21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series). E. Phillips Oppenheim
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“Your offer is a generous one,” admitted Bellamy, “there is no doubt about that. On the other hand, I cannot decide without further consideration. It is a big thing for us, remember. I have worked very hard for the contents of that packet.”
Once more Streuss felt an uneasy pang of incredulity. After all, was this Englishman playing with him? So he asked: “You are quite sure that you have it?”
“There is no means of convincing you of which I care to make use. You must be content with my word. I have the packet. I paid Von Behrling for it and he gave it to me with his own hands.”
“I must accept your word,” Streuss declared. “I give you three days for reflection. Before I go, Mr. Bellamy, forgive me if I refer once more to this,”—touching the newspaper which still lay upon the table. “Remember that Rudolph Von Behrling moved about a marked man. Your spies and mine were most of the time upon his heels. Yet in the end some third person seems to have intervened. Are you quite sure that you know nothing of this?”
“Upon my honor,” Bellamy replied, “I have not the slightest information concerning Von Behrling’s death beyond what you can read there. It was as great a surprise to me as to you.”
“It is incomprehensible,” Streuss murmured.
“One can only conclude,” Bellamy remarked thoughtfully, “that someone must have seen him with those notes. There were people moving about in the little restaurant where we met. The rustle of bank-notes has cost more than one man his life.
“For the present,” Streuss said, “we must believe that it was so. Listen to me, both of you. You will be wiser if you do not delay. You are young people, and the world is before you. With money one can do everything. Without it, life is but a slavery. The world is full of beautiful dwelling-places for those who have the means to choose. Remember, too, that not a soul will ever know of this transaction, if you should decide to accept my offer.”
“We shall remember all those things,” Bellamy assured him.
Streuss took up his hat and gloves.
“With your permission, then, Mademoiselle,” he concluded, turning to Louise, “I go. I must try and understand for myself the meaning of this thing which has happened to Von Behrling.”
“Do not forget,” Bellamy said, “that if you discover anything, we are equally interested.”…
They heard him go out. Bellamy purposely held the door open until he saw the lift descend. Then he closed it firmly and came back into the room. Louise and he looked at each other, their faces full of anxious questioning.
“What does it mean?” Louise cried. “What can it mean?”
“Heaven alone knows!” Bellamy answered. “There is not a gleam of daylight. My people are absolutely innocent of any attempt upon Von Behrling. If Streuss tells the truth, and I believe he does, his people are in the same position. Who, then, in the name of all that is miraculous, can have murdered and robbed Von Behrling?”
“In London, too,” Louise murmured. “It is not Vienna, this, or Belgrade.”
“You are right,” Bellamy agreed. “London is one of the most law-abiding cities in Europe. Besides, the quarter where the murder occurred is entirely unfrequented by the criminal classes. It is simply a region of great banks and the offices of merchant princes.
“Is it possible that there is some one else who knew about that document?” Louise asked,—“some one else who has been watching Von Behrling?”
Bellamy shook his head.
“How can that be? Besides, if any one else were really on his track, they must have believed that he had parted with it to me. I shall go back now to Downing Street to ask for a letter to the Chief of Scotland Yard. If anything comes out, I must have plenty of warning.”
“And I,” she said, with an approving nod, “shall go back to bed again. These days are too strenuous for me. Won’t you stay and take your coffee with me?”
Bellamy held her hand for a moment in his.
“Dear,” he said, “I would stay, but you understand, don’t you, what a maze this is into which we have wandered. Von Behrling has been murdered by some person who seems to have dropped from the skies. Whoever they may be, they have in their possession my twenty thousand pounds and the packet which should have been mine. I must trace them if I can, Louise. It is a poor chance, but I must do my best. I myself am of the opinion that Von Behrling was murdered for the money, and for the money only. If so, that packet may be in the hands of people who have no idea what use to make of it. They may even destroy it. If Streuss returns and you are forced to see him, be careful. Remember, we have the document—we are hesitating. So long as he believes that it is in our possession, he will not look elsewhere.”
“I will be careful,” Louise promised, with her arms around his neck. “And, dear, take care. When I think of poor Rudolph Von Behrling, I tremble, also, for you. It seems to me that your danger is no less than his.”
“I do not go about with twenty thousand pounds in my pocket-book,” with a smile.
She shook her head.
“No, but Streuss believes that you have the document which he is pledged to recover. Be careful that they do not lead you into a trap. They are not above anything, these men. I heard once of a Bulgarian in Vienna who was tortured—tortured almost to death—before he spoke. Then they thrust him into a lunatic asylum. Remember, dear, they have no consciences and no pity.”
“We are in London,” he reminded her.
“So was Von Behrling,” she answered quickly,—“not only in London but in a safe part of London. Yet he is dead.”
“It was not their doing,” he declared. “In their own country, they have the whole machinery of their wonderful police system at their backs, and no fear of the law in their hearts. Here they must needs go cautiously. I don’t think you need be afraid,” he added, smiling, as he opened the door. “I think I can promise you that if you will do me the honor we will sup together to-night.”
“You must fetch me from the Opera House,” Louise insisted. “It is a bargain. I have suffered enough neglect at your hands. One thing, David,—where do you go first from here?”
“To find the man,” Bellamy answered gravely, “who was watching Von Behrling when he left me. If any man in England knows anything of the murder, it must be he. He should be at my rooms by now.”
XIII. STEPHEN LAVERICK’S CONSCIENCE
Stephen Laverick was a bachelor—his friends called him an incorrigible one. He had a small but pleasantly situated suite of rooms in Whitehall Court, looking out upon the river. His habits were almost monotonous in their regularity, and the morning following his late night in the city was no exception to the general rule. At eight o’clock, the valet attached to the suite knocked at his door and informed him that his bath was ready. He awoke at once from a sound sleep, sat up in bed, and remembered the events of the preceding evening.
At first he was inclined to doubt that slowly stirring effort of memory. He was a man of unromantic temperament, unimaginative, and by no means of an adventurous turn of mind. He sought naturally for the most reasonable explanation of this strange picture, which no effort of his will could dismiss from his memory. It was a dream, of course. But the dream did not fade. Slowly it spread itself out so that he could no longer doubt. He knew very well as he sat there on the edge of his bed that the thing was truth. He, Stephen Laverick, a man hitherto of upright character, with a reputation of which unconsciously he was proud, had robbed a dead man, had looked into the burning eyes of his murderer, had stolen away with twenty thousand pounds of someone else’s money. Morally, at any