Part 21

The man who was concerned in the case where Ronald Morelle had figured so ingloriously. Perhaps he could tell him something about Ronnie? Something to his further discredit.

"Bring him in," and when the dapper Mr. Talbot appeared: "I can give you two minutes, Mr.--er--Talbot."

"I've come from a sense of duty," began the injured Jeremiah. "I'm certainly not going to be intimidated by threats from a beast like Ronald Morelle--"

Steppe cut him short.

"Is it about Ronald Morelle? I haven't time to go into your quarrels."

"It is about Ronnie--and Beryl Merville."

Jan Steppe gazed at the man moodily, then into the fire--then back to Jeremiah Talbot.

"Sit down," he said. "Now--"

Talbot told his story plainly and without trimmings, save that his hatred of Ronnie led him to digress from time to time.

"You saw; you are certain?"

"Absolutely, I ran down the stairs. There was a fellow taking photographs outside, a man with a brown beard--"

Moropulos! And the photograph was that of Beryl Merville!

"Go on."

"That is all. I felt it my duty to tell you. If Ronald Morelle attempts to browbeat me, I'll give him in charge--"

"All right--you can go. Thank you."

Jan Steppe had his own peculiar views on women in general, the relationship of Beryl with Ronnie Morelle in particular. Things of that kind happened. He had thought some such affair was possible, and was neither shocked nor outraged. Beryl did not love him, he knew: she loved Morelle. He grinned wickedly.

"The car, sir."

His first call was at the registrar's office. The special license had been secured a week before.

"I can marry you at half-past two," said the registrar, "we like a day's notice, but in an exceptional case--"

Steppe paid.

The Mervilles had not gone in to lunch when he arrived. Beryl was in her room, the doctor working in his study. Steppe wondered what he was working at.

"I want to see Miss Merville--don't disturb the doctor."

She came down, a listless, hopeless girl. Intuitively she knew that he had been told. What would he do: she stopped at the door of her father's study, fighting her fear. Should she tell him first? In the end she came to Steppe.

"Well, Beryl. What is this I hear about Ronald Morelle and you, huh?"

"What have you heard?"

"That you've been his mistress--that's what I've heard. Damned fine news for a bridegroom, huh? Does your father know?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want him to know?"

"I don't care."

"You don't care, huh? Got that way now, so that you don't care. You'll marry me this afternoon."

She looked up.

"This afternoon?"

"Yuh. You'd better tell the doctor; you can tell him anything else you like about Morelle--but if you don't tell, I won't."

Her hand had gone up to her cheek.

"This afternoon--I can't--give me a day--you said it would be tomorrow. I'm not ready."

"This afternoon at half past two. Will you tell the doctor, or shall I?"

She was trying to think.

"I'll tell him. As you wish. This afternoon."

Lunch went into the dining room. Nobody touched food. Steppe had to return to the house to get the wedding ring, send telegrams changing the date of his arrival in Paris, settle such minor details of household management as the change necessitated.

He was at the registrar's office when they came, Dr. Merville and the white-faced girl. In a cab behind the doctor's car travelled two Scotland Yard detectives.

The ceremony was simple. The repetition of a few sentences and Beryl Merville became Beryl Van Steppe. She did not know that his name was Van Steppe until she saw the marriage certificate.

"You can go home with your father. Be ready to leave by the boat train tonight."

So he dismissed her. All the way back to the house the doctor was talking, cheerfully, helpfully. She did not hear him. She was looking at the broad gold ring on her finger.

As they were entering the house her father leaned back, and scrutinized the street.

"I'm sure I've seen those two men before--weren't they waiting outside the registrar's, Beryl?"

Beryl had seen only one man. A man with a black beard, a broad, swarthy face and two eyes wherein burned the fires of hell.

XIII

Evie brought the news at a run. She had been shopping with Teddy--the store had given her a holiday, and there was some talk of subscribing for a wedding present.

"I said to Teddy, 'let's stop and see who it is'--we knew it was somebody swagger by the two cars and the cab outside the door. And then I thought that I knew one of the cars. I said, 'Teddy, I'll bet it is Beryl Merville'--and it was!"

Christina was pale.

"She wasn't to be married until tomorrow," she insisted.

"Well, she's married. My dear, she looked awful. Teddy says--"

"Oh, damn Teddy!" snapped Christina and was sorry. "I don't mean that, but I'm so used to damning your young men that I can't get out of the habit. Did they go away together--Steppe and she?"

"No--she's gone back to the house with her father. Steppe--is he a man with black whiskers--well, he went alone."

