The Black House in Harley Street/Chapter 12

Cutting across from Wigmore Street into Park Lane by way of Orchard Street and Grosvenor Square, the hansom cab which van Mildart and Miss Lamotte had hailed soon reached Hyde Park Corner, to which point the former had directed the driver to take him. As he was pulling up near the entrance to the Park, van Mildart opened the trap in the roof and gave him final instructions.

"Go across, and stop by the Tube station," he said.

Then turning to his companion, he remarked, with something of his usual easy and sardonic humour—

"This proves to be interesting. You have been followed from the house in Harley Street, and by the men in the cab behind us. Well, we will give them something to cudgel their brains with."

Considering that he believed himself to be followed, van Mildart acted with great deliberation on leaving his hansom. He took his time in getting out; he assisted his companion with great politeness; he was unable for the moment to find the exact amount of silver which he needed. The other cab came up, passed them, went on. They heard it stop farther down the road.

​"Now we will walk a little," said van Mildart, "and set off in the direction of Kensington Gore. You are a good walker—we will step briskly."

Within thirty yards they met two men in evening dress. Each was smoking a cigar; each affected to be deeply interested in finding some particular mansion in St. George's Place. Beyond a mere glance at van Mildart and his companion as they passed them these two showed no concern in their business; they went on their way loudly disputing as to which of two numbers they wanted. Van Mildart sneered.

"Clumsy work!" he said. "You saw Macnaughten to-night?"

"Yes," replied Miss Lamotte.

"But you didn't see him again in one of those two? Well, that's one for him. I did, though; that's one for me. Now let us walk on slowly."

Behind them they suddenly heard a man's voice cry cheerily, "Well, good-night, old chap!" Then came rapid footsteps, and one of the men whom they had just met passed them, whistling a popular tune and swinging his walking-cane. He took no notice of them.

"Still clumsier!" sneered van Mildart, as the man disappeared in the gloom ahead. "All the same, we will exercise due care."

Walking onward at a quick pace, the two soon came in sight of Tattersall's corner, with Knightsbridge going to the right and the Brompton Road to the left. Van Mildart began to speak rapidly.

"Now listen to me carefully," he said, "and use all ​your wits. We must separate here. I am going to call on a friend of mine who lives close by; before I do so, I shall put you in a cab, and shall tell the driver to take you to as far as the park end of Palace Gate. Arrived there, walk down Palace Gate on your left-hand side until you come to a small street also going away on the left. Turn down this as far as the fourth house, in the upper window of which you will see a light. Admit yourself with this latchkey—and remember, that house is empty. Count ten steps along the entrance hall, and you will come to a door which you will open with this second key. Once within that, feel on your right and turn up the electric light. You will then see that you are at the top of a flight of steps presumably leading to a cellar. Follow them down, and you will find yourself in a very small room. There you will wait for me. Is that all clear?"

"Perfectly," replied Miss Lamotte, who had strained every nerve to catch her mentor's instructions. "Perfectly."

"Very well, here we get a cab," said van Mildart, stepping across the road. "If you should be followed, you will be quite safe once you cross the threshold of the empty house—it would take a good deal to get through the second door, and there are two exits to the room beneath, as you will see when I presently arrive. Now get in."

As Miss Lamotte stepped into the cab a prowler, who looked little more than a bundle of rags, darted forward out of the shadows, ostensibly to open the door or keep ​her skirts from the wheel. Van Mildart drove him back with an angry curse; the bundle of rags whined.

"Westward," said van Mildart, pointing towards Kensington. "Tell him when to stop as you go on," he added in a lower voice to Miss Lamotte. "Remember all—and be careful."

The cab drove away, and van Mildart, lingering on the road as he lighted a fresh cigar, watched its lights disappear. He suddenly made a rapid movement, which brought him to the side of the human pariah who was slinking into the shadows again.

"Here—you!" he said. "Are you hungry?"

The bundle of rags whined, almost whimpered.

"Hold out your hand, then," said van Mildart, as they came under the light of a lamp.

A hand stole out of the rags—a hand plump, soft, white, not badly kept.

"I thought so," said van Mildart. "Thank your stars I don't kill you, Mr. or Master Spy. Get! If you follow me down this road you'll be sorry for it. Quick!"

