As Forsyth approached he hoped every moment to hear those parrot-like tones order the light to be cut off, but this time no such welcome sound fell upon his ears. He had to advance quite close with the full radiance of the lamp shining on him. The light, he soon perceived, had been retained for the purpose of examining the packet, which Ziegler s.n.a.t.c.hed from him with impatient vehemence; and suddenly Forsyth was confronted with a situation not wholly unforeseen, but which he had hoped to avoid in the haste of the gang to make off with their plunder. Not content with a scrutiny of the carefully taped and sealed dummy package, Ziegler was about to undo the fastenings and look at the contents, which consisted of nothing more valuable than tissue paper.

It seemed an age while the lithe white fingers broke the seals and disarranged the tape, and Forsyth steadied himself for the inevitable discovery. He was not prepared to lose his life at the hands of this murderous crew without a fight for it, five to one though they were; and it occurred to him that at the first sign of violence his best plan would be to smash the electric lamp with a well-directed kick, and then try and elude them in the dark. Ziegler's face was in shadow, the miscreant holding the lamp being behind him; but Forsyth saw at last, by the swift upward jerk of the arch-robber's head, that the worthlessness of the bundle was known to him. It was probable, too, from the prolonged silent stare with which he gazed and gazed at the Duke's counterfeit, that the latter's ident.i.ty was no longer a secret.

With quite a natural movement Forsyth edged a little nearer to the man with the lamp, and the movement seemed to break the spell which held Ziegler speechless. The chief turned abruptly to his followers.

"I must have a word with this gentleman-with the Duke-alone," he squeaked. "Go out into the garden and await close outside-within call.

Here, I will keep the lamp." Forsyth noticed that the well-shaped hand with which he grasped the contrivance was shaking violently-so violently, that the ray with which he guided his four subordinates through the groined arches to the door wavered like a will-o'-the-wisp.

He waited till the last one had filed out before he turned again to the man who had baffled him.

"Well, Mr. Forsyth?" he piped, and the high-pitched note quivered and trembled as the lamp-ray had done.

"Well, sir?" Forsyth repeated, in blank amazement at the sparing of his life, for unless some hidden treachery beyond his fathoming was afoot, he could not doubt that it was spared. He was more than a physical match for the aged evil-doer in front of him, and before the others could be recalled he could make good his retreat into the house by the way he had come. The quiet acceptance of defeat by the bloodthirsty old schemer was a puzzle beyond solution, if it was not a veil for some further villainy.

"You have beaten me, Mr. Forsyth-you and General Sadgrove," Ziegler went on. "I don't suppose it's of any use my offering you a bribe to bring me back the package you have obtained so smartly? I would make it a very large one."

"Not the slightest use," Forsyth answered, almost laughing, yet more than ever puzzled by the _navete_ of the question. "I have been at considerable pains to deprive you of your bogus bonds, and it is hardly likely, Mr. Ziegler, that I am going to restore your power over the Duke of Beaumanoir. He is a brave man, and doesn't fear death. You can't hurt him that way; but with these forgeries in your possession you might make some sort of a story good against him. Without them, anything you could say would be an idle tale."

"That is not the point, believe me, Mr. Forsyth," the shrill voice quavered almost pleadingly. "The contents of that package took three of my most skilled colleagues months to prepare. They are proud of their work-love those forged bonds as if they were their children. To their pride in their work I should owe my life, if you would give them back to me."

Forsyth could hardly believe his ears. Could this tremulous dotard be the redoubtable master of crime whom he and his uncle had been fighting throughout the last crowded week? "I really don't see how your not particularly valuable life can depend on your possession of a lot of bogus bonds," he said, with genuine curiosity. The appeal to his pity filled him with vague uneasiness, the alleged reason for it being so utterly absurd. Yet Ziegler was ready with an explanation, more or less plausible.

"My a.s.sociates will kill me for being duped out of their handiwork," he answered, glancing fearfully to the garden entrance. "They would perhaps pardon the miscarriage of the main scheme, but to have parted with material which might yet have been turned to account will seal my doom-that, and having allowed you to survive your triumph over us."

