Chapter Twenty Seven.

Several Revelations.

Alverton Hall, a noble old mansion, had been purchased by the Sheffield steel magnate Sir Mark Edwards some ten years before. In addition, I heard that he owned a beautiful place in Glamorganshire and rented a great deer-forest in Scotland. He was one of England’s manufacturing princes, whose generosity to charitable institutes and to the city of Sheffield was well known, and whose daughter had, only a year ago, married into the peerage.

A short, bluff, bald-headed old fellow, he spoke quickly, almost snappishly, when I was ushered into his presence in a small, cosily-furnished room that looked out upon a fine old-world terrace, with a Jacobean garden beyond.

“It is true that I’m expecting Professor Greer on a visit here,” he said, with a broad Hallamshire accent, in reply to my question. “Who, may I ask, are you?”

I explained that I was an intimate friend who desired to see him immediately upon very important business, and that I had come down from London for that purpose.

“Well,” replied the short, active little man, “I expected him yesterday, and cannot think why he has not arrived.”

“You have had some important business dealings with him, Sir Mark, I see from yesterday’s paper?”

“Yes, very important. He made a statement in Birmingham explaining his discovery.”

“I suppose it is a most important one?”

“Most important. It opens up a new era in the British steel trade and places us in the foremost rank. At this moment no other steel in the world can compete with that from our Meersbrook Works, thanks to the Professor.”

“You’ve known him a long time, I presume?”

“I’ve not known him personally very long,” was Sir Mark’s reply. “He is a man who has kept himself very much to himself. But, of course, as you know, his reputation is worldwide. He is bringing with him his agent, Mr Kirk.”

“His agent!” I echoed, astounded. “You know him?”

“Of course. I’ve had several dealings with him. He was with us in Vienna a week or so ago.”

“And was Greer there also?”

“Of course,” replied the steel manufacturer. “The contract was arranged there.”

“And who else was with him?”

“No one to my knowledge—except an English lady who lived at the Continental in the Praterstrasse, while we were at the Grand. She seemed to be a friend of the Professor, for one evening he introduced me to her. By the way, her name was very similar to yours, I think—Holworth or Holford.”

“That was in Vienna?” I gasped.

“Yes. He introduced me in Leidinger’s restaurant, in the Karntnerstrasse.”

“And the lady—what was she like? Young or old?” I inquired breathlessly.

“Young,” was his answer.

And, proceeding, he gave me a perfect description of Mabel!

“What was her attitude towards the Professor?”

“She appeared to be most eager to protect him from any suspicion of fraud. She seemed to regard me with some misgivings—I know not why. Indeed, the reason of her being in Vienna and mixed up in the business struck me as altogether remarkable, for, truth to tell, I prefer not to deal with the fair sex in matters of pure business. I’m a plain man,” he added, with a strong burr in his voice, “and I believe always in straightforward dealing, whether it be in paying a workman a day’s wage or carrying out a Government contract.”

“This is all very interesting to me, Sir Mark,” I said, without, however, telling him that the lady in question was my lost wife. “You appear not to have approved of the lady’s connection with the sale of the patent?”

“I didn’t, I frankly tell you,” he said. “I told Kirk my mind quite plainly, but he assured me that the lady was a great friend of the Professor.”

I bit my lip savagely. How was it that Mabel, my dear, beloved wife, had allied herself with that pair of adventurers? What could have been the story told to her to induce her to become the catspaw of men of that stamp?

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell the great steel magnate that he had purchased a secret which did not belong to the seller, and that the “Professor Greer” he knew was not the real discoverer. But I hesitated. Before I spoke I would unmask this impostor and his “agent,” Kershaw Kirk.

A word from me to this shrewd, hard-headed man of business, and the two would, I felt assured, find themselves in the hands of the police.

Yes, I now held the trump card. At any moment the pair might drive up to pay their promised visit to Sir Mark. And when they did, what an awkward surprise would await them!

I laughed within myself when I realised how innocently they would fall into my vengeful hands.

So communicative and pleasant was the bald-headed man that I went one step further, daring to ask:

“I presume the price your firm paid for the secret of the new process was a substantial one?”

