Chapter 2

"ONE PORTION OF THE CONSPIRACY."

Certain features of the present position appealed to Lord Aldean. It was his first experience of the kind, and perhaps what gratified him most was the consciousness of the power which so suddenly had become vested in him. The knowledge that in this human rubber he held all the trumps in no wise lessened his enjoyment of the situation. There still remained to play them, and he felt pretty confident that in the end he and his partner would not have many tricks to deplore. For the moment his antagonists were absolutely in his hands--the man frightened to death of his skin; the woman believing that for the time being, at least, discretion was surely the better part of valour.

He hurried them off to the Hotel Magenta, there to be dealt with by the woman they had deceived and plundered.

As he fully expected, Olive was greatly agitated. He supposed it was womanlike for her to show most anger at the sight of her whilom maid. Her husband, after all, had at no time been anything to her--for him she had nothing more than the contempt she had always felt. She ignored him completely.

"How dare you come into my presence?" she said to the woman. "How can you have the face to look at me, after the shameful way in which you have behaved?"

"Blame your friend for that," answered Clara, doggedly. "I would not have come at all had I known you were here."

"Exactly. That is why I did not think it necessary you should know of Mrs. Carson's presence here," exclaimed Aldean, smoothly.

"Mrs. Carson!" sneered Clara, with a contemptuous laugh. "Oh yes; Mrs. Carson, of course."

Olive looked at the woman with a flush of anger. "No insolence, if you please," she said. "And you!" turning on her shrinking husband--"who and what are you, pray?"

"Carlo Boldini," he replied almost inaudibly.

"Are you an Italian?"

"My father was. He married an Englishwoman."

"So I am Signora Boldini?" said Olive, bitterly.

Clara laughed again. "Oh yes! Signora Boldini," she repeated, seating herself complacently beside her companion.

The two sat there like prisoners in the dock. Aldean began to feel positively judicial. The woman was horribly insolent.

"I would suggest, for your own sake, that you endeavour to restrain yourself," he said, moving to the end of the room in search of pen and ink. "You are in quite enough trouble as it is."

"Oh, I don't mind her insolence, Lord Aldean," said Olive, quietly; "she can do me no harm."

"Don't be too sure of that!" flashed out Miss Trall, vindictively.

"Clara, Clara!" implored Boldini, "it's best to say nothing--least said, soonest mended."

Aldean, arranging his writing materials on a table at Olive's elbow, looked up. "I fear you will find that proverb doesn't apply to what is to come," said he cheerfully. "Mrs. Carson, as this lady may be called for the present, will question you sufficiently closely as to the various details of the conspiracy. You will answer her questions categorically while I write them down. The little pr�cis will then be signed by you both and witnessed by myself."

"And if we refuse this confession, as you call it," questioned Clara, who withal was obviously uneasy.

"Oh, in that case, as I have told you before, I hand you over to the police. Now, then, come along; we have no time to waste on you. Begin."

Jim dipped his pen into the ink and waited; while Olive, after a sharp glance at the two before her, launched into the examination. Reversing her previous attitude, she addressed herself exclusively to Boldini. She judged a studied indifference to be more effectual from woman to woman.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I have told you that my father was an Italian named Boldini. My mother was an Englishwoman. I was brought up and educated in London."

"Are you an Anarchist?"

"Yes. I was affianced to the cause by my aunt, Mrs. Arne."

"Oh, so Mrs. Arne is your aunt?"

"My father's sister," explained Boldini, who was recovering his self-possession somewhat. "He was an Anarchist, but he is dead. My mother also is dead."

"Is Major Semberry in Florence?"

"No!" said Clara, loudly, before her accomplice could speak.

"Useless to lie," said Aldean, looking up; "we followed him here from Victoria Station. Suppose you put your question in another form, Mrs. Carson?"

"Where is Major Semberry staying?" amended Olive.

"At the Albergo della Pace, on the Lung 'Arno," replied Boldini, seeing it was hopeless.

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes, once--this morning."

"Have you known Major Semberry long?"

"Since he came to England in the Pharaoh. I never met him before. But I had heard of him."

"From whom?"

"From Dr. Drabble and my aunt."

"Is he an Anarchist?"

"No; his connection with us has to do merely with this money."

"You have the fifty thousand pounds in your possession?"

"Yes; part of it is in Paris."

"And where is the remainder?"

Boldini wriggled uneasily and looked at Clara. She gave him no assistance, but kept her eyes fixedly on the floor. "I have the other part of it at my hotel in circular notes on the Cr�dit Lyonnais."

"How many have you, and what is the value of each?"

"I have twenty of one thousand pounds."

"Twenty thousand," reckoned Olive. "Major Semberry's share, I presume?" she added, with unconcealed scorn.

"Y-e-s," said Boldini, reluctantly, with another wriggle. "And the remaining thirty thousand is at the Cr�dit Lyonnais in Paris, you say?"

