My Strangest Case, Guy Newell Boothby [short books for teens .txt] 📗

few hours? I should present a sorry picture if my clients were to accept your generous offer, and I had to inform them that you were not on hand to back it up."

"Oh, you needn't be afraid about that," he said with a laugh. "I am not going to bilk you. Provided you play fair by me, I will guarantee to do the same by you. With the advantages I at present enjoy, I am naturally most anxious to know that I can move about Europe unmolested. Besides, you can have me watched, and so make sure of me. There is that beautiful myrmidon of yours, who is so assiduously making love to Mademoiselle Beaumarais's maid. Give him the work."

I was more than surprised to find that he knew about this business. He saw it, and uttered one of his peculiar laughs.

"He didn't think I knew it," he said. "But I did! His cleverness is a little too marked. He overacts his parts, and even Shakespeare will tell you how foolish a proceeding that is. If you doubt my word concerning my stay in Paris, let him continue to watch me. You know where I am living, and for that reason you can come and see me whenever you like. As a proof of my sincerity, may I suggest that you give me the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night. Oh, you needn't be afraid. I'm not a Cæsar Borgia. I shall not poison your meat, and your wine will not be drugged. It will be rather a unique experience, detective and criminal dining together, will it not? What do you say?"

The opportunity was so novel, that I decided to embrace it. Why should I not do so since it was a very good excuse for keeping my man in sight? He could scarcely play me any tricks at a fashionable restaurant, and I was certainly curious to study another side of this man's complex character. I accordingly accepted his invitation, and promised to meet him at the well-known restaurant he named that evening.

"In the meantime you will telegraph to your clients, I suppose," he said. "You may be able to give me their reply this evening when we meet."

"I shall hope to be in a position to do so," I answered, after which he bade me good-bye, and picking up his hat and stick left the room.

"Well," I said to myself when I was alone once more, "this is the most extraordinary case upon which I have ever been engaged. My respect for Mr. Hayle's readiness of resource, to say nothing of his impudence, is increasing by leaps and bounds. The man is not to be met every day who can rob his partners of upwards of a hundred and seventy thousand pounds, and then invite the detective who is sent after him to a friendly dinner."

I sat down and wrote a letter to Miss Kitwater, telling her all that had occurred; then went out to despatch it with a telegram to Kitwater himself, informing him of the offer Hayle had made. I could guess the paroxysm of rage into which it would throw him, and I would willingly have spared his niece the pain such an exhibition must cause her. I could see no other way out of it, however. The message having been despatched, I settled myself down to wait for a reply, with all the patience I could command. In my own mind I knew very well what it would be. It was not so much the money that Kitwater wanted, as revenge. That Hayle's most miserable offer would only increase his desire for it, I felt certain. Shortly after three o'clock, the reply arrived. It was short, and to the point, and ran as follows—

"Tell him I will have all or nothing."

Here was a nice position for a man to find himself in. Instead of solving the difficulty we had only increased it. I wondered what Hayle would say when he heard the news, and what his next step would be. That he would endeavour to bolt again, I felt quite certain. It was a point in my favour, however, that he would not know until the evening what Kitwater's decision was, so I felt I had still some time to arrange my plan of action. Of one thing I was quite determined, and that was that he should be watched day and night from that minute, but not by Mr. Dickson. That worthy I bade return to England, and his rage on discovering that Mademoiselle Beaumarais's maid had tricked him, would have been amusing to witness, had the principal event in which I was most concerned not been so grave. The expressions he used about her were certainly far from being complimentary.

Feeling that I must have other assistance, I set off for my friend Leglosse's residence. I had the good fortune to meet him by the concierge's lodge, and we ascended the stairs to his rooms together.

"I have come to ask you to do me a favour," I said, when we were seated in his sitting-room.

"A thousand favours if you wish, cher ami," the old fellow replied. "Tell me how I can have the pleasure of serving you."

"I want you to lend me one of your men for a few days," I said. "I have to send my own man back to England, and I am afraid the gentleman we were discussing last night may give me the slip in the meantime if I'm not careful."

The better to enable him to appreciate the position, I furnished him with a brief summary of the case upon which I was engaged.

"And so you are to dine with your prisoner to-night?" he remarked, with one of his quiet chuckles. "That is droll—very droll. It is very good for you that it is at such a place, or I should have my doubts as to the rascal's intentions. But you are well able to take care of yourself, my friend; that I know."

"And the man?"

