Chapter IX: An Engaging Young Criminal

Frank Daneham, feeling particularly wide-awake, entered his bedroom as the clock chimed a quarter to twelve, and, crossing over to the window, flung it open. He was a believer in fresh air. The man James who waited on him, evidently was not. And as he leant far out and felt the cold night air blow on his face, the idea occurred to him that a quick walk of half an hour's duration might induce the sleep--that at present was very far away--to visit him. He had experienced sleepless nights before, and he did not want to renew that experience again. So, going softly downstairs--for he did not want to disturb the two ladies--he flung on a coat, pulled a tweed cap well down over his head, and let himself out of the door, first of all making sure that the latchkey with which Hermione had presented him reposed in his pocket.

Once outside he took a deep breath of the invigorating air, and was on the point of turning down the avenue, when something caught his eye. He was then standing directly opposite to the break in the trees, which Hermione could see from her window, and away in the distance he caught the glimmer of a tiny red light high up in the sky. It was there for a second and then had disappeared.

A red light! Just what Hermione had seen, and three days ago that advertisement had appeared in the paper.

The conjunction of occurrences was too obvious to be ignored.

He set off at a run down the path, which by now had been cleared and was, moreover, quite familiar to him, Hermione had walked on the night that she had seen the light, and had arrived in time to hear the motor-boat going away. Perhaps by running and with luck he might get there to see it come in. He ran, therefore, as he had not run for years, and before he reached the grassy slope which led to the tower, he had to pause in order to get his breath. There was no light now and no sound, not even the chug-chug of the boat. Perhaps, after all, he also was too late.

He strode up the grassy slope, rounded the tower, and found the door shut as Hermione had done. But he had no electric torch and had to feel, so that it was a minute before he could locate the handle, and then he turned it quickly, pushed the door open and waited.

It was dark inside and there was not a sound. Empty, of course.

He took two steps through the door and the next instant found himself seized by both arms, while a rough hand clutched his throat in a strangling grip.

Completely taken by surprise, though he struggled desperately, he was helpless and could do nothing. His two assailants--for he recognized that there were two of them--had not spoken a word, and presently a sharp kick under the knee from a heavy boot sent his legs from under him and he was sprawling face downwards on the ground and firmly held by strong hands.

A mellow voice, educated, refined, and speaking in French, broke the uncanny silence, and a bright white light was flashed on from an electric torch.

"Gently, you miserable son of a sacred pig! You are not dealing with the condemned police. Can't you see, imbecile that you are! that he is a gentleman of the old noblesse? Otherwise, sacred name of a dog! would he have been such a complete fool as to have come alone and unarmed?"

This was so humiliatingly true that Daneham, amidst his futile struggles, found occasion to wince.

A gruff, uneducated voice replied in the same language.

"How was I to know in the dark, Master? Is it then possible to feel by a man's clothes if he be a gentleman or a damned Customs officer?"

"It is if you use your intelligence--always provided that you have it, _bien entendu_," was the cutting reply. "You have some rope in your pockets I believe, even though you have no sense in your head. Therefore give it me. And you, monsieur--" a gentle tap on Daneham's head indicated that the next remarks were addressed to him: "Keep still, if you please, otherwise I shall be under the unhappy necessity of hurting you, for which I have no desire. _Voyons_, Marcel, place your fat carcass on his legs while I make fast his arms."

Frank Daneham, realizing at last his complete helplessness, took the advice offered him and lay still. He then felt his arms being drawn back, his wrists crossed, and a stout cord wound and knotted tightly round them. The same ceremony was then performed on his ankles.

"A thousand pardons, monsieur," said the amiable voice again. "I am desolated to inflict this treatment upon you, but in my calling necessity knows no law. You speak French, monsieur?" At these words the light was switched off and Daneham felt strong arms raise him and place him in a sitting position against the wall. Then once more the light was renewed, but as it was directed straight into his face, he could see nothing whatever of his assailants, and could only blink, and, in his angry impotence, give vent to a fine exhibition of honest English swearing, directed at his unseen captors, and which, if it did nothing else, at least relieved his feelings for the moment.

