The Sins of Severac Bablon Part 51

"Regarding your protection to-night, sir," he said, standing up and b.u.t.toning his coat, "there are six men on special duty round the house, and no one can possibly get in unseen."

The Home Secretary, smiling, glanced at his watch. "A quarter to nine!"

he said. "He has fifteen minutes in which to make good his bluff. But I do not fear interruption."

Sheffield awkwardly returned the statesman's bow of dismissal, and withdrew under the patronage of a splendid footman. As the door closed, Mr. Belford, with a long sigh of relief, stepped to a bookcase and selected Petronius Arbiter's "_Satyricon_."

Book in hand, he slid back the noiseless gla.s.s doors of the conservatory. A close smell of tropical plant life crept into the room, but this was as frankincense and myrrh to his nostrils. He pa.s.sed through and seated himself in a cus.h.i.+oned cane chair amid the rare flora. Switching on a shaded lamp conveniently hung in this retreat, he settled down to read.

For it was a favourite relaxation of the right honourable gentleman's to bury himself amid exotic blooms, and in such congenial company as that of the Patrician aesthete, rekindle the torches of voluptuous Rome.

A few minutes later:

"Am I nowhere immune from interruption?" muttered Mr. Belford, with the nearest approach to irritability of which his equable temper was deemed capable.

But the next moment his genial smile dawned, as the charming face of his niece, Lady Mary Evershed, peeped through the foliage.

"Truman was afraid to interrupt you, uncle, as you were in your cell!

But Inspector Sheffield is asking for you, and seems very excited."

"Dear me!" said her uncle, glancing at his watch; "but I saw him fifteen minutes ago! It has just gone nine." Then, recalling Severac Bablon's boastful message: "He has not dared to attempt it! Unless--can it be that he is arrested? Tell Truman to send the inspector here, Mary."

The girl, with a little puzzled frown on her forehead, withdrew, and almost immediately a heavy step sounded in the library, and Chief-Inspector Sheffield, pus.h.i.+ng past the footman, burst unceremoniously into the conservatory. His face was flushed, and his eyes were angrily bright.

"We've been hoaxed, sir!" he cried. "We've been hoaxed!"

Mr. Belford raised a white hand.

"My dear inspector," he said, "be calm, I beg of you! Will you not take a seat and explain this matter to me?"

Sheffield dropped into a chair, but the flow of excited words would not be stayed nor dammed.

"He's tricked us again!" he burst out. "I suspect what he wanted, sir, and I rely on you to give me all the help you can! I know Paul Harley has got hold of evidence that we couldn't get; but a C.I.D. man can't spend a week making love to Lady Mary Evershed's maid----"

"But others are better able to devote that amount of time to my maid, I suppose?"

The interruption startled Mr. Belford out of his habitual calm, and startled the detective into sudden silence.

Lady Mary stood at the door of the conservatory.

"I am sorry to appear as an eavesdropper," she continued; "but, as a matter of fact, I had never left the study!"

"Er--Mary," began the Home Secretary, but for once in a way he was at a loss for words. He knew from experience that the most obstreperous friend "opposite" was easier to deal with than a pretty niece.

"Zoe is here with me, too," said Mary, and the frizzy head of Zoe Oppner appeared over her friend's shoulder. "We are sorry to have overheard Mr.

Sheffield's words, but I think we have heard too much not to ask to hear more. Do I understand, inspector, that someone has been spying on my maid?"

Inspector Sheffield glanced at the Right Hon. Walter Belford, and read an appeal in the eyes behind the pince-nez. He squared his shoulders in a manner that had something admirably manly about it--and told a straightforward lie.

"One of the Pinkerton men engaged by Mr. Oppner tried to get some letters from your maid, I believe; but there's not a sc.r.a.p of evidence on the market, so he must have failed!"

"Evidence of what?" asked Zoe Oppner sharply.

Mr. Belford nervously tapped his fingers upon the chair-arm.

"Of your friends.h.i.+p, and Lady Mary's with Severac Bablon!" replied the inspector boldly.

Lady Mary was pale, and her eyes grew wide; but the American girl laughed with undisguised glee.

"Severac Bablon has never done a dirty thing yet," she said. "If we knew him we should be proud of it! Come on, Mary! Mr. Belford, I'm almost ashamed of you! You're nearly as bad as pa!"

They withdrew, and Mr. Belford heaved a great sigh of relief.

"Thank you, inspector," he said. "Lady Mary would never understand that I sought only to save her from compromising herself. I am glad that the letters are in such safe hands as yours."

"But they're not!" cried Sheffield, leaping excitedly to his feet.

Gruffness had come into his voice, which the other ascribed to excitement.

"How so?"

An expression of blank wonderment was upon the politician's face.

"Because I never had them! Because I've never had a sc.r.a.p of anything in black and white! Because I've been tied up in an old tool-shed in a turnip field for the past half-hour! And because the man who marched through my silly troop a while ago and came in here and got back I don't know what important evidence--_was Severac Bablon_!"

It was a verbal thunderbolt. Mr. Belford sat with his eyes upon the detective's face--speechless. And now he perceived minor differences.

The difference in voice he already had noted: now he saw that the eyes of the real Inspector Sheffield were many shades lighter than those of the spurious; that the red face was heavier and more rounded. It was almost incredible, but not quite. He had seen Tree play Falstaff, and the art of Severac Bablon was only a shade greater.

"He's had months to study me!" explained the detective tersely. Then: "I'm stopping at the 'Golden Tiger,' in the village. I'd been over the ground in daylight, and I sent the men along first. They were round the house by half-past seven. Just as I turned the corner out of the High Street a big grey car overtook me; out jumped two fellows and had a jiu-jitsu hold on in a second! They gagged me and tied me up inside, all the time apologising and hoping they weren't hurting me! They drove me to this shed and left me there. It was five minutes to nine when one of them came back and untied my hands, giving himself a start while I undid the rest of the knots. Here I am! Where's Severac Bablon?"

The Right Hon. Walter Belford became the man of action again. He pulled out his watch.

"Twenty-five minutes since he left the house," he said. "But he may not have taken the road at once."

He rang.

"Truman," he cried to the footman, "the limousine ready--immediately!

This way, inspector!"

Off he went through the Circular Study, Sheffield following. At the door Mr. Belford paused--and turned back.

He bent over his writing-table, searching for his own careful enlargement of Severac Bablon's photograph.

Severac Bablon had not taken it with him, nor had he returned to the room.

But it was gone!

"Rome divided! Treason in the camp!" he said, _sotto voce_. Then, aloud: "This way, inspector!"

The tower of Womsley Old Place is a conspicuous landmark, to be seen from distant points in the surrounding country, and visible for some miles out to sea.