The Four Faces

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Together the four of us journeyed back to town, and for the first time
for many weeks I had an opportunity of a lengthy talk with Dulcie.
Somehow her association with the woman Stapleton seemed to have
broadened her views of life, though in all other respects she was
absolutely unchanged. To me she seemed, if possible, more intensely
attractive and lovable than during the period of our temporary
estrangement--I realized now that we had during those past weeks been to
all intents estranged. Perhaps, after all, the singular adventures she
had experienced--some which she related to me were strange indeed--had
served some good purpose I did not know of. What most astonished me was
that, during those weeks which she had spent in close companionship with
Stapleton, Gastrell, Lorrimer, and other members of the criminal
organization, nothing had, until quite recently, been said that by any
possibility could have led her to suppose that these friends of hers, as
she had deemed them to be, were other than respectable members of
society. Certainly, I reflected as she talked away now with the utmost
candour and unconcern, these people must constitute one of the cleverest
gangs of criminals there had ever been; the bare fact that its members
were able to mix with such impunity in exclusive social circles
proved that.

Before the train left Newhaven I had bought a number of newspapers, but
not until we were half-way to London did it occur to me to look at any
of them. It was not long, then, before I came across an announcement
which, though I had half expected to see it, startled me a little. The
report of my supposed suicide was brief enough, and then came quite a
long account of my uneventful career--uneventful until recently. Turning
to Dulcie, who, seated beside me, was staring out at the flying scenery,
I handed her one of the papers, indicating the paragraph.

"Good heavens, Mike!" she exclaimed when she had read it. "How awful!
Supposing I had read that without knowing it to be untrue!"

She held out the paper to Sir Roland.

"Father, just read that," she said.

He had heard me relate to Dulcie the story of my narrow escape in the
forest near Martin d'Ablois, and I was pleased to see a smile at last
come into his eyes, for since his cruel disillusionment he had looked
terribly depressed.

"After all," I said as he put the paper down, "I am glad I returned to
Paris, if only because my doing so has saved you from this shock."

"If I had read that, believing it to be true," he answered quietly, "the
shock would probably have killed me."

"Killed you!" I exclaimed. "Oh, no, Sir Roland, a little thing like that
would not have killed you; a family like yours takes a lot of
killing--the records in history prove that."

He gazed at me with a strange seriousness for some moments. At last he
spoke.

"Michael," he said, and there was an odd catch in his voice, "I wonder
if you have the remotest conception of the strength of my attachment to
you. I don't believe you have. And yet I could hardly be more attached
to you than I am if you were my own son."

When, after parting from Sir Roland and Dulcie in London--they were to
return to Holt direct--I arrived with Albeury at my flat in South Molton
Street, I found a stack of letters awaiting me, also several telegrams.
Simon, my man, was expecting me--I had telegraphed from Newhaven--but
almost directly he opened the door I noticed a change in his expression,
and to some extent in his manner. Deferential, also curiously reserved,
he had always been, but now there was a "something" in his eyes, a look
which made me think he had something on his mind--something he wished to
say to me but dared not say.

I had sent Albeury into my study to smoke a cigar and drink a glass of
wine while I went up to my room to have a bath. Simon was still busy
with my things when I came out of the bathroom, and, while I dressed, I
took the opportunity of questioning him.

"What's amiss, Simon?" I asked lightly.

He looked up with a start.

"Amiss, sir?" he repeated, with obvious embarrassment.

"I said 'amiss.' Out with it."

He seemed, for some moments, unable to meet my glance. Then suddenly he
faced me unflinchingly.

"Yes?" I said encouragingly, as he did not speak.

"I'll tell you what's amiss, sir," he answered abruptly, forcing himself
to speak. "The day after you'd left, a peculiar-looking man called here,
and asked to see you. When I told him you were not at home, he asked if
you were out of town. I didn't answer that, sir, but I asked him quite
politely if I couldn't give you any message. He answered No, that he
must see you himself. Then he started to question me, in a kind of
roundabout way, about you and your movements, sir."

"I hope you kept your counsel," I exclaimed quickly, for, excellent
servant though Simon, was, he occasionally lacked discretion.

"Indeed I did, sir. Though I was quite courteous, I was a bit short with
him. The next day he come again, about the same time--it was close on
dinner time--and with him this time was another man--a rather younger
man. They questioned me again, sir, quite friendly-like, but they didn't
get much change out of me. Yesterday they tried it on a third time--both
of them come again--and, well, sir, happing to put my hand into my
jacket pocket soon after they were gone, I found these in it."

