The Sins of Severac Bablon Part 56

"But now you cannot avoid doing so. Sheffield is inside! What madness brings you here?"

"In the absence of the Hon. Maurice Anerly, I acted as Haredale's best man."

Sheard literally gasped.

"But you are not----"

"A Christian? My religious beliefs, Sheard, do not preclude my attendance at a wedding ceremony. Some day I may explain this to you."

"You must have been recognised!"

"Who knows Severac Bablon?"

"At least four people now in that house!"

"Possibly. But no one of those four has seen me. No one of them was present at the ceremony; and, I a.s.sure you, I made myself scarce afterwards."

"You must hurry. You have been traced----"

"Never fear; I shall hurry. But, before I go, Sheard, take this envelope. It is the last 'scoop' that I have to offer to the _Gleaner_, but it is the biggest of all! Good-bye."

"Do I understand that you are leaving England?"

So sincere was the emotion in the pressman's voice that Severac Bablon's own had changed when he replied:

"We may never meet again; I cannot tell."

He laid his hands upon the other's shoulders in a characteristic gesture, and to Sheard, as he met the glance of those fine eyes, this was no criminal flying from justice; rather, a ruler of peoples, an enthusiast, a fanatic perhaps, but a royal man--and his friend.

"Good-bye!" said Severac Bablon, and clasped Sheard's hand in both his own.

He turned to Zoe Oppner, who, very pale, was glancing back at the house.

"Good-bye again!"

A cab waited, and Severac Bablon, lighting a cigarette, leapt in and was driven away. Sheard did not hear his directions to the man; and Zoe Oppner left him abruptly and ran into the house again. Before he had time to move, to collect his thoughts, a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder.

He started. Inspector Sheffield stood beside him.

"Who was in that cab?" he rapped.

Sheard realised that the moment to which he had long looked forward with dread was come. He had been caught red-handed. At last Severac Bablon had dared too greatly, and he, Sheard, must pay the price of that indiscretion.

"Why do you ask--and in that tone?"

"Mr. Sheard," said the detective grimly, "I've had my eye on you for a long while, as you must be well aware. You may not be aware that but for me you'd have been arrested long ago! I'm past the time when sensational arrests appeal to me, though. I'm out to hide scandals, not to turn the limelight on 'em. You're a well-known man, and it would break you, I take it, if I hauled you up for complicity? But I've got my responsibilities, too, remember; and I warn you--I warn you solemnly--if you bandy words with me now, I'll have you in Marlborough Street inside ten minutes!"

The b.u.t.tons were off, and Sheard felt the point at his throat. For there was no mistaking the grim earnestness of the man from Scotland Yard. The kindly blue eyes were grown hard as steel, and in them the pressman read that upon his next words rested his whole career. A lie could avail his friend nothing; it meant his own ruin.

"Severac Bablon!" he said.

"I knew that!" replied Sheffield; "you did well to admit it! Where has he gone?"

"I have no idea."

"Don't take any chances, sir! I'm tired of the responsibility of s.h.i.+elding the fools who know him! If you give me your word on that, I'll take it."

"I give you my word. I was unable to hear his directions to the driver."

"Very good. There are other things I might ask you--but I know you'd refuse to answer, and then I'd have no alternative. So I won't.

Good-day."

"Good-day, Inspector. And thank you." Sheffield nodded shortly and walked up to the driver of the next waiting cab.

"What number was the man who drove away last?"

"LH-00896, sir."

"Know where he went?"

"No, sir; but not far. He told a pal o' mine--the chauffeur of Mr.

Rohscheimer's car, there, sir--that he'd be back in seven minutes."

"Good!" said Sheffield.

Matters were befalling as well as he could have hoped; for he had come out too late to have followed the cab. He glanced at his watch. Provided the man picked up no fare on his way back, he was due in three minutes.

The detective strolled off towards Belgrave Road. Inside the three minutes a cab turned into the other end of the square.

Inspector Sheffield retraced his steps hurriedly.

Without a word to the man, he opened the cab door. A faint, familiar perfume reached his nostrils. He glanced at the ash-trays, but neither contained a cigarette end. He turned to the driver.

"Where did you take the gentleman you picked up here, my man?"

A newsboy came racing along the pavement, with an armful of sheets, wet from the press. The journal was the _Gleaner's_ most powerful opponent.

"War de-clared, piper! War de-clared, speshul!"

His shrill cries drowned the taximan's reply. As the boy ran on crying his mendacious "news" (for the front-page article was not headed "War declared," but "Is war declared?"), Sheffield repeated his question.

"To Buckingham Palace, sir!" he was answered.

The detective stared incredulously.

"I mean a tall gentleman, clean shaven, and very dark, with quite black hair----"

"Smoked some sort of Russian smokes, sir--yellow?"