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“Don’t you think you had better begin at the beginning and tell me the whole story over,” he suggested. “At present these mysterious objects convey nothing to me. All I can see is that by great good fortune I can help you in more ways than one. As I told you just now, I have been tracking this infamous Brotherhood half over Europe during the last six months on behalf of my paper, and now I am going to track them on your behalf as well. I am going to lay them by the heels, and I am going to recover for you the money which is justly yours, and of which you have been robbed. Mind you, I am no child at the game. I am a strong man, with a love of adventure, and I am alive to all the cunning and chicanery of these cosmopolitan scoundrels. And, whatever happens, I am always and ever your friend.”
Zena’s dark eyes were full of gratitude.
“Then, my friend, I will tell you,” she whispered. “There is not much time, but I will do my best.”
IV - ZENA’S STORY
She bent towards Wendover, till he could catch the subtle fragrance of her, and the elusive perfume of her hair. There was entire trust and confidence in those luminous eyes of hers, a confidence that touched Wendover and stirred him as he had never been stirred before. He half inclined towards her, with an air of protection that she, in her loneliness, found infinitely sweet and soothing.
“You are very, very good to me,” she murmured, “to me, a stranger. I wonder why?”
“Because you are young and beautiful and lonely,” Wendover whispered passionately. “Because I am a man, and you appeal to me for protection. And most of all, perhaps, because you are you. Zena, do you know how lovely you are?”
The red blood flamed into the girl’s cheeks.
“I wonder if you know how good you are to me,” she said. “Oh, thank God. I have at last found a friend.”
“Go on,” Wendover said. “Go on.”
“Well, it’s like this. You have met my father, and you must know that he was both a scientist and a dreamer. More by good fortune than anything else he made a good deal of money over an invention of his. Then he got caught up in that dreadful Brotherhood. It was indeed an evil day for him when he first came under the influence of John Garcia. I always mistrusted that man myself. I hated that bald head and strong, oily face of his. I hated his manner, and the furtive way he looked at one. But he talked well, and he posed as the friend of mankind, and the inveterate foe of the oppressor in all walks of life. And that is how the war between the Brotherhood and the Big Trusts began. It was with my father’s money that that last corner in wheat was broken. But I am sure that Garcia was always a traitor.”
“Always,” Wendover said, “but go on.”
“He was one of the few men amongst the Brotherhood that I knew by sight. The rest of them had assumed names, and whenever they meet, they are always masked. There came a time when my father realised all his money and converted it into notes and gold. That money was placed in the safe in this hotel, and locked, by means of a time lock, which only opens automatically at a certain moment, once a year. No one else could open it, because, when once the combination has been arranged, the safe must remain secure for a given period, and that period is midnight of this very day, in every June. The room itself is always locked, and has a limited number of keys, one of which is in the hands of each of the Brotherhood. And that is one of the keys I have just given you. Once a year, the council meets here, to discuss its policy for the coming twelve months. On these occasions they allot certain funds for certain purposes, and these are distributed amongst various members of the council. But, roughly speaking, there is a hundred thousand pounds in the safe, but where it will be after midnight when the strong room opens automatically I cannot say. It may be all gone.”
“At any rate, it is safe for the moment,” Wendover suggested. “Now, I was under the impression that the man called John Garcia was safely locked up in Geneva. Things have happened during the last few hours that make me feel that I am not justified in that belief. I think now that Garcia managed to substitute someone for himself, and, that being so, he is enjoying a freedom from police supervision that he has not known for years. It was I who got him locked up, and I hoped, before he came out again, that I should be able to lay before the authorities such information as would lead to the scoundrel being hanged. But, apparently, he has baffled me, and eluded the police at the same time.”
“Have you ever met the man?” Zena asked.
“Only once,” Wendover explained, “and then in a bad light. I understand he is wonderful at disguises, but I think if I heard him speak I should know him again. By the way, what is the fellow really like!”
“He is short and stout and red of face, and he has not a hair on his head,” Zena explained. “Once seen he can never be mistaken. But, surely, you are wrong in saying that the man is still in gaol, because, as a matter of fact, John Garcia was with me in the tea shop this afternoon.”
“Really,” Wendover exclaimed. “Now, you know, I took particular note of that man. So far as I know I have never seen him before, though his voice struck me as being familiar. When I was spying on you this afternoon I caught the sound of the words that he said, and I knew that I had heard that voice before. I was worried, because I could not couple it with any particular individual. But it did not matter much, except that forewarned is forearmed. With this knowledge I shall be still more useful to you.”
“Then you are going on?” Zena asked. “You are not afraid, even of John Garcia.”
“Without boasting, I don’t think I’m afraid of any man,” Wendover said. “My dear Zena, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. It seems to me that, as you have placed in my hands the means of getting inside that chamber and attending a meeting of the Brotherhood, I should be a poor sort of creature if I did not avail myself of it. I have taken greater risks than that. Oh, I shall be safe enough. They would never dare to lay violent hands upon me, under the roof of the Ambassadors’ Hotel.”
But Zena was not listening. She was watching a man in evening dress, making his way through the crowd in the direction of the corridor. She gripped Wendover by the arm.
“Look,” she whispered, “there is Garcia himself.”
“You are quite sure of that?” Wendover asked.
“Oh, I cannot be mistaken, I know the man so well. That is John Garcia, beyond a doubt. He must have escaped from prison, as you suggested, or he has cleverly contrived for the police to arrest somebody else.”
“I begin to see it,” Wendover said. “It becomes as plain as daylight to me. By some means or another Garcia discovered his danger, and induced that unfortunate Leo Detmar to impersonate him. Then, when Garcia was safely out of Switzerland, Detmar obtained his release. He was on his way here to-night to attend the meeting of the Brotherhood, and was, no doubt, foully murdered in the alcove by the very man whom he had served so well. He was lured into the alcove by means of an advertisement in the ‘Agony’ column of my own paper. I only found that out by accident this afternoon. Then, after the crime was committed, Garcia hid himself in the locked council chamber for a few moments, and now he has come out again for some purpose of his own. Yes, the more I think of it, the more sure I am of my facts. Detmar is out of the way now, his disappearance will convey nothing to the rest of the Brotherhood, and Garcia will be here to-night, masked and unrecognisable, and probably tell the Brotherhood that he is representing Garcia, and that the latter is still in gaol. You can see for yourself how this course will help that murderous scoundrel to get all that money