As he spoke he dived into his jacket, and pulled out an envelope.
Opening the envelope, he withdrew from it what I saw at a glance were
bank-notes. Unfolding them with trembling hands, which made the notes
crackle noisily, he showed me that he had there ten five-pound notes.

"And they gave you those for nothing?" I asked, meaning to be ironical.

"Well, sir, they didn't get anything in return, though they expect
something in return--that's only natural. They said they'd come back
to see me."

"Did they say when they'd come back?"

"To-day, sir, about the same time as they come yesterday and the day
before." He pulled out his watch. "It's close on seven now. Perhaps you
will like to see them if they come presently, sir."

"On the other hand, perhaps I shall not," I said, and I lit a cigarette.
"At the same time, if they call, you can tell me."

"Certainly, sir--if anybody rings, I'll come at once and tell you."

He shuffled for a moment, then added:

"And these notes, sir; am I entitled to keep them?"

"Of course you are. Anybody has a right to accept and keep a gift. At
the same time, I would warn you not to be disappointed if, when you try
to cash them, you find the numbers have been stopped."

Downstairs, with Albeury, I began to look through my correspondence. The
third telegram I opened puzzled me.

"_Is it all right?--Dick."_

It had been awaiting me two days. Guessing that there must be a letter
from Dick which would throw light on this telegram, I glanced quickly
through the pile. I soon came to one addressed in his handwriting.

I had to read it through twice before I fully realized what it all
meant. Then I turned quickly to Albeury.

"Read that," I said, pushing the letter to him across the table.

He picked it up and adjusted his glasses. A few moments later he sprang
suddenly to his feet.

"My God! Mr. Berrington!" he exclaimed, "this is most serious! And it
was written "--he glanced at the date--"eight days ago--the very day
you left London."

"What is to be done?" I said quickly.

"You may well ask," he answered. He looked up at the clock. "The police
must be shown this at once, and, under the circumstances, told
everything that happened in France. I had hoped to be able to entrap the
gang without dealing with Scotland Yard direct."

For some moments he paced the room. Never since I had met him had I seen
him so perturbed--he was at all times singularly calm. I was not,
however, surprised at his anxiety, for it seemed more than likely that
quite unwittingly, and with the best intentions, Dick Challoner had not
merely landed us in a terrible mess, but that he had certainly turned
the tables upon us, leaving Dulcie and myself at the mercy of this
desperate gang. On board the boat I had mentioned Dick to the detective,
and told him about the cypher, and the part that Dick had played. He had
not seemed impressed, as I had expected him to be, and without a doubt
he had not been pleased. All he had said was, I now remembered: "It's a
bad thing to let a boy get meddling with a matter of this kind, Mr.
Berrington"--he had said it in a tone of some annoyance. And now, it
would seem, his view had been the right one. What Dick had done,
according to this letter just received from him, had been to start
advertising in the _Morning Post_ on his own account--in the cypher code
which he had discovered--serious messages intended for the gang and that
must assuredly have been read by them. With his letter two cuttings were
enclosed--his two messages already published. As I looked at them again
a thought flashed across me. Now I knew how it came about that my
impenetrable disguise had been discovered. Now I knew how it came about
that Alphonse Furneaux had been released from the room where Preston had
locked him in his flat. And now I knew why the members of the gang had
left the "Continental" so suddenly, scattering themselves probably in
all directions, and why the woman Stapleton had dashed back to London.

I caught my breath as my train of thought hurried on. Another thought
had struck me. I held my breath! Yes, it must be so. Try as I would I
could not possibly deceive myself.

Dick had unwittingly been responsible for the murder of George Preston!

This was the most awful blow of all. Unconsciously I looked up at the
detective, who still paced the room. Instantly my eyes met his. He may
have read in my eyes the horror that I felt, or the strength of my
feeling may have communicated my thought to him, for at once he stood
still, and, staring straight at me, said in a tone of considerable
emotion:

"That boy has done a fearful thing, Mr. Berrington. He has--"

"Stop! Stop!" I cried, raising my head. "I know what you are going to
say! But you mustn't blame him, Albeury--he did it without
knowing--absolutely without knowing! And only you and I know that he is
to blame. Dick must never know--never. Nobody else must ever know. If
his father ever finds it out, it will kill him."