Forsyth saw now-or thought he saw-why the murderous crew had been ordered off in ignorance of the miscarriage. It was to enable Ziegler to make this desperate appeal for the rest.i.tution of the bogus bonds, so that he might "save his face" with his comrades. It would be ample excuse in their eyes-flatter their vanity, as their tottering chief had hinted-if he had himself been deceived by the fabricated securities. But they had seen him examine the parcel; they would know that he had made the discovery on the spot, and yet had not decreed instant death to their successful opponent. One flaw in this chain of reasoning Forsyth, himself no casuist, overlooked. It did not occur to him that the old pract.i.tioner with the white beard and the squeaky voice could have put himself right with his companions if he had hounded them on to him the moment he knew he was fingering tissue-paper and not United States Treasury bonds, good, bad, or indifferent.

"Well, Mr. Clinton Ziegler," said Forsyth, eager now to have done with the matter in the only possible way, "your appeal is dismissed with costs-on the higher scale. What does it matter to me what happens to you? If you had had your way you would have earned a legal hanging four times in the last week. If your friends save the common hangman the trouble, so much the better for all concerned, especially as they would thereby get themselves hanged also."

"Nothing will move you?"

"Absolutely nothing; and now I'll trouble you to clear off the premises if you and your gentlemen outside don't want to be treated as ordinary burglars."

"What if I call them back and have you strangled?"

With the way of escape open behind him Forsyth laughed at the futile threat, and to the group outside in the Dutch garden it must have sounded like a friendly laugh of mutual satisfaction and farewell, for he gently pushed the old man before him to the garden door and shut it on him. Then, having carefully shot the heavy bolts, he groped his way back to the stone steps leading up into the house, triumphant, yet not wholly convinced. The ignominious collapse of Mr. Clinton Ziegler was almost too good to be true, and he was painfully conscious that such an astute antagonist was not likely to have thrown all his cards on to the table.

The fact, however, remained that the schemers had been deprived of their spurious bonds, without which their carefully planned design to obtain possession of the genuine ones fell to the ground.

"And their blood-feud against the poor chap will surely cease, now that there is no crime, past or contemplated, for which he can denounce them," Forsyth comforted himself as he stepped from the door at the head of the stone stairs and hastened along the dimly lit corridor, limping no longer. His destination was the smoking-room, where he guessed that the General would be eagerly awaiting news.

CHAPTER XX-_In the Muniment Room_

While Alec Forsyth was engaged in showing Ziegler out of the crypt, the Duke of Beaumanoir, in happy ignorance of the perilous effort his friend was making for him, sat in the dark muniment room, still as a cat, with his eyes on the door. He had drawn one of the oak chairs close to the safe in which Senator Sherman's genuine bonds reposed. He had established himself on guard, in case, trickery having failed, violent methods should be adopted at the last moment to obtain the huge plunder.

He thought it improbable that, with General Sadgrove in the house and Azimoolah somewhere loose around it, any of the gang would break in unseen, still less that they would reach the muniment room. He sincerely hoped that the vigilance of those trained watch-dogs would prevail, for, though he was prepared to atone for his folly by defending the safe at the cost of his life, if need be, he did not see how that could be done without opening up the scandal he had gone through so much to avoid. He had bought the safe, had met the Senator at Liverpool, and now, unknown to anyone, was keeping his lonely vigil in the firm determination that, at all hazards, the bonds should reach the Bank of England in safety; but there was a dread in his heart lest the tell-tale emergency he was providing against should arise.

For here it becomes necessary to say that the letter sent to Ziegler in London five days before, and purporting to convey the Duke's submission and request for instructions, which were called for by Alec Forsyth, was not written by the Duke at all, or even with his cognizance. It had been the joint production of General Sadgrove and Forsyth, with an eye to immediate immunity for the Duke from further murderous attacks, and to the enactment of some such dangerous comedy as had just been played in the crypt. Though when that deceptive missive was penned, its authors expected, in varying degrees, as will presently be seen, tragedy rather than comedy. And he who by right of youth and friendship necessarily took the greater risk was the one who, not being fully informed by his uncle, had most cause for apprehension from the masquerade.

But Beaumanoir, sitting in the dark with his Smith and Wesson at full c.o.c.k amid the archives of the house he was concerned to preserve stainless, was aware of none of these tortuous dealings. Had his zeal allowed him to indulge in the luxury of a light, he might have whiled away the time by perusing some of the musty chronicles around him, and have so drawn comfort from the knowledge that if his misdeed was published with the usual tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs in every paper in the kingdom, he would still compare favorably with some of his race who had gone before.

