Chapter XVII: A Keen Ally

Richard Bessington was never slow to make up his mind, but there were occasions on which caution was necessary, and this was one of them, and it took him the twenty miles between Ardenmore and the Glen to arrive at a definite plan of action. Had he belonged to the crook fraternity, it is very certain that he would always have "worked" alone, for he trusted no one, and, moreover, had a very poor opinion of the capabilities of other people in the matters which required delicate handling. But very certain it was that in this instance he could not work alone.

From the moment in which he had heard of the date written on that scrap of paper, he had realized the possibility of something of this nature happening, and which he now found himself up against. Therefore, in view of the likelihood of help being necessary, he had taken the trouble to cultivate the friendship of the only man staying at the Glen who might be useful. Brains were not a necessity, his own being, in his opinion, all-sufficient. It was just a matter of additional man-power--two more hands, possibly another automatic--in fact, another man on the job, for single-handed he could do nothing. He had gone carefully over all the men at the Glen and had gradually eliminated all save Alec Crosby. His brother John was out of the question--he was far too concerned about his position as Laird of the Glen and its many thousand acres to risk being mixed up in any such enterprise as Dick Bessington had in view. Captain Leslie, also, would have fought shy of it, and, moreover, would undoubtedly have notified the police of what was afoot--or have advised him to do so and leave it to them to deal with. And so with the rest until he came to good-natured, vulgar Alec Crosby. Instinctively he felt that he could trust him--as far as it was in his nature to trust anyone--and the man who worked with him must, of necessity, be one in whom he could place a modicum of trust.

He had known Alexander Crosby previously. Had counted him a bore and a fellow who was not in his own sphere in life. But though he was aware of his shortcomings, he was equally well up in his good points, not the least of which was that if he chose he could hold his tongue when necessary. Also, he was a man without nerves, and cute up to a certain point; furthermore, if it came to a matter of physical violence--which was quite likely--his muscular development would count for something. But he had one weakness, and that was a vein of sentiment which made him too prone to pity the under-dog, whether he be unlucky or merely deserving of punishment. And unless he could be made to see that Dominic Arden was so deserving of punishment and not of pity, and that in removing him from Hermione's path he was performing an act of charity towards her and not one of cruelty, he would be useless as an ally. Otherwise, Alec Crosby was undoubtedly the man for the job. The French smuggler, who would soon be on his way to the tower in response to another advertisement message, had to be taken, and Bessington could not do it single-handed. It was obvious, therefore, seeing that he had actually seen the message dispatched, that in a matter of three or four days at the most, this Frenchman would be back. The only difficulty being that Hermione, knowing that the message had been sent, would also take steps to watch for his coming, if not actually for the coming of Dominic himself, when the matter would then become extremely complicated. For he wanted to be on the scene without anyone else being a witness to what followed. If the worst came to the worst and she and Daneham made trouble, he could, of course, threaten to call in the police. But he did not want to resort to extreme measures for his own sake. He wanted to do the thing quietly and to have no scene. Neither did he want to be mixed up in it publicly himself. All he asked was to get the Frenchman into his power, and once there he could deal with him and the rest of the situation. He would, of course, compromise with him--offer him his liberty on certain conditions. No man in his position would be fool enough to refuse, and then--if things were as he guessed they were--Dominic Arden would not be given the choice of a return to his wife, nor yet would the doubtful issue of his punishment at the hands of a leniently inclined Government be put to the test; that was far too risky. No. Dominic Arden would simply disappear--really disappear this time once and for all, and the way would be clear for himself with regard to Hermione. For once let her believe that Dominic had forgotten her, or preferred his liberty and exile to the risk of punishment--perhaps death--if he joined her, and she would be his--Bessington's--for the asking.

But it all wanted carefully thinking out, carefully arranging. At present he had left her with the idea that he had temporarily given up the chase, that there was nothing to discover, and, in fact, that the whole thing for the moment only was a wash-out. So far so good. Well, there was nothing for it but to enlist the services of Crosby, and the first opportunity he had he would put the matter before him.