For some moments Albeury remained quite still. His lip twitched--I had
seen it twitch like that before, when he was deeply moved. At last
he spoke.

"Nobody shall ever know," he said in the same strained tone. He paused,
then:

"I must talk on your telephone," he exclaimed suddenly, turning to leave
the room.

As he did so, Simon entered.

"The two men are here, sir," he said. "I have told them you are quite
alone. Shall I show them in?"

CHAPTER XXVII

THE FOUR FACES

They were quietly dressed, inoffensive-looking men, one a good deal
younger than the other. Judged by their clothes and general appearance
they might have been gentlemen's servants or superior shop-assistants.
Directly they saw that I was not alone, the elder, whose age was fifty
or so, said, in a tense voice:

"We wish to see you alone, Mr. Berrington. Our business is quite
private."

"You can talk openly before this gentleman," I answered, for, at a
glance from me, Albeury had remained in the room. "What do you want to
see me about?"

"In private, please, Mr. Berrington," he repeated doggedly, not heeding
my question.

"Either you speak to me in this gentleman's presence," I answered,
controlling my irritation, "or not at all. What do you want?"

They hesitated for barely an instant, and I thought my firmness had
disconcerted them, when suddenly I saw them exchange a swift glance. The
younger man stepped quickly back to the door, which was close behind
him, and, without turning, locked it. As he did so his companion sprang
to one side with a sharp cry. Albeury had him covered with a revolver.
The younger man had already slipped his hand into his pocket, when I
sprang upon him.

Though some years have passed since I practised ju-jitsu, I have not
forgotten the different holds. In a moment I had his arms locked behind
him--had he attempted to struggle then he must have broken his wrists.
Turning, I saw that Albeury had the other man still at his mercy with
the revolver--not for an instant did he look away from him.

I was about to call loudly to Simon to call the police, when the elder
man spoke.

"Stop!" he gasped, just above a whisper. "You have done us. Give us a
chance to escape and well help you."

"Help me! How?" I said, still gripping my man tightly. "What have you
come for? What did you want?"

"We're under orders--so help me, we are!" he exclaimed huskily. "We had
at any cost to see you."

"And for that you bribed my man, or tried to?"

"Yes--to let us see you alone."

Albeury's arm, extended with the cocked revolver, was as rigid as a
rock. The muzzle covered the man's chest. Again the man glanced swiftly
at the detective, then went on, speaking quickly:

"If you'll let us go, we'll tell everything--anything you want to know!"

I glanced an inquiry at Albeury. Though his gaze was still set upon his
man, he caught my look.

"Right--we'll let you go," he said, without moving, "if you'll tell us
everything. Now speak. Why are you here?"

"We're under orders," the man repeated. "We were not to leave this flat
with him alive in it," he jerked his chin at me. "If we do we shall be
killed ourselves when The Four Faces know. But you've done us. We've
got to escape now somehow, if you'll let us, and our only way is to give
you information that'll help you to get the whole gang arrested. You've
discovered a code we use, and you've tampered with it, and that's
what's done it."

"Done what?"

"Got The Four Faces down on you, and made them set on killing you."

"Whom do you mean by 'The Four Faces'?"

"Why, the men and women--you know them; Gastrell, Stapleton, and the
rest--the gang known as The Four Faces."

"Why are they known as 'The Four Faces'?"

"Because there are four heads, each being known as 'The Fat Face,' 'The
Long Face,' 'The Thin Face,' and 'The Square Face.' And each head has
four others of the gang directly under his or her orders."

"And Gastrell and Stapleton are 'faces'?"

"Yes."

"But Gastrell is dead."

"Dead? Gastrell? Impossible!"

"Yes. Go on."

For some moments astonishment held him dumb.

"Gastrell and the rest of them will be at Eldon Hall, in Northumberland,
the day after to-morrow," he said at last, "for the coming of age of
Cranmere's son. The house is to be looted--cleaned out. Everything is
arranged--the plan is perfect--as all the arrangements of The Four Faces
always are--it can't fail unless--"

"Yes?"