“A very large one,” he replied. “A big sum down, as well as a handsome royalty. This must be the second fortune which Greer has made. He has received a lot of money for his process of hardening armour-plates. The Admiralty use only plates hardened by the Greer process, for here, as in many other things, England is still ahead of Germany.”

“Have you ever been to the Professor’s house in London?” I asked.

“Never. He has, however, invited me to dine there next week.”

“Next week!” I cried. “Then, of course, you’ll go? You’ll probably find Kershaw Kirk there.”

“Yes,” he laughed; “most probably. He’s a strange man—isn’t he?—and most influential.”

“He’s certainly strange, but as regards his influence, I know nothing,” was my quick reply.

“Why, my dear sir, his influence is enormous! He can go direct to quarters where we are entirely debarred!” declared my companion, as I sat back in the chair listening to these revelations.

“How? I don’t follow you.”

“Well,” he declared, “to me, the reason of Kirk’s influence is a complete mystery, but it has been conclusively proved more than once that he has the entrÉe to the highest quarters, and the ear of the authorities.”

I laughed.

“I suppose he has misled you into the belief that he has, Sir Mark. He’s a boaster—like many other men of his stamp.”

“He’s a boaster and a trifle eccentric, I admit. Yet I have myself had experience of his undoubted influence. He’s in some position of great trust.”

“There, I fear, I must differ, Sir Mark. I happen to know him well, and I think one day ere long you’ll discover that his powers are merely imaginary.”

The short, bald-headed man shrugged his shoulders dubiously, whereat, in order not to go contrary to his opinion, I turned our conversation into a different channel. I had already learned much of interest, but much, too, that had caused me a twinge of despair.

We spoke of other things, and apparently impressed by the fact that I was eager to meet Greer, he invited me to wait until he and Kirk arrived.

“But they may not be coming, after all,” I said. “They may have changed their minds.”

“I think that hardly probable,” Sir Mark replied. “They have been delayed, though I’ve ascertained that they left Birmingham to come direct here.”

I told him nothing of my visit to Alderman Pooley, but my only fear was that, with the report of the bogus Professor’s speech appearing in the papers, the impostor had become alarmed and again made himself scarce. To me it appeared much as though he and his accomplices had never intended the announcement to get into the papers. Indeed, even Sir Mark had expressed himself surprised at reading the report, understanding that the meeting was a purely private one of the learned society which had invited him to lecture.

I smoked a cigar with the affable little man, and then he left me, being called to the telephone. When he re-entered the room, he said:

“I’ve been speaking to the Professor. It seems that he’s at home, at his house in London. He was recalled suddenly by telegram, and not having been home since his return from the Continent he was compelled to obey the summons. He promises to come here next Monday.”

My heart sank once more within me. The truth was just as I had feared! The report of his speech in the papers had alarmed him, and he was no doubt on his way abroad again, having netted a goodly sum from Messrs Edwards and Sutton for a secret filched from the unfortunate man who had been assassinated.

“Then I’ll go back to London at once,” I announced; and, without betraying my anxiety to my bald-headed friend, who had been so cleverly victimised, I bade him adieu, and an hour later left Bulwell for London.

In the grey March afternoon I alighted from a hansom before that well-remembered door of the Professor’s house in Sussex Place. I did not for one moment believe him to be there. He had, of course, escaped long ago. In Edinburgh and in Glasgow I had been close at his heels, as I had also been in Birmingham, yet he had always cleverly evaded me.

To my amazement my ring was answered by Antonio—sleek, smiling, yet as evil-faced as ever!

“Is your master at home?” I asked sharply, for I certainly had not expected to meet the man who had escaped to Italy, and who had afterwards threatened me.

“No, signore,” was his bland reply. “He is out at present.”

“Then he—he’s at home again?”

“Yes, signore. He returned unexpectedly yesterday.”

“And Miss Ethelwynn?”

“The signorina is still at Broadstairs; we expect her up to-morrow.”

“And my wife, Antonio—where is she?” I inquired, looking him straight in the face.

“Ah, how can I tell, Signor Holford? Have I not already told you that I am entirely ignorant of her whereabouts?” And he exhibited his bony palms.