He did not, however, get that opportunity until they retired for the night, and then, instead of going to his own room, he followed Alec Crosby down the passage and asked if he might come in for a moment and have a chat.

"By all means. Come along, old feller. There's a decent fire here and lots of arm-chairs. You've got something to spill, I expect?"

"Just so. I want, after I have--ah--spilled the facts, to ask you if you will help me, as I find that I can't do the job I want to do single-handed."

"If it's laying the smugglers by the heels, I'm on," was the reply. "Not that I wouldn't do the same thing myself if I got the chance, but I suppose it's high time these fellows were stopped, and, incidentally, I'd like the fun of the thing. Did you happen on something when you were over there to-day?"

"I did," was the reply, "and that's what I want to talk to you about." Whereupon, he proceeded to tell of his discoveries, omitting only the fact that it was the Ardenmore people who had got on to the carrier pigeon idea, and substituting instead a very graphic account of his own activities in discovering it.

"And," he ended, "they none of them know that I know," which was true enough, "and I don't want them to know, for a very particular and good reason which I must ask you to take on trust."

"Right you are," replied the other genially, "I'm not the lad to question the bona fides of a man like Colonel Bessington, not likely. And as far as that goes, you've done all the spade work, so it's right you should get the kudos. But tell me, in all this, does that young feller, Arden, come into it?"

"Not that I know of," replied the other. "How can he? He daren't show his nose in the British Isles. He's in hiding, and I want to know where. Once let me get hold of the Frenchman and I'll make him divulge."

"But that'll be rough on the lady," objected Crosby, as Bessington knew he would.

"No, it won't. At present she looks upon him in the light of an ill-used martyr and exile. You and I, on the other hand, know that he is a criminal eluding justice. Once let it be proved to her--as it will be, you'll see--that he prefers to let her imagine he is dead and break her heart for him rather than risk anything by letting her know of his whereabouts, and she will cease to regard him as an ill-used hero. Women are all alike: attack them, hurt them on their tenderest spot--their pride--and from angels they become demons, as you very well know. And, after all, if it comes to that, what shall I be doing but proving the truth to her? You have only got to look at it from a common sense point of view. If the fellow is alive--and we practically know he must be--why has he not sent word to her all these years unless he prefers to remain where he is, away from her? He must read the papers, he must know that she married Rodenberg, that she bought Ardenmore and is living there, and yet, though he has the means of going there--as we know from the Frenchman's activities--he does nothing of the sort. He stays away, and will continue to stay away, until he is forcibly brought back, and I, perhaps, may be the one to bring him. Why, the thing is simply obvious."

"Of course, I see that," admitted the other. "That clock stunt is not a thing that any man would jump at in a million years, so it proves that Arden is alive, for he must have told the smuggling Johnnie about it, probably came over himself to show him, and then re-set it with the date of his own supposed death. Yes, I see all that, but--I don't want to do anything that will hurt her."

"Hurt her?" repeated Bessington, with raised brows, "But surely if you feel like that, how much more do I? I would not hurt her for the world. I want to help, to save her from this mad obsession of hers, and I will. Come, now. Let's have an understanding. You come in with me, and if we succeed in capturing the Frenchman and getting the whereabouts of Arden out of him, I'll promise you on my word of honour to do nothing against him--provided that he is willing to return to his wife and take the risks it involves. If, on the other hand, he refuses, then I think you will admit with me that he deserves all he gets from me. Come. Is that a bargain?"

"Yes, if you'll agree to that, I'm your man," replied Alec Crosby.

"Then that's settled," replied the other with a sigh of relief. "And now, as to ways and means. What do you advise?"

"Well, I've been thinking about that carrier pigeon stunt. It strikes me that if we are to succeed, we shall have to act pretty quickly," said Crosby.

"I don't see that," was the reply. "The message has to arrive at its destination, say a big town about fifty miles or less south. The person who gets the message inserts it in the dailies. He'll do that to-morrow, the advertisement will be out next day, the papers will be read in France on that same afternoon. The boat starts off at once, and can't get here in less than forty hours, however fast they go. Say three nights from now, that is when we should be there on the watch.