"Now that you know, you can warn Cranmere. You must warn him to be very
careful, for if they get wind there's suspicion about they'll drop it
and you won't catch them. You know the robberies and other things
there've been, and nobody's been caught--they've not even been
suspected. Now's your chance to get them all--the first real chance
there's ever been. But you mustn't show up, mind that. This house is
watched--to see when we come out. Nor you nor your man must go out of
this flat till the gang's been caught, every one of them--it's the day
after to-morrow they'll be at Eldon Hall. They're expecting a gigantic
haul there, including all the Cranmere diamonds--they're worth thousands
on thousands. You're both known by sight, and if you're seen about we're
just as bad as dead."

He stopped abruptly, then went on:

"And you mustn't answer if anybody rings or knocks. And you mustn't
answer the telephone. You understand? Nobody must answer it. It's got to
be supposed you're both in here, dead--you and your man. They've got to
think we done it. There's no one else living in this flat, we
know that."

"I can't warn Lord Cranmere if I don't go out of here."

"He can"--he indicated the detective. "He can go out at any time. They
don't know he's in here. If we'd known you'd anybody with you we'd have
come another time. Your man said you were alone--quite alone, he
said--and, well, we thought the fifty quid had squared him."

Still holding my man tightly in the ju-jitsu grip, I again spoke quickly
to the detective.

"Isn't he lying?" I asked. "Is it safe to let them go?"

"Quite safe," he answered, without an instant's hesitation. "I know them
both. This fellow has been four times in jail--the first time was
seventeen years ago--he got fourteen months for burglary; the second
time was thirteen years ago, for attempted murder, when he got five
years; the third was eleven years ago; the fourth was nine years back.
He's got half a dozen aliases or more, and your man--let me see, yes,
he's been once in jail: ten years for forgery, went in when he was
eighteen and not been out above three years. It's safe to let them
go--quite safe--they've spoken straight this time, couldn't help
themselves."

While Albeury was speaking I had seen the men gasp. They were staring at
him now with a look of abject terror. But still I held my man.

"I don't like to risk it," I expostulated. "The whole tale may be a
plant."

"It's not, Mr. Berrington. I tell you they're straight this time,
they've got to be to save their skins. I could put the 'Yard' on to them
right away--but it wouldn't serve our purpose, the gang would
then escape."

His revolver still covered the elder man's chest.

"Hand out your gun," he said sharply, "and empty out your pockets--both
of you."

Soon everything the men's pockets had contained lay upon the floor.
Among the things were three pistols, two "jemmies," some curious little
bottles, and some queer-looking implements I couldn't guess the use of.
Just then a thought occurred to me.

"But they'd have robbed this flat," I said, "if what they say is true."

"You are mistaken," Albeury answered. "They didn't come for robbery, but
on a more serious errand--to put an end to you. I know the methods of
this gang pretty well, I can assure you. You would have been found dead,
and your man dead too most likely, and the circumstances attending your
death would all have pointed to suicide, or perhaps to accidental death.
But we've not much time to spare. Come."

He turned to the men.

"Come over here, both of you," he said sharply, and signalled to me to
release my man. I did so. To my surprise, both men seemed cowed. In
silence, and without attempt at violence, they followed Albeury across
to the escritoire. At that moment it was that the bell of the flat rang
loudly. Without stirring, we stood expectantly waiting. I had unlocked
the door of the room, and presently Simon entered.

"Mr. Osborne would like to see you, sir," he said in his usual tone of
deference. "When I told him you had visitors he said he wouldn't come
in. He's waiting at the door, sir."

"Jack! Splendid!" I exclaimed. "The very man we want to see--you have
heard me speak of Mr. Osborne, Albeury, and you know plenty about him."
I turned to Simon. "Show him in here at once," I said. "If he still
hesitates, say I want particularly to see him."

It seemed quite a long time since last I had met Osborne--on the night
we had gone together, with poor Preston, to Willow Road, and had
afterwards been followed by Alphonse Furneaux. I had felt so annoyed
with Jack for becoming enamoured of Jasmine Gastrell after all we had
come to know about her that I had felt in no hurry to renew my
friendship with him. But now circumstances had arisen, and things had
changed. If he were still infatuated with the woman, we should, between
the lot of us, I thought, quickly be able to disillusion him.

He looked rather serious as he entered, and glanced from one to another
of us inquiringly. I introduced Albeury to him; as I mentioned
Albeury's name I saw the two scoundrels start. Evidently he was well
known to them by name, and probably by repute.

"As I was passing, I looked in," Osborne said, "as we haven't run across
each other for such a long time, but I don't know that I've got anything
in particular to say to you, and you seem to be engaged."