"Yes. That is my share."

"We will talk of the money later," she said. "By the way," with a glance at Boldini's hands, "I observe you have recovered the use of your hand."

"It was never in need of recovery," snapped Clara.

"I guessed as much--one of the smaller embellishments of your very ornate conspiracy. Boldini, since you confess that you are not Mr. Carson, please to hand over that bangle."

Boldini shook it down on to his wrist. "You can have it with pleasure," said he, sullenly, "but I can't get it off."

"How was it got on?" asked Aldean.

"It was filed through and joined on my wrist."

"Ah, well! I am afraid that process will have to be reversed to-morrow. It can't be done here to-night. Who gave you that bangle?"

"Dr. Drabble.'

"Was it he who killed Angus Carson?" asked Olive, with embarrassing suddenness.

"I don't know."

"Come, come!" cried Jim, sharply, "the truth, please."

"I am telling you the truth," retorted Boldini "I do not know who killed Carson. I did not even know that he was killed until Miss Bellairs there asked me about the smell of sandal-wood. Then, as I read the account of the murder in the Morning Planet, it occurred to me that the dead man might be the person I was representing. I asked Semberry about it, and he admitted I was right; but he refused me all details."

"Then Angus Carson was really murdered in Athelstane Place?"

"According to Semberry, yes."

"Did Semberry say that he had killed him?" asked Aldean.

"No. He swore he did not kill him; and that he did not know who did. Drabble also declares himself innocent."

"You are all innocent, according to your own showing," said Olive, ironically; "but I can hardly believe, Signor Boldini, that you were so simple as to assume the impersonation of an original of whom you know nothing."

Clara looked up with a strange smile on her sallow face. "You evidently know nothing of the Anarchists," she said coldly. "Implicit obedience is the first law with them. Carlo was told to represent a man called Angus Carson. He did so without asking questions. How much longer is this to go on?" she cried furiously; "it is now seven o'clock. I am tired of it."

"I don't care for the Socratian method myself," observed Aldean, blandly. "On the whole, I think it would be best, perhaps, for Boldini here to acquaint us with the particulars of his share in the conspiracy straight away."

"Tell them, Carlo!" commanded Miss Trall.

"Shall I tell them everything?" whimpered Boldini.

"Everything," she repeated emphatically. "We have cut ourselves off from the brotherhood--so it really does not matter. Lord Aldean has promised to let us go if we tell the truth. You had better tell him."

"Tell the truth and restore the money," murmured Jim, politely.

Boldini winced at the last remark, but nevertheless applied himself to his most unpalatable task. He evidently intended cutting it as short as possible. He started off at top speed. Aldean wrote down the gist of what he said.

"As I told you, I am an Anarchist," he explained shortly, "and by the oath I took to the cause I was bound to render obedience. In June last Drabble came to me and stated that the brotherhood could obtain a sum of fifty thousand pounds; and that I was to help. He introduced me to Major Semberry, and told me that I was to assume the character of a man called Angus Carson, from India. Semberry had a portrait of this man, and I altered my appearance in some degree so as to more clearly resemble it. This was not difficult, as I was very like the portrait. I cut my hair short and parted it at the side instead of in the centre; I let the ends of my moustache droop instead of twisting them up. Then Drabble told me that I must pretend that my right hand was injured, and wear it in a sling, which I did. The bracelet was produced by Drabble and placed on my wrist. Major Semberry then told me all about Carson's life in India, and took some trouble in seeing that I acquired a sufficient knowledge of the country. He took me to his rooms in Marquis Street, St. James's, and made me dress in Carson's clothes, which he showed me in a sandal-wood chest. Afterwards I think that he and Drabble must have seen the leader in the Morning Planet about the sandal-wood scent, for they took Carson's Indian clothes from me and supplied me with new ones in place of them."

"But how was it that Mr. Mallow smelt sandal-wood on your clothes, if this was so?"

Boldini explained. "There was a smart coloured waistcoat," he said, "which belonged to Carson, which I admired very much. When Drabble took the clothes from me I kept that back without his knowledge. When I met Mr. Mallow I was wearing it, and, of course, it was scented by the box. That was how he noticed the perfume."

"Did you never suspect that this smell was in some way connected with the murder?"

"No; how should I? I did not know that the real Carson had been killed; and, although I myself read the leader in the Morning Planet--which was the only report of the case I did read--I never thought for a moment that the dead man was the one I was representing. When you, Miss Bellairs, spoke to me of this sandal-wood odour and Athelstane Place, I was really and truly ignorant of the murder. It was only on reflection I put two and two together. I remembered the severed hand and the sandal-wood perfume referred to in the paper; I knew also that the Carson I represented came from India. Then it was that I made Semberry tell me the truth. He admitted the murder, but swore he was ignorant as to who committed it. Then I married you, Miss Bellairs, and got the money."

"For the Anarchists or for yourself?"

