Chapter XXXIII: Those Who Knew

I ascended to the second floor, to the door of the small apartment occupied by the eccentric "Monsieur Smith."

As I stood on the landing outside I could hear men's voices raised in altercation.

"I don't believe you!" I heard one man exclaim in English.

"Then you call me a liar!" cried the other, in anger.

"It isn't the first time that you've lied to me," was the response.

"And you come here, to Paris, to tell me this--eh?"

"I've come to tell you that I'm sick of the whole affair, and the game wasn't worth the candle. What have I got out of it? Nothing!"

"Well, and I can say the same."

"Except that you've tried to mislead me."

"Mislead you! How?"

"You've tried to run me into the trap which you and your friends have so cunningly baited!" shouted the other, in fury. "See here! Here is the bait. Take her!"

And I knew that voice was Drayton's!

A woman screamed. It was Daisy!

"Bait!" shrieked the other. "You're mad! You're----"

"I mean what I say!" Drayton declared. "I've brought back the pretty hostage, and here she is," he laughed. "Take her, and don't try to play any more of your tricks upon me. I'm quite as fly as you are."

"Oh, Douglas!" cried the girl, for they were apparently standing in the small entrance-hall. "What are you saying?"

"He's insulting both you and me!" replied the mysterious Monsieur Smith, "and, by Heavens! he shall pay for it!"

Drayton laughed loudly. Their conversation was, to say the least, intensely interesting.

"Those are bold words of yours, my dear sir," he answered airily, in a lower tone. "But recollect that two can play the good old game of retaliation. So reflect well before you act."

"Cease this quarrel, both of you!" cried Daisy, in a frightened voice, apparently knowing well the desperate character of the pair. "If I am the bait, as you call it, I can well take care of myself."

"Don't believe him, Miss Marvin," Smith urged. "This fellow could not obtain the money he wanted, and now rounds upon his friends."

"But you are surely not his friend," she protested.

"My friend!" Drayton cried. "A pretty fine friend, when, if he were not afraid of his own skin, he'd give me away to that bloodhound Whitlock to-morrow."

"Give you away? What for?" asked Daisy, in all innocence.

There was an awkward pause.

"Never mind what for," he answered lamely. "That's my own affair and nobody else's. You've been used as a decoy, my dear girl, and one day you'll thank me for daring to make this exposure of the blackguardly tactics of a man who poses as a gentleman!"

"What do you mean?" asked Smith.

"What I say," replied Drayton, in an impudent, defiant tone.

"Be careful what you say."

"I repeat my words--that you are a blackguard and a liar who baited your infernal trap with this woman!" shouted Drayton, in anger.

"Oh, this is infamous!" Daisy shrieked. "I won't remain here."

"Yes," said her companion, "you shall remain, for I will be your protection against this evil genius of yours--this man who sought to make me the scapegrace."

"No!" she cried. "I will not remain. You are cruel to me, both of you!" and she burst into tears. "Let me go!"

"No, not yet," responded Drayton. "Please remain calm," and he apparently barred her passage.

"Let me pass," she commanded, while I, in fear lest she should emerge, drew back into a recess upon the dark landing, where I hoped I should escape notice.

"First hear me," cried the man who had dined with her at the Grand Hotel. "To-night, Daisy, we shall part, never, perhaps, to meet again. But I tell you before this man's face that he is a liar and unscrupulous. He would have sacrificed your good name, your future, and the man you love, in order to serve his own ends."

"Please do not bring Mr Keene's name into this affair," she protested.

Was this because she had no further confidence in me, or was it because she still loved me?

This quarrel had surely opened her eyes to the truth that Drayton did not care a single straw for her. The mask had fallen from the fellow's face.

I was eager to see this eccentric Englishman who, passing in Paris as Monsieur Smith, had been so openly denounced by Francis Drayton.

My love's reference to myself held me in suspense, and caused me to wonder whether, after all, I had not allowed myself to wrongly judge her. Drayton himself had exposed the manner in which she had been tricked into becoming the tool of the scoundrel, and the bait of some ingenious trap which had for its object the betrayal of himself into the hands of the police.

To me it seemed as though I were on the verge of a discovery--that at last the veil of mystery was to be lifted and the real truth revealed. I stood there breathless, my ears strained to catch every sound.

From the spot where I had drawn back I could not catch the conversation, which was still heated. The two men were again in fierce altercation, while the voice of my well-beloved was raised in protest. Therefore I risked the sudden opening of the door and stole back into my previous position.

"Then I defy you!" I heard Drayton cry. "And, moreover, if you do not apologise for those words, I'll go straight to the Prefect of Police, who will be glad of certain information."

"You dare not do that!" was Smith's defiant reply.