“You have been with your master in Hungary or in Roumania, I hear?”

“Certainly! Why not?” he said, as we stood within the wide hall. “But the Signor Kirk is upstairs in the study. Perhaps you will care to see him? I believe he has been trying to telephone to you at Chiswick.”

I started in eager anticipation.

“Of course, I’ll see Mr Kirk,” I said.

And endeavouring to steady my nerves and control my temper, I mounted the thickly-carpeted stairs to the room I so well remembered.

The point which puzzled me was whether I should now boldly accuse Kirk of duplicity and fraud. If I did, I feared that, to the bogus Professor, he might give the alarm, and that he would again slip through my fingers.

On my way to the study I resolved upon a purely diplomatic course. I would not let Kirk know of my visits to Birmingham and Sheffield, or even that I had noticed the report of the Professor’s announcement.

For a second I held my breath. Then I turned the handle of the door and boldly entered.

“Why, my dear Holford,” cried Kirk, jumping up from the writing-chair and grasping my hand as though delighted at my visit, “I’ve been trying to get on to you at your garage three times this morning, but your people have been engaged. You must be pretty busy down there—eh?”

The thin-faced man was, indeed, a perfect actor.

“I called to see Antonio,” I said. “I heard he had returned.”

“Then it is fortunate—most fortunate,” he said. “I am awaiting the return of someone who is very desirous indeed of making your acquaintance. It was for that reason that I’ve been trying to ring you up.”

My lips parted in an incredulous smile. So the impostor was anxious to meet me—doubly anxious, no doubt, because he was aware that I knew the truth of poor Greer’s death.

Yes, I would meet and unmask him.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

I am Faced with Another Difficulty.

The careless manner in which Kirk seemed to treat the grave issue of my life enraged me. This man, who in Chiswick posed as shabby and broken-down, was certainly no ordinary person. He was a shrewd, clever adventurer, possessed of resources that had even astonished Sir Mark Edwards. He had entrapped me, for some hidden reason of his own, and now he held me in a hateful bondage.

But with the vivid recollection of Mabel upon me, I resolved to defy this enemy of mine at all costs. I was only awaiting the return of the false Professor to unmask the pair, to call a constable, and to give them both in charge.

What the result would be, I cared not. I should, however, at least be afforded an opportunity to make revelations in the police-court which they would find it somewhat awkward to refute. Surely by doing this I should be performing a work of public benefit? The pair were clever swindlers, reaping the harvest from that secret discovered by the unfortunate man who had been purposely killed.

“You appear, Mr Kirk, to consider me an absolute fool!” I said, interrupting his song.

“I do, my dear Holford, I do. You have acted against your own interests, and even now you are spitting against the wind.”

“You desire my silence, yet you offer me nothing in return!” I said.

“Oh, you want payment!” he cried. “My dear sir, you have only to name your own price. We shall not quarrel over it, I can assure you.”

“No,” I said angrily, “I desire no blood-money, even though it is to save Ethelwynn Greer. I have all along suspected her of some complicity in the affair, although on the night you removed her to that house in Foley Street she accused you of the crime!”

He started quickly and turned to me, his countenance slightly paler.

“Repeat that,” he said quietly.

I did so. I told him how I had followed him to Foley Street, of the screams and words I had heard while standing in the fog outside the house.

“H’m. So you think I’m guilty of the crime, eh?” he said simply.

“I repeat the girl’s allegation against you,” I said. “And yet this same girl now declares that the Professor is not dead!” Then I added: “He was dead when we were together in the laboratory, was he not? Come, speak plainly!”

“Certainly he was!”

“And men do not come to life again when once dead, do they?”

“But this is an unusual case, I tell you. He—”

“However unusual, you cannot alter the laws of life and death,” I declared.

“Well, my dear Holford, how I wish I could reveal to you one simple truth. It would astound you, no doubt, but it would at the same time alter your opinion of me.”

“Oh, of course,” I laughed bitterly. “You’re not so black as you’re painted—you who have conspired to hold my wife aloof from me—you who for aught I know have told her some infamous tale which has caused her to look upon me with doubt and horror! I have recently learnt that she was acquainted with this man who calls himself Ernest Greer, and that, before she left my roof, she received word in secret from him.”