The bundle of rags drew back, cursing its own folly, and van Mildart marched swiftly away down the Brompton Road. Twisting here, doubling there, going down streets which seemed to lead nowhere, and occasionally going round a square in one direction only, to come back in another, he at last came out in a mews in the immediate neighbourhood of Palace Gate, and keeping well within the shadow of a high wall, went on until he came to a certain stable, the door of which he unlocked with a patent key. He stood listening for some ​time before he fastened the door again. There was not a sound to be heard on the cobble-stoned pavement of the mews.

As for Miss Lamotte, she obeyed van Mildart's instructions to the letter, and soon found herself deposited at the park end of Palace Gate. There was not a soul in sight, and though it was barely a quarter-past two o'clock, there were signs that the short summer night was passing. For one moment, recognising the terrible danger to herself that lay before her, she wished that Macnaughten or any of his associates, or any of the men from Scotland Yard, were at hand, just for one whispered word; but she was so conscious of van Mildart's diabolical ingenuity that she felt sure that if they had been he would have seen them. No; she would have to do it alone. And yet—how could Macnaughten and the rest of them know where she was?

All these thoughts rushed through her mind in less than a second. She was sure that Macnaughten and his men had got off her track. Still, they might be on van Mildart's, which would do as well. She went swiftly down Palace Gate, hoping against hope for some small sign to show that her allies were in touch with her. But she saw nothing. Macnaughten's last words recurred to her. Well, whether it cost her her life or not, she was going through with it. She had been hunting van Mildart and his gang for three years of solid, constant work and watching. She felt that she must run him and them to earth now or never.

She reached the small street which van Mildart had ​spoken of, and turned quickly along it. It was one of those little, insignificant thoroughfares which are often found in close proximity to fashionable streets and squares in London; it seemed to her that it was probably tenanted by grooms, coachmen, outdoor servants generally. Yes, there in the fourth house, as van Mildart had said, a light burned in the upper window. It had nice clean blinds that upper window; the window downstairs was furnished with white curtains, drawn well across it. There was nothing to indicate that the house was empty; on the contrary, it looked to be inhabited by people who took some care of it.

The door was flush with the street; in less than a moment she was inside the house, in the darkness of the hall. She stood there, panting and trembling, in spite of her determination, for a full minute. The little house seemed very still—still as empty houses only can seem still. Its stillness was almost uncanny. Nerves and Miss Lamotte were not considered by herself or her associates to be aught but agreeable to each other; she felt for the first time for some years that hers were inclined to be a little jumpy that morning. But Miss Lamotte had been trained in a hard school, and had faced various unpleasant things and gone through various trying episodes more than once during her career, and she presently pulled herself together, and prepared to go forward with the work she had in hand.

"Count ten steps along the entrance hall!"

She had not forgotten a word of van Mildart's instructions, and in the dark and somewhat narrow ​passage in which she found herself, and would certainly not have dignified by the name of hall, she began to count the requisite number of paces, keeping her left hand outstretched before her, and her right hand in the pocket of her gown wherein lay her revolver. She came up against a door at the tenth, and began to feel for the keyhole. The second of the two keys which van Mildart had given her fitted this. She presently stood on the other side of the door, which closed behind her automatically, but with no more sound than the slight click of the latch. And now the silence was more profound than ever.

She felt, according to van Mildart's instructions, for the switch of the electric light, and soon found it and turned it up. A brilliant glare from a powerful lamp showed her a flight of some twenty steps which terminated in front of a door covered with green baize. Slowly descending the steps and pushing this door open, Miss Lamotte found herself in a small room which was lighted as brilliantly as the stairway. That it was some distance underground she knew by the number of the steps. That fact, however, interested her not at all; she was chiefly anxious to know what the place was used for. She began to examine it with a care that was more than equal to her curiosity.

The room was, as van Mildart had said, very small; Miss Lamotte, looking round it, conceived it to have been in its original state a small cellar which had subsequently been excavated to a considerable depth. She came to this conclusion because of its height, which ​was out of all proportion to its other measurements. It was fully sixteen feet high, but not more than seven feet square. Its appointments were very simple and not a little strange. The walls were boarded from floor to ceiling in some dark wood; the floor was covered with a thick rug. On the left-hand side as you entered from the stairs was a small desk and one chair; on the right-hand side was a telephone, and beneath it a board on which were two or three buttons something like the buttons of an electric bell. Facing the green baize door was another—a door so remarkable in appearance that Miss Lamotte was immediately fascinated by it. It was not more than five feet in height nor than eighteen inches in width; obviously of steel or of iron, it was heavily padded with embossed leather.