"Wait and see. I have nothing to lose; you have."

"You may lose your liberty."

"Not if I turn King's evidence. That is very easy, you know," Drayton said. "The affair has blown over now, but it can quickly be re-opened. Even up to now not a soul suspects why Hetty committed suicide."

Hetty! Who was she? Could that be the Christian name of the woman who killed herself in the police-cell rather than reveal the truth concerning poor Louise Lorimer?

"And they will never know."

"Unless I reveal it."

"Which you will never do, my dear sir," Smith replied. "You are not the man to incriminate yourself."

"No; but the object of my revelation will be to retaliate for what you have told this girl regarding myself."

"I don't believe it--I don't believe anything he's said," Daisy interrupted, as though eager to end the quarrel. "Come, let us go!"

"I shall go. You will never, I hope, see me again, Miss Marvin. You know the truth now."

"But is it the truth?" she queried, bewildered.

"I swear it is. Beware of this man. He threw you into my company, and he intended that you should share the fate of poor Louise--death!"

"It's a lie!" shouted Monsieur Smith, whose face I longed to see.

"It is the truth, and I repeat it," was Drayton's reply.

"Then I see it all," Daisy cried in deep distress, "I see how I have been made the victim of a foul, despicable plot--how I have been forced by you to sever myself from the man who loves me dearly, and whom I love."

"You mean Keene," Drayton said, referring to myself. "Yes, he loves you, without a doubt."

"And he's been prying about with Whitlock," added Smith. "He knows too much about things already."

"He will know more when next I meet him," declared Daisy, openly. "I shall tell him the whole story."

"No," urged Drayton, "don't. For all our sakes, keep the truth from him. We should all be misjudged--all of us. Keep your own counsel, but beware of this man here, who is your bitterest enemy!"

Would she adhere to her resolve, I wondered. Would she, when I sought her at the hotel, tell me all that she knew--all that Drayton had revealed? This man whom I hated was actually turning out to be my friend!

The trio retired into a room still altercating, but I could not distinguish a single word uttered.

Mine was a tantalising position. Upon the stairs I heard the old _concierge_ ascending, and was obliged to descend a flight in order to meet him and give a whispered explanation. In common with all _concierges_ he was thirsting for information regarding his new English tenant, so I promised to afterwards satisfy his curiosity.

Then I again crept upward to the door and listened for words from the mouth of my sweet-faced well-beloved.

She was the victim of a plot. That had been most conclusively proved. She had been fascinated by this good-looking idler, who was also a criminal, but he on his part had resolved to reveal to her the hideous truth of how she had been duped.

My sole hope now was that when I approached her at the Grand, in pretence of a chance meeting, she would place me in possession of the true facts. Who was this man Smith--this eccentric _Anglais_ who had only arrived a week before, and taken furnished the apartments of a young Spanish diplomat?

At least I should have an intensely interesting story to relate to Whitlock!

Each minute seemed to me an hour, as I waited there, my ears strained behind the door, listening to the hum of voices, but unable to catch a single intelligible sentence of the conversation.

I think a quarter of an hour must have passed. Now the voices were raised in angry discussion, as accusations were hurled at each other by the men, and then the altercation fell to a low hum, in which my well-beloved would join. My position was surely tantalising. Ah! if I could only catch the whole of those bitter accusations and defiant retorts! Would they not lead me to a direct knowledge of the truth concerning poor Louise Lorimer and brand the actual assassin?

I was so near the truth, and yet, at the same time, so far from it. I would have given worlds if Whitlock had been with me now, for, by the exercise of his ingenuity and daring, we might probably learn more than what I had already gathered.

The _concierge_ below must have held me in suspicion, for I heard him moving, probably half inclined to believe that I was a thief, or that I had ascended there and was lying in ambush with evil intent.

I heard a telephone bell ringing within the flat of "Mee-ster Smee-eth," and he himself went to answer it.

He spoke French excellently, even though he might be an Englishman.

"Eh--what?" I heard him ask, in a quick, excited voice. "Eh--are you sure? He's over here--and----"

There was a pause. He was listening intently with the receiver at his ear.

"Thanks for the tip. I won't go near the place. Do you think it would be wise to leave Paris?" he asked, still speaking in French.

"Very well. I'll leave the Gare du Nord to-morrow at nine-fifty. Keep your eyes and ears open, and if you think it safe see me at the train. _Bon soir!_"

I wondered whether either Drayton or Daisy knew French. But the question was quickly solved by Daisy, who asked in English--

"Who was that?"

"Oh, only a man who wants me to go with him to-morrow night to a reception. Nothing. He's a dreadful bore, so I've refused."

It was therefore evident that neither she nor her companion understood French, or were aware that he had received a mysterious warning, and had resolved upon flight.