Christina kicked off her slippers determinedly.

"I'm going to see her," she said.

"What do you think you can do?" asked the scornful Evie. "Take my advice, Christina, never interfere between man and wife. Teddy says--"

"I repeat anything I have already said about Teddy," remarked Christina. "Chuck over my shoes, Evie."

She could not tell Beryl. She could tell nobody. Ronnie Morelle must be interpreted by those who saw.

She strode out thanking God for life, and Ambrose Sault for the tingle of her soles upon the pavement. Spring was in the air, the park trees were studded with emerald buttons; some impatient bushes had even come fully into leaf before the season had begun. The sky was blue and carried white and majestic clouds; the birds were chattering noisily above her as she came through the park and the earth smelled good, as it only smells in spring when the awakening of life within its bosom releases a million peculiar odors that combine in one fragrant nidor.

To Beryl's eyes the girl, with her peaked face and her flaming hair, was a vision of radiance.

"So good of you--" Beryl was on the verge of a breakdown as Christina Colebrook put her arms about her shoulders. "So lovely of you, Christina--I wanted to see you. I hadn't the energy to move--or the heart."

"Why today?"

"Steppe knows everything. He insisted upon today. As well today as tomorrow. I am troubled about father. I feel that something dreadful is going to happen. He is so restless and he has asked John Maxton to come; John was a great friend of my mother's. In a way I'm almost glad that there is this other trouble hanging over us--that sounds cruel to poor daddy, but it does distract me from--thoughts."

"What is this other trouble?"

But Beryl shook her head.

"I don't know. There has been some unpleasantness about a company father floated. Jan Steppe did it really, father is only a figurehead. He has had people to see him, people from the Public Prosecutor's office. He doesn't talk much about it to me, but I have a premonition that all is not well. But, Christina, I'm just whining and whining at you, poor girl!"

"Whine," said Christina. "Go on whining. _I_ should scream! Beryl, my love, you have to do something for me, something to relieve my heart of a great unhappiness. I intended seeing you today--you had my letter?--well, I'm too late to stop you marrying. I thought I would be in time; but not too late to save your immortal soul."

"What--?"

"Wait. I want you to promise me, by the man we hold mutually sacred, that you will do as I ask. No matter at what inconvenience or danger."

"I will do anything you ask," said Beryl quietly.

"What time do you meet this Steppe?"

"I call for him at eight o'clock. The boat train leaves at nine-thirty."

"At eight o'clock you will go to Ronnie Morelle."

"No, no! I can't do that--"

"You promised. You will see him: go to his flat and see him. Tell him you are married. Tell him the truth, that you are going away with a man you hate. Tell him that Steppe knows."

"I can't! You don't know what you're asking, Christina, I've--begged Ronnie before--begged him to run away with me. I can't do that again. It is impossible."

"You need beg nothing--nothing. Just tell him."

She caught the girl to her.

"Beryl, you're going to do what I ask you, dear?"

"Yes--you wouldn't ask me--"

"Out of caprice," finished Christina, "or cussedness, or a wish to try experiments. No. But you must go, Beryl. I--I think I should kill myself if you didn't."

"Christina! What do you mean?"

"I mean it is life to go and death not to go!" said Christina, with a sort of ferocity that staggered her companion. "That is what I mean." In a quieter tone: "Have you seen Ronald lately?"

Beryl shook her head.

"No. I saw him that night--the night they killed Ambrose--oh--"

"Don't gulp," warned Christina.

"I'm not gulping. I'm yearning. I saw him yearning once, the dear, I am trying to find some of his strength now. It is a little difficult."

On the way home Christina dropped into a telephone booth and paid three precious pennies.

"Ronnie! Christina speaking. Beryl is coming to see you tonight. At eight. Wait for her--don't dare to be out."

She cut off before he could ask questions.

XIV

Sir John Maxton stayed to dinner. Beryl did not put in an appearance until just before eight.

"Already, Beryl?"

Dr. Merville scrambled up. His face was gray, his eyes sunken, the hands that took her by the shoulders shook.

"My dear--I hope I have done right. I hope I have done right, my little girl."

She tried to smile as she kissed him.

"Can't I take you to Berkeley Square, Beryl?" asked Sir John.

She shook her head.

"No, thank you, John--goodbye."

They stood together, bareheaded, on the pavement, and saw her go. A drizzle of rain was falling, the dull red furnace glow of London was in the sky.

Together they walked back to the dining room and Maxton did not break in upon the doctor's thoughts.