And narrowly as she examined it, Miss Lamotte could not find anywhere on its surface any trace of a keyhole nor anything to show how it could be opened from the room in which she stood.

This fact made her think, and she suddenly turned, swung the green baize-covered door open, and ran up the stairs. A startling thought, a heart-chilling fear had crossed her mind. She wanted to know, there and then, if the surmise which presented itself to her was correct. In the keen light of the electric lamp she examined the door at the top of the stairs—like that in the room below, it was of steel or iron, painted over and heavily padded with leather, save for the rim; like that door too, there was nothing to show that it could be opened from inside.

​She suddenly realised that, unless van Mildart opened one or other of the two doors from without, she was hopelessly trapped. And the thought instantly flashed across her mind. Had he meant to trap her? Was she to be kept prisoner there while he carried out some nefarious design? Or—did he mean to let her stop there until———? She did not care to think of what would happen to her left in a living tomb.

Miss Lamotte was no ordinary woman. Bred in an atmosphere of intrigue, familiar with the methods of the secret police in two continents, she had given her whole life and career to tracking down the cleverest class of criminal, and had been mixed in some notable cases. Ostensibly a physician, and one with a reputation, she had used her profession not only as a blind but as a means; and for some years she had been on the track of van Mildart, and had spent the money of at any rate two Governments in trying to get at that gentleman's inmost secrets. More than once she could have laid him by the heels for things which would have seemed very big affairs to the ordinary detective, but she preferred to wait for a big coup. It must be all or nothing—she meant it to be all.

But she reflected, as she went down the stairs again and sat down at the little desk to await developments, that van Mildart was one of those men who always seem to have a card up their sleeves when the last trick is apparently going against them. Had he tricked her now—at the last? It was certain that he had her safely trapped; she could not leave that place of her own will. ​There she was—well underground, in what appeared to be a sort of strong-room. Van Mildart might come to her as he had said he would. Also—he might not.

An hour passed slowly away. Nothing happened. The silence became almost unbearable. She began, against her will, to imagine what it would be like to be left there for ever. Left there, at any rate, until———

She almost jumped off her chair as the telephone bell suddenly broke the silence with its shrill whirr.

Something—somebody—at last, anyway! She sprang eagerly to the instrument, and answered the call—

"Yes?"

Van Mildart's voice came to her, clear, sharp.

"You are there?"

"Yes!"

"Listen carefully to all I say. The police are here!"

Miss Lamotte could have cried out with joy and satisfaction. Instead of doing so, she controlled her voice and merely said—

"Well?"

"They are not in the house yet, but they are all round it. I cannot think how they have got on the scent. It's not Macnaughten's lot, though—it's the Scotland Yard crew. Something's wrong."

"What do you wish me to do?"

"You see a board there with three ivory buttons on it?"

"Yes."

"Press the middle button."

The board with the buttons was just beneath her; ​Miss Lamotte unhesitatingly pressed a finger on the middle one. Behind her sounded a sharp click; then began the whirring of invisible machinery; then came another click. Turning round, she saw the small door slowly opening.

Van Mildart's voice came again.

"The door has opened?"

"Yes."

"Press the left-hand-side button."

Miss Lamotte obeyed the second order as readily as she had obeyed the first. Within the cavity which the opening of the door revealed a bright light sprang up. She looked within, still standing at the telephone. The interior into which she gazed seemed to be a sort of safe, some six feet in height and two feet across. On its farther side was a door similar in size and appearance to that which had just swung back on its hinges. There was nothing whatever to be seen in this cupboard or safe-like place but a glass disc, heavily framed in brass, which seemed, from where she stood, to be screwed to the wall on the left-hand side. Behind the glass something shone. She saw all this in a glance, and again she spoke.

"Yes—that is done."

"You see the glass disc?"

"Yes."

"It covers a switch. Do you see that behind the glass?"

"Yes."

"Have you a watch on you?"

"Yes."

​"Put it exactly with mine—to the second. It is three-thirty-seven-forty-one."

Miss Lamotte adjusted the hands of her watch with steady fingers.

"Right."