"But I have something particular to say to you," I answered quickly,
coming at once to the point, as Simon left the room and shut the door
behind him. "You've made pretty much of a fool of yourself with that
Gastrell woman, Jack," I went on, with difficulty restraining the
indignation I felt. "You are largely responsible for terrible things
that have happened during the past few days--including the murder of
George Preston."

"Murder? The newspapers said it was suicide."

"Of course they did--it was arranged that they should. Now listen,
Jack," I continued seriously. "We are on the eve of what may prove to be
a tremendous tragedy, of an event that in any case is going to make an
enormous sensation--nothing less than the capture, or attempted capture,
of the whole of the notorious and dangerous gang that a short time ago
you appeared to be so desperately anxious to bring to justice. These two
men," I indicated them, "belong to the gang in the sense that they are
employed by it; but they have now turned King's evidence."

In a few words I outlined to him exactly what had happened. As I stopped
speaking, Albeury interrupted.

"And if you will now listen, Mr. Osborne," he said, "you will hear a
complete statement of facts which should interest you."

With that he pulled a notebook out of his pocket, opened it, laid it
flat on the escritoire and seated himself, producing his fountain pen.
Both men stood beside him.

Rapidly he cross-questioned them, writing quickly down in shorthand
every word they spoke. Almost endless were the questions he put
concerning the whole gang. One by one the name of each member of it was
entered in the notebook, followed by an address which, the men declared,
would find him--or her. The number of members, we thus discovered,
amounted to over twenty, of whom no less than eight were women. Jasmine
Gastrell's career was described in detail, also Connie Stapleton's,
Doris Lorrimer's, Bob Challoner's, Hugesson Gastrell's, and the careers
of all the rest in addition. The names of some of these were known to
us, but the majority were not. Incidentally we now found out that
Hugesson Gastrell had never been in Australia, nor yet in Tasmania, and
that the story of his having been left a fortune by an uncle was wholly
without foundation. The natural son of well-to-do people in Yorkshire,
he had been launched penniless on the world to make his way as best he
could, and the rapidity with which he had increased his circle of
acquaintance among rich and useful people from the time he had become a
member of the gang had been not the least remarkable feature in his
extraordinary career.

I shall never forget that cross-examination, or the rapidity with which
it was conducted. In the course of a quarter of an hour many mysteries
which had long puzzled us were revealed, many problems solved. The woman
whose stabbed and charred body had been found among the _debris_ of the
house in Maresfield Gardens burnt down on Christmas Eve was, it seemed,
another of Gastrell's victims; he had stabbed her to death, and the
house had been fired with a view to destroying all traces of the crime.
Questioned further, the elder of the two scoundrels went on to state
that he had been in the house in Maresfield Gardens on the night that
Osborne and I had called there, just before Christmas, the night we had
driven up there from Brooks's Club on the pretext of Osborne's having
found at the club a purse which he believed--so he had told the woman
Gastrell--to have been dropped by Hugesson Gastrell. Other members of
the gang had been in the house at the time, the man said,--just before
we entered they had been in the very room into which Jasmine Gastrell
had shown us when she had at last admitted us, which of course accounted
for the dirty tumblers I had noticed on the table, and the chair that
had felt hot when I sat in it. She had first opened the door to us, the
man continued, under the impression that we were additional members of
the gang whom she expected--our rings at the door had accidentally
coincided with the rings these men would have given. Then, at once
discovering her mistake, and recognizing Osborne's voice, she had deemed
it prudent to admit us, thinking thus to allay any suspicion her unusual
reception might otherwise arouse in us.

He told us, too, that the great cobra kept by Gastrell--he had owned it
from the time it was a tiny thing a foot long--had once or twice been
used by him in connection with murders for which he had been
responsible--it was far from being harmless, though Gastrell had
declared to us that night that it couldn't harm anybody if it tried.
Indeed, it seemed that his first intention had been to let it attack us,
for he feared that our having recognized him might arouse our suspicion
and indirectly lead to his arrest, and for that reason he had, while we
were left in darkness in the hall, opened the aperture in the wall
through which it was allowed to pass into the room into which Jasmine
Gastrell had then admitted us. But a little later, deeming that the
crime might be discovered in spite of all the precautions that he would
have taken to conceal it, he had suddenly changed his mind, unlocked the
door, and come to our rescue at the last moment.

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