"For myself and Clara," admitted Boldini, shamelessly. "I hated the Anarchists, and grasped the opportunity to be free from them. I sold out the stocks and shares, and transferred the proceeds to my real name at the Cr�dit Lyonnais. I have the twenty thousand pounds here in circular notes, because I have to give them to Semberry to-morrow."

"Why did you not give them to-day?"

"Because I would only give them to him in return for the sandal-wood box and the clothes of Carson--which it contains."

"Why do you want that chest?"

Boldini showed himself in his true colours. "I like Carson's clothes," said he, with the simplicity of a child. "He had nice clothes. I am to have them to-morrow, and then I will pay him the twenty thousand pounds."

"I am afraid you will have to forego both those pleasures," said Aldean, grimly. "Your vanity must, in this instance, be sacrificed to your safety. I will trouble you to hand over those circular notes."

"They are at my hotel," said Boldini, rising with alacrity. "Shall I go for them?"

"Oh, pray don't trouble. Miss Trall can go for the notes."

Clara looked at Boldini, and Boldini looked at Clara.

Aldean made a shrewd guess that the man was attempting a trick to gain time, for every now and then his hand wandered mechanically to his breast pocket. It was probable that the notes were there. Jim expected a fight for the spoil; but Clara laid down her arms without a murmur, and instructed Boldini to do the same.

"Give him the notes," said she, curtly.

One by one they were counted and laid on the table before Aldean. Boldini winced as if he were having a tooth drawn. Olive counted them and found them correct. There were twenty notes of the value of one thousand pounds each--printed in francs on the Cr�dit Lyonnais paper.

"Good," said Aldean, with a nod. "Now for your cheque-book."

"I won't! I won't!" cried Boldini, childishly. "The rest of the money is mine."

"We need not argue that question over again," said Olive, coldly. "Write a cheque in my name for thirty thousand pounds--that is, seven hundred and fifty thousand francs. If not, Lord Aldean shall call up the police."

"Oh, Clara! what shall I----"

"Give it to them," she interrupted fiercely. "What is the use of fighting?"

With tears of rage in his eyes Boldini wrote the cheque and gave it to Olive. She looked at it with a nod, and passed it on to Aldean.

"So far so good," said the latter, cheerfully. "Now, Signor Boldini, sign this confession."

Without a word the man took pen and signed it, Jim attesting it with a flourish. "I think that is all," he remarked, rising. "You can go now."

"Am I not to sign it?" asked Clara, scowling.

"There is no necessity. Beyond that you are a spy, you are of small account."

"I am of this account," said Clara, furiously, "that Carlo is my husband."

"Your husband!" exclaimed Olive.

"Yes; we were married a year ago in St. Chad's Church, Marylebone. Carlo Boldini to Clara Trall. I am his wife--not you."

"Thank God!" said Olive. "Oh, thank God!"

"You are an infernal scoundrel," cried Jim, advancing on Boldini. "I have a good mind to wring your neck."

Clara threw her arm round the man. "Let us go, Lord Aldean. No words can alter things now. I am Clara Boldini, and she"--pointing to Olive--"is nothing."

"I am a free woman, at least. Heaven be praised, I never was that man's wife. I know now why you agreed so readily to our bargain," she said, turning on Boldini. "Go, you miserable creature, and lead a better life if you can."

"I have no money," said Boldini. "Will you give me some?"

"We will arrange that to-morrow," struck in Aldean, sharply. "You don't deserve any help; but as the Anarchists are after you, Miss Bellairs and I will give you some help."

"The Anarchists!" repeated Clara and Boldini. Both paled to the lips.

Without another word, they left the room. At last Aldean saw how it was. Throughout he had been a trifle uneasy at the extreme and unexpected smoothness with which things were progressing. He had not looked for the process of disgorgement to be accomplished with so little difficulty. Boldini's attitude had been subservient; Clara's altogether too unreal to convince him. In the most abject coward there is at least a modicum of obstinacy when at bay; and he could not understand how a plunder thus arduously come by should be disgorged with so little resistance. The mention of the word Anarchist explained everything to him. The effect of it upon both miscreants left nothing to the imagination. They were thoroughly scared. This, then, was what they had dreaded; for this it was they had been ready to throw everything by the board--for silence. Exposure to the police would have revealed their immediate whereabouts to their fellows. That meant pursuit speedy and relentless; and that, in its turn, meant death to them both.

For some minutes after they had left neither Jim nor Olive spoke--he, occupied with his ruminations; she, with her own innermost thoughts. Jim broke the silence.

"Poor devils," he said, closing the door, "they have worse before them than what they have just been through. And I think they know it. At the hands of their brethren they are likely to meet with treatment a good deal less clement. But what, may I ask, are you thinking of, Mrs.--I mean, Miss Bellairs? You look most supremely happy."

"I am thinking of your friend and mine," said Olive.