"Now, attend. In exactly fifteen minutes from now unscrew that disc. One minute later turn the switch down, sharply. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"After that, wait there for me—I shall be with you a moment after. By the bye, did you get into the house unobserved? Was there any one about?"

"I saw no one. I am sure I was not seen."

"Good. Be ready for flight the instant I come to you. Do not touch the buttons again. Remember, the switch at three-fifty-two-forty-one. That's all."

Miss Lamotte put the receiver back on its crutch and took out her watch. She was as certain that something was going to happen as that she stood there counting the minutes. But what?

She glanced curiously at the glass disc glittering in the safe-like receptacle, the door of which now stood wide open. What would happen when she pulled that switch? The entire arrangement of the place suggested diabolical ingenuity, vast precaution, infinite care. Where did that farther door lead to? Probably, she thought, to some underground passage by means of which van Mildart would come to her. He, of course, would have the secret of opening the door at the top of the steps—he was most likely counting on this way ​of making his escape. Where would she trap him? She chafed at the thought that any other than herself should have the credit or the glory of his capture, and yet he was so clever, and so slippery, and had evidently taken such pains in his contrivances, that she feared even now that he would be too much for her. And where was he? and what was he doing? And were the police in the house yet? Thinking of these things, and recognising that the game was going on and that she could see nothing of it, she ground her teeth with anger. Then she said to herself that that was no good, and bent down on the edge of the desk, watch in hand, waiting.

If Miss Lamotte could have seen into the room in the big house in Palace Gate wherein van Mildart was at that moment engaged, she would have been extremely interested. Most men of van Mildart's stamp know when the game is at its last desperate stage. He had more ways than one of reaching the headquarters of his gang unobserved, and had found no difficulty in gaining access to their most secret chambers; but a reconnaissance of the exterior had shown him clearly that something was afoot. Sharp as a ferret himself, he could detect other men who were equally sharp, and a few glances here and there told him that the house was being kept under strict observation, and that in all probability it would be raided before morning had fairly broken over London. Something had gone wrong—that was certain. It couldn't be through Pimpery, he said to himself, thinking of the butler by his recent name, for he was sure that Pimpery had not the ghost ​of a notion of this place. Never mind: it mattered nothing now as to how it had been found out; what did matter was action—instant, immediate action.

There was an inner set of rooms used by the three men who were at the head of this gang, and only themselves knew the secret of entrance to them. In their very heart was a strong-room wherein the treasure was kept; for this van Mildart made with the directness of the savage whom necessity makes to know but one law—self. It was sauve qui peut now—nobody could appreciate that stern fact better than van Mildart. Let him lay hands on what he could and get away with it, and everybody else might go hang. He chuckled as he thought of what was going to happen in a few moments—he chuckled all the more when he thought of Miss Lamotte. But he cursed his bad luck when he remembered how near he had been to success in the case of the Goulburns and his niece.

Van Mildart worked fast and methodically in that strong-room. He knew where everything was that he could carry, and what papers there were which he could turn into cash. In ten minutes he had made an end, and he slipped out through the heavy door and closed it behind him, and, crossing a vestibule, entered the apartment in which he and his two co-directors (one of whom was supposed in everyday circles to be a stockbroker, and the other a professor of languages) had considered the case of Goulburn and his fellow-captives only a few hours previously. And then he was suddenly pulled up short, and his quick brain realised with ​lightning-like rapidity that the crisis had come sooner than he had expected. For he found himself looking straight into the barrel of a big revolver, and the big revolver was held in the steady hand of the big man who had conducted Goulburn to captivity.

Van Mildart realised everything in a flash. Here was the traitor! He stepped back, and his hand sank into the side pocket of his blouse jacket. He had a revolver lying ready there, and he fired at an upward slant through the cloth as soon as his fingers grasped it—fired at the same time as his opponent.

The two shots rang out together.

The big man spun round, stared, clutched, went down in a heavy, blundering heap—shot through the heart. The bullet from his big revolver crashed into the woodwork of the door through which van Mildart had entered.

Van Mildart stood for a moment staring at the man he had killed.

"You fool!" he said at last. "You damned fool!"

Then he went over and kicked him in the face.

That done, he glanced at the clock, whistled to himself, turned—and hurried.

Sixty feet away, underground, Miss Lamotte, watch in one hand, the brass switch in the other, was also watching the seconds.

"——— thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty———"

She pulled the brass switch down as van Mildart had instructed—sharply.