His Prey Was Man

Chapter I.—At Bay.-3

Jean laughed back. “I've heard of him,” she said. “My husband was talking about him the other day. He said he was a very unusual sort of detective and often a worry to the Chiefs of Police he served under, as he wanted to do things in his own way.”

Her friend nodded. “Yes, that's Larose all over. He has a perfect passion for justice and they do say”—she lowered her voice darkly—“that if criminals couldn't be punished lawfully, he used to take vengeance upon them in other ways.” She nodded again. “At any rate I'm sure you'll like him.”

And certainly Jean did like the kind-looking man with the smiling eyes who took her into dinner. With all his gentleness, however, he gave her the impression of being of strong character and, mindful of her own misery, she sighed at the thought of what a tower of strength he would be to a friend in any time of trouble.

He, on his side, seemed to be greatly taken with her, and when they adjourned to the ball-room he had put himself down for two dances. But when he came to claim her for them, she suddenly felt a wave of faintness coming over her, and asked him to take her outside.

So they seated themselves on a broad bench in the shadow of a thick privet hedge on the other side of the lawn in front of the house. The star-lit night was calm and warm, and the air was heavy with the scent of early summer. The peace and beauty of everything, in contrast to the dreadful misery and turmoil in her heart, affected Jean strongly and, before she knew what she was doing, her eyes welled over with tears and she gave a big sob.

Larose was all sympathy at once. “Would you like to go inside and lie down?” he asked, “or shall I get you some brandy?”

“No, no, I shall be all right in a minute,” she protested. Her voice shook. “It's only that I'm very worried about something to-night.”

“What is it?” asked Larose gently. “If you tell me, I may be able to help you.” He laughed lightly. “You see I've helped quite a lot of people in my time. I was a policeman once.”

“I know that,” she whispered, “but—but my trouble is a private one.”

“Then make it public to me,” laughed Larose. “I'm quite a wise old bird in my way, and I keep every secret I'm told.”

For a few moments she hesitated and then she panted. “Oh, Mr. Larose, I'm in such trouble. I'm being blackmailed by a man in my husband's employ. I've been paying him money for weeks and weeks, but now he wants more than I can get and if I don't give it to him he says he's going to tell my husband a secret about me.”

Larose spoke in ordinary, most matter-of-fact tones as if what she had just told him were nothing at all out of the way. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “I thought during dinner to-night that you were worried about something. You were trying to forget it, but every now and then it came back to you and you looked very unhappy. Blackmail is it?” He nodded reassuringly. “Well, that'll be easily dealt with now you've confided in a third party. It's when two people only, the blackmailer and the blackmailed, are aware what's going on that it is so dreadful. Tell me all about it. You trust me and I'll put it right for you.” He laughed lightly again. “I'm very good at handling blackmailers.”

Again for a few moments she hesitated and then, with a rush, out came all the pent-up emotions of the lonely and miserable weeks.

“Oh, Mr. Larose,” she wailed, “the dreadful thing is that when I married Colonel Hilary last year I did not tell him I was a widow and had had a baby. It was wicked of me to keep it from him and now I am being punished for it.”

Larose opened his eyes very wide. “But why did you hide it?” he asked. “Why didn't you tell him?”

Jean swallowed hard. “Because——” she began. She stopped for a few moments and then burst out chokingly, “—because the man I married before had been hanged!” Her voice was almost inaudible. “He was Paul Wensworthy, the bank robber!”

“Good God!” exclaimed Larose, and he was so horrified at the revelation that he felt half choking himself.

Who had not heard of Wensworthy, the wretch who murdered as well as robbed? The life-story of that good-looking but execrated malefactor was written deep in the annals of crime. For a long time, up to two years before, the police had been baffled by an unknown miscreant who had made a speciality of attacking small branch offices of country banks. Operating in places as wide apart as Cumberland and Devonshire, he had struck terror into the hearts of bank officers whose work lay in lonely districts. Never hesitating to fire murderously if he met with the slightest opposition, seven times in succession, at the cost of two lives, he had got away with his plunder. No one had ever seen his face or had any idea what he was like for, working single-handed, he had always slipped on a mask as he had entered the banks.

Then upon his eighth attempt his good fortune had deserted him, for, having mortally wounded the bank officer in charge, the alarm had been given, he had been laid hold of and his mask torn off. Only after a desperate struggle, had he managed to escape by the very skin of his teeth.

His face, however, had been seen by a number of people and a few weeks later, being recognised when in a town in quite another part of the country, he had been seized before he could put up any resistance, and handed over to the police.

The case against him had been quite clear and his trial, his condemnation and the carrying out of the sentence had constituted almost a record for speed, as in eight weeks exactly from the day the authorities had laid hands upon him, he was hanged.