So far he had never stolen poor men's land under the protection of the Commons Enclosure Act, or appropriated tenants' improvements to his own enrichment.

True, it was a dirty trick he had put his hand to-a dirty trick in dirty company-and he hated himself for it to the full. But he had been a denizen of another world when Ziegler's emissary had annexed him, body and soul, as plain Charles Hanbury, in the Bowery saloon. He remembered that world now with a horror and a loathing greater, if possible, than when he had endured it-the sordid life in the five-dollar boarding-house, the lunch of tough sandwiches of Texas beef which had bulged his pockets on the way to his duties in the big dry goods store, the insolence of his Irish-American and German fellow-workers because of his English speech. And the haughty salesladies who had drawn their skirts from him as they squeezed past the tame detective at the time-keeper's box-sitting there in the dark muniment room, even his present trouble could not check a smile at thinking what those damsels would have done if told that he had been about to become a duke within the month.

Yes, it had been a dirty trick that he had undertaken to escape all this, but somehow the thing had not seemed so bad when he was unacquainted with the persons interested. Just as old-time smugglers persuaded themselves that there was no dishonesty in defrauding the state, so in the same light he had regarded the spoliation of a big corporation like the Bank of England or the United States Treasury, whichever would have been the ultimate loser when the lawyers had settled the matter. He would never have gone into the business, even in his despairing exile, if he had not looked upon it as a breach of honesty which no single individual would be an appreciable loser. He made no excuses for himself on this score, but merely a.n.a.lyzed his state of mind philosophically, by no means salving his conscience because he had dropped the affair the moment individualities had become involved, or laying claim to any merit for a repentance sustained at such imminent peril.

"Whatever is the upshot of it all I can never be too thankful that I came over in the same ship with the Shermans," he muttered, "and for being brought up with a round turn by the knowledge that the one to bear the brunt of my iniquity would have been Leonie's father. Why, the excellent Senator might have been suspected of having stolen the bonds himself. Funny that that view didn't occur to me till I knew the people."

The same grat.i.tude had filled his simple soul twenty times during the last week, even when his enemies had pressed him most sorely; but it recurred with redoubled force now that he was within sight of the end.

By noon on the morrow the Senator would have safely housed the securities at the Bank, and then his own responsibility would cease.

Ziegler could kill him then, and welcome, if he still thought it worth while, though the chief of the organization was not, he imagined, the sort of person to waste time and energy on a purely sentimental revenge.

If Ziegler carried on the feud after the bonds were safe from him it would be, as before, to secure silence about the attempt, and he could fling no stigma on the family name without divulging details that would incriminate his gang. And the family name was all that mattered.

Beaumanoir had just rounded off his forecast in this satisfactory manner when he was suddenly startled back into the present by a faint sound far down the corridor on which the muniment room ab.u.t.ted. He knew perfectly well what the sound was-the "scroop" of the spring-driven swivel-roller that automatically closed a baize door shutting off the servants'

premises. He had half risen from his chair when another sound-the tinkle of a pebble cast against the window from outside-distracted his attention; but disregarding it in favor of the more pressing emergency, he made haste towards the door of the room.

The room was at the extreme end of the corridor, looking along it lengthwise, and it was not therefore necessary for the Duke to disclose himself at the door, which he had purposely left partially open, in order to reconnoiter. Standing in the darkness a few feet from the door, he was able to see who was coming, and the sight sent a thrill of despair to his heart. All his pleasant antic.i.p.ations of oblivion for his transgression were rudely shattered, for the old man who, white-bearded and with cat-like tread, came along the pa.s.sage was Ziegler himself.

Another figure was dimly discerned close behind, but of that the Duke took no heed. His eyes were riveted on the one in front-on the evil man who had the power to change his destiny. There was something curiously fantastic, something unreal, in the aged miscreant gliding towards him, framed in the gaping darkness of the doorway.