"Thank God she's gone," he whispered at last, "John, I'm at the end, I know it. Perhaps he'll help after--I'll be satisfied if he makes Beryl happy."

"He could help now," said John Maxton. "Why do you deceive yourself? How can you hope for anything from Steppe? I wish to God I had known that this infernal marriage was for today."

"She wished it," said the doctor, "I should not have insisted, but she wished it. Steppe isn't a bad fellow--"

"Steppe is a scoundrel and nobody knows that better than yourself. Why are you in any danger from the law? Because you copied a draft prospectus which Steppe drew up and issued it in your own name. Steppe has only to appear as a witness and tell the truth, and he would find himself in your place--supposing this comes to a prosecution. But he won't. He could have saved--"

He stopped.

"Ambrose Sault?"

"He could have saved the body of Ambrose Sault from annihilation by a word! The draft of the prospectus is in existence. It is in the safe that Sault made. Steppe could open it and ninety-nine hundredths of your responsibility would be wiped out. But he won't risk his own skin."

"You think they will prosecute, John?"

Maxton considered. There was nothing to be gained by evasion.

"I am sure they will," he said quietly, "if I were the Public Prosecutor I should apply for a warrant on the facts as I know them."

The door opened.

"Will you see two gentlemen from Whitehall?" the maid asked.

It was Maxton who nodded.

"Bertram--you have to meet this ordeal--courageously."

The doctor got up as the detectives entered.

"I am Detective Inspector Lord, from Scotland Yard," said the first of them, "you are Dr. Bertram Merville? I have to take you into custody on a charge of misrepresentation under the Companies Act."

"Very good," said Dr. Merville, "may I go to my room for a moment?"

"No sir," said the inspector. "I understand you keep a medicine chest in your room."

Maxton nodded approvingly.

He did not go to the police station with the prisoner. He went in search of Beryl--and Jan Steppe.

XV

Ronald Morelle on the hearthrug before his electric radiator watched the fiery little wave that moved along the surface of the element.

In such moments of complete detachment, when his mind was free from the encumbrance of active thought, he received strange impressions. They were not memories, he told himself, any more than are those faces which grow and fade in the darkness just between sleeping and waking. They were whisps of dreams that were born and dissolved in a fraction of time. He had seen such clouds grow instantly above the lake of Geneva, and watching them from the terraces of Caux, had of a sudden missed them, even as he watched.

So these impressions appeared and vanished. There was one that was distinct and more frequent than any other. It was of a hut, long and narrow. Two broad sloping benches ran down each side and these, at night, were packed with sleeping men. The door to the hut was very solid and was locked by a soldier--he could sometimes hear the swish of the soldier's boots as he paced the gravel path surrounding the hut. Once a man had died--Ronnie helped to carry him out. It was a plague that had struck the island--island? Yes, it was an island, in the tropics, for the nights were very hot and the plants luxurious.

"There is a ring--will M'sieur require me?"

"Yes, stay, François."

Ronnie jumped up and dusted his trousers. Another second, and he was halfway across the room.

"I'm so glad that I came, Ronnie: it wasn't that Christina insisted: I wanted to see you, dear."

How pale, how ill she looked, he thought, with a sinking heart. She was going away somewhere, for she was dressed for travelling.

"Beryl, my dear, you are not well?"

"Oh, I'm well enough, Ronnie," she glanced back at the door. She expected that any moment Steppe would come--he would guess. There was a train to be caught too--the madness of this visit!

He held both her hands in his.

"Beryl, they tell me you are going to be married--that isn't right, Beryl, is it?"

She nodded.

"But Beryl--" he stopped. "I saw you once and I was cruel, wasn't I?"

"What is the use of talking about it? Ronnie, I hope you are going to be a better man than you have been. I admire you so much for defending that poor girl. You are trying to be different now."

"I think so."

"And--I'm believing you, Ronnie. It is not easy to give up that life? Won't you want to go back to it again?"

He smiled.

"I will take away from thee the desire of thine eyes, with a stroke, yet neither shalt thou mourn nor weep."

She looked at him fearfully.

"Ronnie, how solemn you are--and you are so strong too--I feel it. Ronnie, I am married!"

He bent his head as though he had not heard her.

"I was married today to Steppe. Oh God, it is awful, Ronnie, awful!"

He put his arm about her and kissed the tearful face, and then--

Crash!

The door shook again.

"I think that is your husband," said Ronnie gently, "will you go into my room?"

He opened the door for her and said "yes" with his eyes to the alarmed François.