“And we had only been married a week when he was arrested,” went on Jean tearfully, “the very day we had come back from our honeymoon in Paris. I never saw him again, for he wouldn't see me. He sent a message, through his lawyer, imploring me not to come near him, so that it might never come out I had been married to him.”

“You were actually married?” asked Larose sharply.

“Oh, yes, in an English church in Paris,” replied Jean. She sighed deeply. “I had known him only such a little time.”

“And who has found out all this and is now blackmailing you?” asked Larose.

“Our gamekeeper,” said Jean, “but he's got it all wrong. He only knows that two years ago, as a Mrs. Best, I was in a private hospital in Sutton Coldfield to have my baby. He thinks I was an unmarried girl,” and then she told him the whole story of the gamekeeper's persecution up to his stopping her in the road that afternoon and ordering her to come to his cottage the next day at five o'clock. “Oh, how I'm being punished!” she exclaimed. “I ought to have told my husband everything before I said I would be his wife. It was very wicked of me not to do so.”

“I wouldn't say it was wicked,” said Larose, “but it was foolish and wrong. If you had been an unmarried girl and had had a baby it would have been your own secret to tell or keep, but as you had been legally married it was quite a different thing. Once you had brought the law into your affairs, the law took charge of you and it now means that you have been married to Colonel Hilary under a false name. That doesn't affect the validity of the marriage in any way, but if it becomes known you will probably be prosecuted, and public disgrace will fall upon your husband.”

“I've thought of that,” said Jean tremblingly, “and I'm sure the shame of it will kill him.” She caught her breath. “And he's so happy now.”

“Of course he is,” agreed Larose. He nodded kindly. “I take you to be not only a charming woman, but a very good one as well.” He spoke briskly. “Well, now we must think what we can do to silence this blackmailer.”

“I shall tell my husband,” said Jean with a sob. “I shall have to. I won't do it to-night, but I will the first thing to-morrow morning when he wakes up. Then——”

“No, no, don't do anything precipitate,” broke in Larose. “You've kept it from him for so long that a few days more won't make any difference. Wait and see what I can do, first. Now you tell me about this blackmailer. Describe to me exactly what he's like.”

Jean steadied her voice. “He's about forty and of the big, blustering type, with a mocking face. His eyes are small and cunning and close together. He's——”

“Ah, his eyes are close together!” exclaimed Larose gleefully. “Now that's very hopeful, for it nearly always means the party has not too much courage. Go on. Tell me more about him and where that cottage of his is. I'll take that five o'clock appointment instead of you.”

A few minutes later they went back into the house, with Jean now a very different woman. There was no need for her to pretend to be bright and happy. She was so thankful for the promised help of Larose, being now quite sure he would not only frighten the gamekeeper away at once, but would also make him hold his tongue when he had gone.

Shortly before five the following evening, the gamekeeper was standing outside his cottage, waiting for his master's wife to appear. He was quite confident she would come as he had given her such a fright the previous day by approaching her so openly, where anyone might have passed by and been a spectator of their meeting. He had his eyes fixed upon the path leading from the Hall when, suddenly he heard someone whistling a merry tune and, turning his eyes sharply round in the opposite direction, saw a man coming towards him. The man was swinging a stick and keeping time to the tune he was whistling.

“What the hell's he doing here?” exclaimed the gamekeeper, very annoyed at the new-comer's inopportune appearance. He scowled. “I'll warn him he's trespassing and that'll send him off, quick.”

As the man approached closer, however, the gamekeeper somehow received the impression that he was by no means the type to be frightened easily. He carried himself jauntily and there was a bold and reckless air about him, as if he did not care much what happened.

“Hullo! You Vance, Colonel Hilary's gamekeeper?” he called out in slightly nasal tones, giving the gamekeeper a hard stare.

Vance nodded surlily. “What do you want?” he frowned. He affected an air of authority. “This is private property.”

“So much the better,” nodded back the man. “Then we are less likely to be interrupted.” He inclined his head towards the opened cottage door. “Let's go inside. I've come to talk to you.”

“What about?” asked the gamekeeper, beginning to feel a little bit uneasy, he didn't quite know why.

“Your master's wife,” snapped the other. “I've come to do some business for her, with you.”

The gamekeeper's jaw dropped and his face went an unpleasant colour. His breath came with an effort. Hell, then she'd told someone! She had set the police on him! This fellow was a plainclothes man! But no, he didn't look like a 'tec. He was much too well-dressed for that and was wearing suede gloves. Besides, he'd mentioned ‘business’, and that meant some sort of bargain. The gamekeeper breathed more freely. Already he heard the rustle of crisp bank-notes.