“Your wife’s affairs are surely of no interest to me, Holford,” said the grey-faced old scoundrel. “I am merely putting forward to you a simple matter of business—in a word, making a proposal for your consideration.”

“A proposal which I will never accept—never, you understand!” I added with emphasis.

“Not if I appeal to you on behalf of Ethelwynn, on behalf of a girl whose very life is dependent upon your silence?” he asked earnestly.

“The punishment for murder is death,” was my hard response.

He regarded me steadily, without speaking. I saw that he realised my steadfastness of purpose, and that I meant to reveal the truth to all the world.

“But,” he cried at last, “you surely will not act as a fool, Holford! I told you on the night we first sat together of the great issues that depended upon your silence, and I repeat it now.”

“Why did you entice me into this complicated tangle of crime and mystery?” I demanded quickly. “Tell me that.”

“Because—well—” And he hesitated. “Because I—I was a fool—I admit it frankly. I ought never to have approached you. Three days later I regretted it deeply.”

“Regretted it because you found, to your surprise, that you had no fool to deal with!” I cried.

“No; because I had made a mistake in another direction. But—but, hark?”

I listened and heard a footstep outside on the stairs.

“The Professor!” Kirk exclaimed. “He has returned. I’ll introduce you.”

I rose from my chair, my teeth set together, my hand gripping the edge of the table.

An instant later the door opened, and I stood boldly face to face with the impostor.

Kirk, with that calm suavity of manner that so annoyed and irritated me, introduced us.

But I bowed coldly to the well-dressed, elderly impostor, a man with keen, deep-set eyes, and a short, scrubby grey beard, asking of my companion:

“Is this farce really necessary, Mr Kirk, when I know the truth?”

The new-comer looked askance at his accomplice, who gave him a quick, meaning look.

“Ah! my dear Mr Holford!” exclaimed the bogus Professor, “I’ve been most anxious to meet you for a considerable time. This is a great pleasure.”

“And one which I most heartily reciprocate,” was my hard reply. “I’ve been endeavouring to find you for a long time. I followed you in Edinburgh, in Glasgow, and later on in Birmingham.”

“Then surely it is a rather happy circumstance that we have met to-day?” he said, rather fussily.

“Happy for me, but perhaps unhappy for you!” I replied, with a dry laugh.

“Why?”

“Because I now intend to expose your very clever plot. The secret you have sold to Sir Mark Edwards does not belong to you at all, but to Professor Ernest Greer, the man who was killed in the room yonder—in his own laboratory!”

His lips grew paler and set themselves hard. I saw in his dark eyes an expression of fear. He held me in terror—that was quite plain.

“Holford, you are mistaken,” declared Kirk.

“In what way?” I demanded.

“Professor Ernest Greer stands before you!”

“No!” I cried. “This man is the impostor—the impostor who wrote to my wife, and enticed her from her home.”

“I wrote to Mrs Holford, certainly,” was the fellow’s cool reply. “But without any evil intent; of that she will herself assure you.”

“Where is she?”

“You will, no doubt, see her before very long, and she will explain the reason of her absence.”

“Ah!” I said, “you adventurers dare not tell me the truth with your own lips. Remember, I saw the Professor lying dead in this house. You cannot induce me to believe that my eyes deceived me!”

“And yet you see the Professor alive before you now!” declared Kirk with a triumphant laugh.

But I made a gesture of disgust, declaring that I refused to be fooled further.

“You are not being fooled, Mr Holford,” asserted the man in a calm, distinct voice, as he opened the door and called to Antonio.

The grave-eyed manservant entered in a few seconds, and as he did so the new-comer said: “Antonio, will you please tell this gentleman who I am?”

“You are my dear master, signore—the Signor Professor Ernest Greer.”

“I already know, Antonio, that you’re a clever liar,” I cried, “so you can retire.”

“The Signorina Ethelwynn has just arrived, signore,” remarked the highly respectable manservant.

“Ah! then tell my daughter to come up?” he cried. “She will no doubt satisfy Mr Holford that I am no impostor.”