Steppe flung himself into the room. In his great fur-collared coat he looked a giant of a man.

"Well?" said Ronnie.

"Where's my wife!" The man's voice vibrated. "You swine! Where is my wife--she's come here--I know, to her damned paramour. Where is she?" he bellowed.

"She is in my room--" said Ronnie, and Jan Steppe staggered back as if he were shot.

"In your room!" He sounded as if he were being strangled. "Well--now she can come to my room! You called me an ape this morning, I'll show you what kind of an ape I can be! Beryl!" he roared.

She came out, a tragic figure of despair.

"So you had to come and see him, eh--"

François had opened the door again, and a man came in unannounced.

"Steppe!"

It was John Maxton, and Steppe turned with a snarl.

"Merville has been arrested."

"Well?"

"My father! Arrested? Jan, I must go back--"

"You'll go with me, huh! I haven't married your father or your lover, either."

"What are you going to do?" demanded Maxton sternly.

"Catch my train! You can't stop me--"

"Steppe, for God's sake think what you're doing." Sir John Maxton was pleading now with a greater intensity than he had ever pleaded before a tribunal. "You could save Merville--you have the draft of the prospectus--"

"In the safe! In the safe!" roared Steppe his face inflamed with fury. "Come, Beryl."

He held out his hand, but she shrank back behind Ronnie.

"Then open the safe," demanded Maxton.

"Go to hell! All of you--don't stand up to me, Morelle, or I'll kill you! Beryl--"

"What is the word--this combination word, Steppe? You can get away tonight, they will find nothing until the morning--"

"I won't tell you, damn you! I'll see you--"

"Judas!"

Ronnie Morelle stood, his finger outstretched stiffly pointing at the other.

"Judas--J--U--D--A--S. That is the word!"

Open-mouthed Steppe lurched toward him.

"You--you." He struck, but his blow went wide and then Ronnie had him by the shoulders and they looked into one another's eyes.

Beryl, horrified, sick with fear, saw her husband's face go livid, saw him grimace painfully, monstrously.

"I know you--!" he screamed. "I know you! You're Sault! Ambrose Sault!--you're dead! They hanged you, blast you! Ambrose Sault--" He put out his huge hands as to ward off a ghastly sight.

"Come along, Beryl," he mumbled, "you mustn't stay here--it is Sault. Oh, Christ--"

He went down in a heap.

Beryl came forward groping like one blind.

"Ronnie----" She stared into his eyes, and in his agitation he put his knuckle to his chin. "--oh, my dear!"

XVI

"Personally," said Evie, "I think she should have waited six months. After all, Christina, even if her father was acquitted, there _is_ a scandal. I admit she was a wife in name only, as the pictures say, but she _was_ Mrs. Steppe. Teddy quite agrees with me: he says that it isn't decent to marry within a week of your husband's death. Don't think I'm hurt about Ronnie getting married, I wouldn't be so small. It is the principle of the thing."

Christina's mouth was bulging: Ronnie had sent her imposing quantities of candy.

"Pass me that book about Beaulieu that you're sitting on, and don't talk so much," she said. "You're a jealous cat."

"I'm not, I declare I'm not. I like Ronnie I admit, but there was something lacking in him--soul, that's what it was, soul!"

"Did Ambrose Sault have soul?"

"Why--yes, I always thought he had soul."

"Then shut up!" said Christina, opening her book.

THE END

_Books by Edgar Wallace_

A KING BY NIGHT ANGEL, ESQUIRE CAPTAINS OF SOULS DIANA OF THE KARA-KARA DOUBLE DAN GREEN RUST JACK O' JUDGMENT KATE PLUS ROOM 13 TAM O' THE SCOOTS TERROR KEEP THE ANGEL OF TERROR THE BLACK ABBOT THE CLUE OF THE NEW PIN THE CLUE OF THE TWISTED CANDLE THE CRIMSON CIRCLE THE DAFFODIL MURDER THE DOOR WITH SEVEN LOCKS THE FACE IN THE NIGHT THE FOUR JUST MEN THE GIRL FROM SCOTLAND YARD THE GREEN ARCHER THE HAIRY ARM THE MAN WHO KNEW THE MIND OF MR. J. G. REEDER THE MISSING MILLION THE OTHER MAN THE RINGER THE SECRET HOUSE THE SINISTER MAN THE SQUEALER THE STRANGE COUNTESS THE TERRIBLE PEOPLE THE TRAITORS' GATE THE VALLEY OF GHOSTS