"_Ah bon!_" There came an infectious laugh. "Monsieur has taken no harm. He can at least speak good English, whatever he may accomplish with the French. _Enfin_, I speak it, too. For when one is in a foreign country it is, for example, only good manners and polite to speak the language. And _toujours la politesse_, is it not so, monsieur?"

The voice--that of a young man--was pleasant. He spoke English, too, with hardly an accent. There was a quality also in the voice which appealed to Daneham in spite of his humiliating position. Appealed to his good nature and therefore completely disarmed him, took the anger from him and left him morally as defenceless as he was physically so.

"I'd like to know who the devil you are, how you came here, and what the blazes you are doing," he exclaimed, and at that the other laughed again.

"No doubt you would, monsieur, and you are not the only one in your charming country--charming, I assure you, in spite of its most damnable climate--who would like to know as well. But one cannot please everyone. _Helas!_ that it should be so. I who would be friends with all the world, I who would even love the Customs officers--if they would let me, it is understood. But no. There are, unfortunately, certain things between us that keep us from mutual affection. Charming things, too, monsieur. Silk stockings for your most exquisite ladies' sylph-like legs, pearl necklaces for their swan-like necks--many other things. _Enfin_, it is if you prefer it, the very devil between us, monsieur."

"Well, anyway," said Daneham, shifting uneasily in his bonds, "as on your own showing you want to be so friendly and pleasant to everyone, and as you appear to be two to my one, supposing you start the good work by cutting me loose, Monsieur Whoever-You-Are."

"_Helas!_ My friend, I am desolated, but I fear that I cannot do this. You are not too uncomfortable so, are you? I did not tie monsieur so as to hurt him, and, after all, it is not for long, for we must be away soon, and your friends can come then and find you. Monsieur is alone, I presume?"

"That's for you to find out," was the reply.

"_Bien_. I think I need not trouble too much about that. Marcel!" He spoke sharply in French. "Go get the brandy for monsieur. He is thirsty, and I am thirsty, and we have work to do, you and I. Go quick, my friend. I will wait for your return."

Daneham heard the sound of the man's retreating footsteps and presently the crunch of shingle far below.

"So you admit that you are smuggling here?" he demanded.

"Admit!" echoed the other. "But why not, monsieur, since it is obvious that I do not come here for the fishing or the shooting or even to paint the scenery! Look, I will even show you, and thereby proclaim my good will and trust in you."

As he spoke he flashed the light across the room, and Daneham saw to his amazement that it was crammed with bales of tightly-packed silken goods--stockings, underwear, thousands of things, and all easily transportable by car. There were also boxes which the Frenchman affirmed, with a note of pride in his voice, contained the works for watches, and pearl necklaces. "Imitation, it is understood, and all for sale in your country, monsieur, and from which I make a profit that is more than satisfying. I have, indeed, carried on the good work for over a year. But now that your police--for whom I have a profound admiration and respect--have awakened from their chrysalis state of somnolence and arrived at the knowledge of my activities here, _Mort Dieu!_ I finish--I go--I evaporate. Also the big house being occupied is not to my taste, though, if the lady who owns it is willing, I would gladly purchase from her this tower which has an interest for me, and for which I would be willing to give a fair price. You would perhaps, monsieur, suggest it to her when next you have the felicity of seeing her? Is it not so?"

Daneham laughed outright at this. The sheer impudence of it was too much for his composure.

"Well, I'm damned," he said. "For cool cheek you'd take a lot of beating, young man. Who, by the way, put you wise about the tower in the first instance?" Here at last he might get the answer to that one great puzzle.

"Ah, for that, it was a friend who told me some time ago, and I profit by the knowledge," was the reply.

"The same friend, perhaps, who wrote that date on the bit of paper that was found and which you dropped over a week ago on the shingle near this tower?" suggested Daneham, taking a shot at a venture.

The flash-lamp jerked, almost imperceptibly.