"No," said Crosby, abruptly sitting up in his chair. "You're wrong there, old feller. I thought you told me there was no car in the underground room. Don't that mean that the Frenchy is still in this country? For all we know he may be waiting at the very place the message is taken to. Well, all he has to do is to send a wire to his confederates on the boat to meet him on the following night, and--there you are. It's not three nights we have to wait, it's just to-night, and to-morrow we must be there. See?"

"By Jove! You're right!" exclaimed Bessington. "I wonder if they'll have thought of that at Ardenmore."

"It's quite likely they haven't, and will be waiting for the advertisement in the paper and never think of the Frenchy wiring or phoning to his messmates. That's where we'll get in front of them. Yes, my son. You bet your boots that's what'll happen. It's a blinkin' lucky thing for you that you told yours truly about it, or you would have been properly in the cart. Eh what?"

"It's certainly odd I never thought of it," admitted the other with a frown, and concealing his chagrin at not having done so as best he could.

"Not a bit of it," was the genial reply. "You'd got the advertisement stunt fixed in your mind, that was all. I'm usually rather a dab hand at pouncing on the obvious, and as I hadn't thought of the advert part of it, naturally I had a sort of open mind about it, and was ready to jump at the bright idea. Our difficulty now will be how to get away to-morrow without letting the folk here get wise to our game. I can tell old John, of course, that I'm fed up with his party and am going south, put up at an hotel in Locharbie, and wait for you. But how about your excuse? Will it look odd both of us leaving together in that hurried manner?"

"No. Fortunately I told your brother the other day that I might be going to stay at Ardenmore, so I can easily say that my visit has been hastened, and then join you as you suggest at your hotel. You've got your car, so we can go off there any night we like, and, of course, the Frenchman may not turn up to-morrow night, after all. In any case, we shall have to park the car at the edge of the wood so that it won't be heard at the house, and do the remainder of the journey to the tower on foot, make an entrance into the lower room via the river, and there await our man."

"Yes, quite so." Crosby was silent for a moment. "The only thing about that combination door that I don't quite tumble to is how the feller gets in from the other side if--as we know is the fact--the hands are not placed in position."

"I have thought of that, too," admitted Bessington, "and I imagine one of the men from the boat will be there to open the door and let him through."

"Yes, but supposing his man or several of his men are waiting for him in that upper room, we can't tackle them--desperate armed beggars as they are--and hope to get away with it," objected Crosby.

"After all, that's only surmise on my part," replied the other. "Now I come to think of it, it seems doubtful that the secret of that door is known to anyone but the Frenchman. He will probably--after running his car into the lower room, go round the other way by the river, send up his signal for the boat and get away without going into the upper room at all. The secret door, I should say, is only used when a quick get-away is necessary, or when goods are to be taken down to the car. So, if we catch him, while I hold him covered with my revolver, you can go round --we'll take waders, of course--and set the door for us to come through. After that, it depends on the Frenchman as to our next course of procedure."

"Quite. I get you," replied Crosby. "So now you get to bed, sonny, and sleep the sleep of the just and righteous and all things will be added unto you. We'll have that Frenchy right and tight to-morrow night, and very shortly you'll be able to put the lady wise as to the real character of her first husband. In any case I wish you joy over the business, for, 'pon my soul, I think you deserve it. I've known what it is to be head over ears myself, and as all's fair in such cases, I wonder you didn't do something desperate long ago, and you are content to play the game now even if it's to your own loss. By gad, sir! I count myself lucky to be in with you in this stunt. We'll shake hands on it."

Colonel Richard Bessington winced as the other's plump but honest fist grasped his own. For at least the hand he held was clean, whereas his own was not, and he knew it. But a moment later he salved his conscience by repeating the other's words.

"After all," he said, as he turned at the door, "as you very truly said--'All's fair in love'."

And in his bedroom he wrote a short note to Inspector Mackay which was delivered by hand next day, and the note ran as follows:

Nothing doing so far, but in a few days, with luck, I hope to be able to tell you something. If you don't hear from me you will know that your Headquarters are right and we are wrong.

Bessington.