The opening into a branch pa.s.sage, leading to another part of the mansion, lay between Ziegler and the muniment room, and there was a bare chance that he might turn in that direction. In reality he had to advance but a few steps before the point could be settled, but it seemed a whole aeon to the Duke, and, to add to the tension of his nerves, another pebble struck the window. All hope of being able to preserve his secret had fled now, and Beaumanoir strove to concentrate his reeling brain on how best to summon a.s.sistance and ward off an attack on the safe. If only he knew who that was throwing up stones from outside-whether friend or foe-he could decide whether to run to the window and open it or leave it alone. He dared not act in ignorance, possibly to admit a third adversary. The window was ten feet from the ground, but the wall was covered with gnarled ivy stems up which an active man could readily climb.

While he was hesitating the matter was arranged for him. There was no time to reach the window, for Ziegler pa.s.sed the branch corridor without as much as looking at it, and was coming straight on to the muniment room. Beaumanoir raised his revolver, but lowered it again, incapable of shooting a fellow-creature in cold blood, and also fascinated by a horrible curiosity to learn the intruder's intention. He could not as yet be absolutely certain that Ziegler knew that the bonds were in the safe. He would wait till it was attacked before he made a counter-move.

In this mind he slipped behind a huge oak press laden with expired leases, and had hardly ensconced himself when Ziegler entered the room, followed, to Beaumanoir's surprise, by a woman, whom he did not recognize, in the faint light diffused from the corridor, as Rosa, Mrs.

Talmage Eglinton's French maid. The shadowy figures-that of the frail old man and of the trim soubrette-stood motionless and silent just within the doorway, evidently mastering the landmarks of the room. Then, at a whisper from Ziegler, the maid glided with a nod of comprehension to the nearest window, and was busy with the hasp when the rattle of still another pebble on the gla.s.s accelerated her movements. She swung the cas.e.m.e.nt outwards, and in a m.u.f.fled voice called down:

"'Tis ze right room. You are to come oop."

A rustling noise, as of foliage shaken, rising from below warned the Duke that if he waited longer he might be beset by a horde of a.s.sailants. It spurred him to instant action. Set in the wall close to his place of concealment was the switch of the electric light, and stretching out his left hand he turned it on, at the same time stepping forward and covering Ziegler with his pistol. The old man blinked at him in the sudden glow, and then, quietly turning, shut the door. His object must have been to prevent his voice penetrating into the house, for he croaked out to the Frenchwoman by the window the petulant order:

"Tell Benzon to hurry."

The maid, relaxing the venomous glare with which she was regarding Beaumanoir, put out her head and obeyed. A renewal of the rustling and the sound of heavy breathing told her that her request had been heard, and drew a harsh laugh from Ziegler. Fixing the Duke with a cruel gaze, he remarked calmly, in his thin falsetto:

"The champion safe-cracksman of America will be here in a moment. Your Grace will have the opportunity of seeing a very pretty piece of work if you care to remain till I have exchanged this package for the one inside. You are not going to be fool enough to use that pistol and give yourself away at this stage, and if you were, my friend Benzon would be equal to the occasion." And holding up the parcel of tissue paper which he had received from Forsyth in the crypt, he shook it mockingly at the Duke.

But in so doing he reckoned literally without his host. With a spring that wrenched his lame foot painfully Beaumanoir leaped upon him, and, crushing the white beard to a throat that somehow seemed less scraggy than might have been expected, dragged him to the door and contrived to get it open with his left hand. So struggling, the pair stumbled into the corridor, and Beaumanoir was about to shout l.u.s.tily for help, when his voice dwindled into a panting:

"Thank G.o.d you've come! I've got this one, but there is a woman in there, and-and others are coming in through the window."

For in the corridor, hurrying towards him, were General Sadgrove, Senator Sherman, and Alec Forsyth, each with revolvers in their hands, while Sybil Hanbury brought up the rear, looking as if she resented that position. In the presence of this formidable phalanx Beaumanoir felt his captive wilt in his grasp, and indeed he himself was swept back by it, still holding on, into the muniment room, where the woman Rosa was in the act of retreating from the window. The General took command quite naturally, bidding Forsyth guard the door, while he himself advanced to the window, very stern and upright, and muttering as he went:

"What can Azimoolah have been about? He must be past his work."

But the words were hardly spoken when the subject of his censure leaped in through the window, drawing his breath quickly, but not otherwise inconvenienced by a limp bundle of humanity which he carried over his shoulder, and now proceeded to dump like a sack on the floor. After securing the window, the Pathan turned and gravely saluted the General.