"Ah! You found that, did you? My faith, it was grossly careless of me to have dropped anything," admitted the engaging young criminal. If only Daneham could have seen his face--"But it is of no consequence. It was that I have a bad memory. Oh, a memory of the very worst, monsieur, and my friend wrote the words down for me so that I should not forget. That is all. It is nothing, I assure you, a _bagatelle_. But perhaps it is better that you ask no more questions, monsieur. Presently I have to remove these goods by car. A friend will be here with his automobile to help me, and, during that little process monsieur will be sound asleep--I hope."

"I have neither inclination nor intention of going to sleep," was the reply. Strangely enough he had felt no fear all through. He had no thought of danger to himself. His engaging young captor, by his manner and his personality, had dismissed the element of fear from the situation. Nor was there, to his mind, a possibility of rescue, either. All at Ardenmore would believe him to be in bed and asleep. No one would possibly guess that instead of being between the comfortable sheets at home, he was lying in the tower room securely bound hand and foot.

"The inclination will come, monsieur, believe me," said the Frenchman. "The intention will be all on my part. And I hear my man returning now."

"Then you won't tell me who told you about this tower?" asked Daneham. "Do you, by chance, know a man called Dominic Arden?" The question was rapped out quickly, but if he had expected to see the light jerk again, he was disappointed, for it remained perfectly steady.

"Non, monsieur, I do not know even to whom you refer," was the reply. "And once more I advise you to ask no further questions. Enough that I tell you this is my last visit to the tower. After that I retire, I operate--as you call it--no longer on this coast. It becomes unhealthy if one returns too often. Marcel! Is that you?"

A gruff voice replied in the affirmative.

"Then haste, my cabbage. One supposes that you have returned to La Belle France for the cognac. For me, I could have journeyed to Paris and back in the time. Come, you have a glass, I hope. Monsieur is not accustomed to drink from a bottle as you are, _mon vieux_."

"Yes, I have a glass, my Master."

"I don't want any brandy, thanks all the same," said Daneham, shortly.

"It is, I fear, not what you want, monsieur," was the reply, "but what I wish. In this instance I demand that you drink some of this brandy, and if you are wise, monsieur, you will comply with my demand."

"And if I refuse?" began the other.

"In that case, monsieur, you force me to take measures, which we shall, in after years, both of us regret most deeply. For I shall be under the necessity of placing you on your back and pouring the brandy down your throat, monsieur, and I execrate the idea, I assure you. Be advised, therefore. Drink quickly and make no resistance. It is good brandy, and, being an honest man--though your Customs officers dispute this fact--I will tell you that it is also drugged, and will keep you quiet, without doing you any harm, during the time that I propose to remove my goods. For assuredly the good God knows that monsieur must not see how that is done, _bien entendu_. Now, my friend, what is it to be?"

There was nothing for it but compliance, for Daneham had no wish to be man-handled again.

"Very well," he said angrily. "Give me the damned stuff."

"Monsieur is wise, but then, since monsieur is English, I knew that he would be." There came the gurgle of liquid poured into a glass. "Monsieur will pardon me." The engaging young smuggler held the brimming glass towards Daneham. "Monsieur has been amiableness itself. It has been a pleasure to meet him, to show him my goods, and to engage in conversation with him. He will forgive this little harmless precaution, will he not? We part on friendly terms? _N'est ce pas?_"

"Hang it all, yes," he cried with a sudden laugh. "Devil take you, get on with it, man."

"Monsieur, I thank you. May we meet on a happier occasion. I would drink this toast with you myself, but, _Helas!_ I must keep my faculties clear for what I do. _Alors, monsieur_, I wish you a very pleasant repose, and as some compensation for what I inflict on you, I will leave a bale of silk stockings for you to present to the lady of Ardenmore House with my humblest felicitations."

With that he went behind the chair, placed the glass to his captive's lips, and his other hand on his forehead, and as Frank Daneham opened his lips to smile irresistibly at the exquisite effrontery of those last words, he felt his head jerked back and the liquid poured into his mouth, and a second later the glass was empty. Then, while the man Marcel held the light, Daneman felt himself lifted by strong arms and laid gently on his back upon the floor, while beneath his head was placed a small package of something soft and silken.

"_Au revoir_, monsieur. _A bientot_." This was the last sound he consciously heard, for a moment later he felt himself sinking into happy oblivion.