer to sit here than go
to bed. Perhaps you left something here? Can I help you to find it?"

"I came for a book. Colonel Langley was talking about some African
hunting story your Mr. Roosevelt wrote."

So she knew him for an American. Well, she would find the American not
easily to be gulled. There came to him the memory of another night in
Fifth Avenue when a woman who seemed to be of fashion and position had
so completely fooled him and had been left in possession of a large sum
of currency.

He moved toward a bookcase in which were a collection of books on
fishing and shooting.

"'African Game Trails,'" he said, "here it is."

There was no doubt in his mind that the look she threw at him was not
one of complete amiability. She wanted him to go. He asked himself why.
It would have been easy for her to go and leave him, and the best way
out of the difficulty, unless she had come for one specific purpose. If
she had come for something concealed in the room and needed it badly
enough she would try and wait until he went. Trent was certain she had
no suspicion as to his own mission. In so big a house as Dereham Old
Hall fifty guests could be entertained easily and it was unlikely she
should know even half of them. He had observed that it was not the
fashion in England to introduce indiscriminately as in his own country.
Guests were introduced to their immediate neighbors; but that appalling
custom whereby one unfortunate is expected to memorize the names of all
present at a gulp was not popular. Because she did not know him would
not lead to suspicion. He was in no danger. Even a servant coming in
would see in him only a friend of his employer.

"Thank you," she said, taking the book with an appearance of interest.
"Do you know I never thought to see Americans at Dereham Old Hall with
the single exception of Reginald's old friend Conington Warren. Colonel
Langley is so conservative but the war has broadened everyone hasn't it
and stupid national prejudices are breaking down."

"Conington Warren here?" he asked.

"He lives in England now," she told him, "his physicians warned him that
prohibition would kill him so they simply prescribed a country where he
could still take this cocktail. You know him of course?"

"A little," he said; she wondered why he smiled so curiously. He
wondered what this beautiful girl would say if she knew it was at
Conington Warren's mansion in Fifth avenue that he had started his
career as a criminal. So that great sportsman, owner of thoroughbreds
and undeniable shot, was in this very house! After all it was not a
strange coincidence. The well known Americans who love horse and hound
with the passion of the true sportsman are to be seen in the great
houses of England more readily than the mushroom financier.

"What other people are there here you know?" she demanded.

"I can't tell you till tomorrow," he returned, "I only said a word or
two to the Duchess. She deplored having to go to bed so early and was
disappointed at not being able to dance."

"She is one of my dearest friends," the girl answered.

"Which means you see her every fault," he laughed.

"Isn't your neuralgia better?" she asked after a pause.

Anthony Trent shook his head.

"I shan't sleep all night," he said despondently. "Going to bed would
only make it worse."

She was obviously put out at this statement.

"Then you'll stop here all night?"

"At all events until it gets light. It's only two o'clock now. If you
are keen on big game hunting you won't sleep if you begin that book."

"You'll frighten the servants in the morning," she said later.

"I'll tip them into confidence," he assured her.

The girl was growing nervous. There were a hundred symptoms from the
tapping of her little feet on the rug to the fidgeting with the book and
the meaningless play with her fan. She started when a distant dog bayed
the moon and dropped her book. It rolled under a table and Trent picked
it up. But when he handed it back to her there was an air of excitement
about him, an atmosphere of triumph which puzzled her.

"You look as though you enjoyed hunting for books under tables."

"I enjoy any hunting when I get a reward for my trouble."

"And what did you find?" she asked "a little mouse under the chair?"

"I found a key," he said.

"Someone must have dropped it," she said idly.

"Not a door key," he returned, "but the key to a mystery. Being a woman
you are interested in mysteries that have a beautiful society girl as
their heroine of course?"

"I really must disappoint you," she said rather coldly, "and I don't
quite understand why you are not quick to take the many hints I have
dropped. Can't you see I want to sit here alone and think? Your own room
will be just as comfortably furnished. In a sense this is a sort of
second home to me. Mrs. Langley and I are related and this room is an
old and favorite haunt when I'm depressed. Is it asking very much that
you leave me here alone?"

"Under ordinary conditions no," he said suavely.

"These are ordinary conditions," she persisted.

"I'm not sure," he retorted. "Tell me this if you dare. Why have you the
combination to a safe written on a little piece of mauve paper and
concealed in the book on your lap?"

She turned very pale and the look she gave him turned his suspicion into
a desire to protect her. The woman of the world air dropped from her and
she looked a frightened pathetic and extraordinarily lovely child.

"What shall I do?" she cried helplessly. "You are a detective?"

"Not yet," he said smiling, "although later I intend to be. But I'm not
here even as a great amateur. Consider me merely a notoriously good shot
suffering equally from neuralgia and curiosity. You have the combination
of a safe concealed in this room and you want me to go to bed so that
you may take out wads of bank notes and pay your bridge debts. Is that
right so far?"

"You are absolutely wrong," she cried with spirit. "I need no money and
have no debts. There are no jewels in the safe."

"Letters of course," he said easily.

She did not speak for a moment. He could see she was wondering what she
dare tell him. She could not guess that he knew of the three packages of
letters each tied with green ribbon. It was, he supposed, the old story
of compromising letters. Innocent enough, but letters that would spell
evil tidings to the jealous fiancé. They might have been written to
Colonel Langley. Men of that heroic stamp often appealed to sentimental
school girls and the colonel was undeniably handsome in his cold
superior way. His heart ached for her. She was suffering. What had
seemed so easy was now become a task of the greatest difficulty.

"Yes," she said deliberately, "letters. Letters I must have."

"Do you suppose I can stand by and see my host robbed?"

"If you have any generosity about you you can in this instance. I only
want to destroy one letter because if it should ever be discovered it
will hurt the man I love most in the world."

Anthony Trent groaned. He had guessed aright. There was some man of her
own class and station who did not love her well enough to overlook some
little silly affectionate note sent to the _beau sabreur_ Langley
perhaps a half dozen years before. It was a rotten thing to keep such
letters. He looked at the girl again and cursed his luck that she was
already engaged. Then he sighed and remembered that even were she free
it could never be his lot to marry unless he confessed all. And he knew
that to a woman of the type he wanted to marry this confession would
mean the end of confidence the beginning of despair.

"I shall not stop you," he said.

She looked at him eagerly.

"And you'll never tell?"

"Not if they put me through the third degree."

"But ... oughtn't you to tell?" she asked.

"Of course," he admitted, "but I won't. I can see you are wondering why.
I'll tell you. I've been in just such a position--and I did what you are
going to do."

Without another word she went swiftly to the concealed safe and began to
manipulate the lock. For five minutes she tried and then turned to him
miserably.

"It won't open," she wailed.

"I'll have a shot at it," he said gaily, and went down on his knees by
her side. He soon found out why it remained immovable. It was an old
combination. She did not understand his moves as he went through the
same procedure which had opened it before. She only saw that the doors
swung back. She did not see him pry the iron sheathing back with the
jimmy. It was miraculously easy.

Then he crossed the room to his chair and lighted another cigarette.