"You shall have him. You shall have half-a-dozen if you like. I am only too pleased to be able to help in such a good work. You shall have Pierre Lepallard, my right-hand. I cannot give you a better. Nothing escapes Pierre, and he is discreet, oh, yes, my friend, he is discreet. He will not obtrude himself, but he will know all that your friend does, to whom he speaks, what he said to him, and sometimes even what he intends doing before he does it."

"In that case he is just the man for me," I replied. "I am exceedingly obliged to you for your considerate courtesy. Some day I may be able to repay it."

Within half-an-hour the estimable Lepallard had been made acquainted with his duties, and within an hour a ragged tatterdemalion of a man was selling matches on the opposite side of the road to that on which Hayle's apartments were situated.

I reached the restaurant at which we were to dine that evening punctual to the moment, only to find that Hayle had not yet arrived. For a minute I was tempted to wonder whether he had given me the slip again, but while the thought was passing through my mind a cab drove up, and the gentleman himself alighted.

"I must beg your pardon for keeping you waiting," he said apologetically. "As your host I should have been here first. That would have been the case had I not been detained at the last moment by an old friend. Pray forgive me!"

I consented to do so, and we entered the restaurant together.

I discovered that he had already engaged a table, arranged the menu, and bespoken the wines. We accordingly sat down, and the strangest meal of which I had ever partaken commenced. Less than a week before, the man sitting in front of me had endeavoured to bring about my destruction; now he was my host, and to all outward appearances my friend as well. I found him a most agreeable companion, a witty conversationalist, and a born raconteur. He seemed to have visited every part of the known globe; had been a sailor, a revolutionist in South America, a blackbirder in the Pacific, had seen something of what he called the "Pig-tail trade" to Borneo, some very queer life in India, that is to say, in the comparatively unknown native states and had come within an ace of having been shot by the French during the war in Madagascar.

"In point of fact," he said, "I may say that I have travelled from Dan to Beersheba, and, until I struck this present vein of good fortune, had found all barren. Some day, if I can summon up sufficient courage, I shall fit out an expedition and return to the place whence the stones came, and get some more, but not just at present. Events have been a little too exciting there of late to let us consider it a healthy country. By the way, have you heard from our friend, Kitwater, yet?"

"I have," I answered, "and his reply is by no means satisfactory."

"I understand you to mean that he will not entertain my offer?"

I nodded my head.

"He must have 'all or nothing,' he declares. That is the wording of the telegram I received."

"Well, he knows his own affairs best. The difference is a large one, and will materially affect his income. Will you take Crême de Minthe—Kümmel or Cognac?"

"Cognac, thank you," I replied, and that was the end of the matter.

During the remainder of the evening not another word was said upon the subject. We chatted upon a variety of topics, but neither the matter of the precious stones nor even Kitwater's name was once mentioned. I could not help fancying, however, that the man was considerably disappointed at the non-acceptance of his preposterous offer. He had made a move on the board, and had lost it. I knew him well enough, however, by this time to feel sure that he by no means despaired yet of winning the game. Men of Gideon Hayle's stamp are hard to beat.

"Now," he said, when we had smoked our cigarettes, and after he had consulted his watch, "The night is still young. What do you say if we pay a visit to a theatre—the Hippodrome, for instance. We might wile away an hour there very pleasantly if you feel so disposed."

I willingly consented, and we accordingly left the restaurant. Once we were in the street Hayle called a cab, gave the man his instructions, and we entered it. Chatting pleasantly, and still smoking, we passed along the brilliantly illuminated Boulevards. I bestowed little, if any, attention on the direction in which we were proceeding. Indeed, it would have been difficult to have done so for never during the evening had Hayle been so agreeable. A more charming companion no man could have desired. It was only on chancing to look out of the window that that I discovered that we were no longer in the gaily-lighted thoroughfares, but were entering another and dingier part of the town.

"What is the matter with the driver?" I asked. "Doesn't he know what he is about? This is not the way to the Hippodrome! He must have misunderstood what you said to him. Shall I hail him and point out his mistake?"

"No, I don't think it is necessary for you to do that," he replied. "Doubtless he will be on the right track in a few minutes. He probably thinks if he gives us a longer ride, he will be able to charge a proportionately larger fare at the end. The Parisian cabby is very like his London brother."

He then proceeded to describe to me an exceedingly funny adventure that had fallen him once in Chicago. The recital lasted some minutes, and all the time we were still pursuing our way in a direction exactly opposite to that which I knew we should be following. At