The Poisoned Goblet

Chapter I.—The Warning-4

He hung up the receiver and turned to Naughton Jones. “Well, that's all right,” he smiled, “and now, I shall start off with a clean sheet.”

“But you're giving her a journey of thirty-five miles each way,” frowned Jones reprovingly, “and you won't always find her so complaisant. She has a strong will, and ideas of her own.”

“Then it will be a pleasure to work with her,” commented Larose.

They talked on for a few minutes, and then Jones got up to take his leave. “Now, you go very carefully through those notes,” he said, “and I hope you'll do credit to my recommendation.”

“I hope so, too, Mr. Jones,” smiled Larose. “At any rate, I'll do my very best.”

“You've improved a lot in appearance lately, I notice.” went on Jones with great condescension. “Your face has filled out and shows a lot more character.” He nodded. “Some women might almost call you handsome.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” said Larose, with an appearance of great humility, “I'm sure it's very good of you to say so.”

“Well, you be most careful,” nodded Jones, “for you may be all that stands now between that poor woman and a dreadful tragedy.” He shook his head gloomily. “This morning before I came here, I was scanning through my book of newspaper cuttings dealing with scores and scores of kidnapping cases in America, and although I have been quite aware of the fact for a long time, still I realised more than ever, that the mentality of the kidnapper is as debased as that of any type of criminal in the world, and that he is crueller and more merciless than any jungle beast of prey.”

“I'll be careful,” replied Larose reassuringly, “and I promise you I'll not be fighting in kid-gloves, either.”

“And you remember for your own sake,” were final words of Naughton Jones, “that you will not be the only one with a secret at the Abbey, or the only one who will be masked night and day.” His voice vibrated in its earnestness. “Among those smiling men and women will be another guest who will be masked, too, and he will be close near you every hour. He will be at your elbow as you sit at meals, he will stalk behind you as you pass from room to room, and he will stand by your pillow, as you toss and stir in your troubled dreams. Yes, and he will be waiting for you to make just one mistake. Just one little mistake, Mr. Larose, and then his mask will drop off, and you will see in your last waning consciousness, that all along your shadow has been death. You understand! Good-bye.”

“Whew!” whistled the detective when he was again alone, “and after that I think I'll have a cigarette.” He helped himself to one out of a well filled box upon his desk and then added with a grin. “Really it's a pity perhaps, that I bought so many, for I may not want them all.”

A quarter of an hour later he was being ushered into a beautifully furnished room which formed part of the chambers of the rising King's Counsel, Paris Lestrange.

The barrister was seated before a large table upon which was heaped in orderly disarray a number of papers, tied together with countless pieces of the usual red tape.

He was dark and handsome, with a long intellectual face and deep-set, penetrating eyes. His hair was as beautifully brushed as if he had just come out of the barber's chair. He was immaculately dressed and his expression was proud and rather disdainful.

He rose and inclined his head ever so slightly when the visitor was announced, and then, making no effort to shake hands, sank back into his chair and assumed a very bored expression.

“This is an unfortunate business,” he began in a deep voice, “but of course you have been coached in the part you are to play?”

Larose nodded. “Mr. Naughton Jones has just been with me,” he replied. “I am to go down as a supposed friend of yours.”

“Yes,” said the K.C., dwelling slightly upon the adjective, “as a supposed friend.” He eyed the detective critically and asked in a haughty tone:—

“Then have you had any experience of the usages of Society, Mr. Larose?”

“Oh! yes, all except the divorce parts,” replied Larose, annoyed at his unfriendly manner and willfully misunderstanding the question. “Over here and in Australia I've been in the Criminal Investigation Department for more than ten years.”

The K.C. stared hard as if uncertain how quite to take the reply. “But that is not what I mean,” he said quickly. He frowned as if rather worried. “Do you think, Mr. Larose, that you will be able to pass as one accustomed to associate with the class of people you will meet at Carmel Abbey?”

The rudeness of the question was patent, but the detective repressed the anger that he felt, and continued in his previous vein. “Yes, that will be quite all right,” he said meekly, “for only a few months back I served as a footman in the household of the Duke of Blair when it was thought an attempt was about to be made upon the family jewels, and no one but his Grace ever became aware who I was. I picked up quite a lot of wrinkles then.” He smiled cheerfully. “I play a good hand of bridge, I am something of a judge of wine, and from overhearing many conversations, I know exactly what kind of stories are considered good form to tell to the ladies.” There was just the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. “You need not be afraid that I shall let you down.”

Lestrange continued to frown, but now went off upon another track.

“Of course” he said, “at Lady Ardane's request I have agreed, as Mr. Jones puts it, to sponsor you as my friend, but at the same time, I am by no means convinced that there is any need at all for your services. The evidence as to any intended kidnapping is in my opinion, most lamentably weak. The imagination of an excitable chauffeur, the forgetfulness of some motor mechanic when replacing those car wheels,”—he drummed upon the table with his fingers—“and the entirely unsupported conjectures of Mr. Naughton Jones!”

“But Mr. Jones says he was actually fired upon,” said Larose.

“Yes, yes, of course,” commented the barrister. “Still, Mr. Jones is always positive that he is the centre of every happening that occurs. I have had some experience with him in court.” He looked sharply at the detective. “But, never mind that. The question is, if you are supposed to be my friend, where did I meet you?” He screwed up his face as if he were partaking of a dose of particularly unpleasant medicine. “What have we in common?”

The detective pointed smilingly to a gold cigarette case upon the table. “Smoking,” he exclaimed with the delight of one making a great discovery, “and you can say you met me somewhere in a tobacconist's shop.”

The K.C.'s eyes hardened and his face flushed. “Humor, Mr. Larose,” he began sternly, “is out of place now and I am——”

“Well, say you met me in racing circles,” interrupted Larose quickly, and speaking now in sharp and decisive tones and very different to those he had hitherto used. “I am, of course, aware that you are interested in racing, and I am interested, too. I've stayed twice with Lord Garnet at his place in Newmarket, so we can say we became acquainted there.” He rose up to terminate the interview. “Now how are you going down to-morrow?”

“By car of course,” replied Lestrange sharply, and in spite of his self-assurance, decidedly nonplussed by the rapid change in the demeanor of the detective.

“Will you pick me up then, in Norwich to-morrow,” asked Larose, “or would you prefer that I went to the Abbey on my own?”

The K.C. considered. “I had better pick you up,” he said. He smiled sourly. “That will obviate any effusive greetings when we meet.”

“And what time will you be in Norwich?” asked Larose.

Lestrange considered again. “Between two and five,” he replied carelessly, and then added as if only his own convenience were to be considered, “You will have to wait for me.”

“All right,” said Larose, “then I'll be ready in the lounge of the Royal Hotel from two o'clock onwards,” and with a nod quite as off-hand as that of the barrister's, he let himself out of the room.