“Miss Ethelwynn saw her father lying dead, as I did; how, therefore, can she identify you as her deceased parent? Have you a half-brother, or some relation strongly resembling you?”

“No, I have not,” was his quick reply. “I am simply Professor Ernest Greer, whom a thousand persons living can identify.”

At that moment the fair-haired girl neatly attired in fur jacket, tailor-made skirt, and toque entered, and, with a spring, fell into the impostor’s arms and kissed him.

That piece of acting was, without doubt, perfect. Yet I stood aside and smiled. Had not Kirk previously admitted to me that his earnest endeavour was to secure my silence?

“Am I your father?” asked the dark-eyed man of Ethelwynn, standing with his hand upon her shoulder.

“Of course you are, dear dad! Why?”

“Because this gentleman will not believe it!” he laughed.

“This is my father, Mr Holford,” the girl declared, turning to me.

“But did not you, with your own eyes, see your father dead in his laboratory?” I asked seriously. “Are you not being misled, as these men are trying to mislead me?” I suggested.

She hesitated, glancing towards the man who posed as the Professor as though expecting him to reply for her.

“No,” I went on, “this is a conspiracy—a plot to place this man in a dead man’s shoes. And you know it, Miss Ethelwynn.”

“I tell you he’s my father!” the girl persisted. “Cannot you believe us?”

“Not without some independent proof,” I said. This persistence angered me.

“Then what proof do you require?” asked the man. “Shall I call the park-keeper at Clarence Gate? He has known me and seen me every day for a number of years.”

“Call him, if you wish,” I said, though, truth to tell, I did not intend to be longer fooled by the ingenious machinations of Kirk and his gang.

Antonio was sent to find the park-keeper, who, in due time, appeared, carrying his gold-laced hat in his hand.

“You’ve known Professor Greer a long time?” I asked the white-headed man.

“Several years, sir,” was his quick reply.

“And do you recognise this gentleman as the Professor?” I asked.

“Certainly, sir; I saw him pass in at the gate this morning. He’s cut off his beard, and that makes a bit of difference to a man, you know!”

He laughed.

“You have no hesitation in identifying him, eh?” I asked. “You’ll be able to swear to him in a court of law?”

“Yes, sir, in any court of law. The Professor’s been very kind to me, once or twice; therefore it isn’t likely that I forget either his face or his voice.”

This bewildered me. Was it possible that this impostor was the Professor’s twin brother? I felt confident that Kirk was continuing some very ingenious conspiracy. Was not his suggestion to me that I should forget the tragedy sufficient proof of double-dealing?

I thanked the park-keeper, who withdrew with Antonio, whereupon Kirk asked me whether I was not satisfied.

“No,” I said, “and I shall never be satisfied until I discover the identity of the man who killed Professor Greer.”

“But Professor Greer stands before you!” declared Ethelwynn; “nobody killed him!”

“So you wish me to believe,” I said with a smile, “but as my secrecy has been demanded on your account, I can only suspect that you were, in some way, implicated in the crime.”

She went pale as death. My words, I saw, had a startling effect upon her. She looked first at Kirk and then at the man posing as her father—the man who had secured many thousands of pounds for a secret that was not his own.

“Then you refuse to accept even the park-keeper’s testimony?” Kirk remarked, while the man who had assumed the Professor’s identity walked across to the writing-table and began looking at some letters lying upon it.

“I do; my intention is to unmask you all!” The impostor, the fading light falling upon his clear-cut countenance, turned quickly, and upon his face rested an expression of deadly fear that I had not previously noticed. Hitherto his attitude had been one of bold unconcern. But now, realising my determination, he had grown alarmed. He saw that he had carried the imposture too far.

“Ethelwynn,” he said, in a low, strained voice, “I—I wish to speak with Mr Holford. Will you leave us for a little while, dear. Go into the Red Room, and we’ll join you there later.”

“My dear sir,” I exclaimed, “I don’t desire to hear any more of your denials.”

“I’ll go, dad, of course,” replied the girl, who, in obedience with his suggestion, left the room.

I turned to follow her, but with a sudden movement he placed himself before the door, exclaiming anxiously:

“Mr Holford, pray hear me for one moment, I beg of you. I want to tell you something—to confess!”

“Ah!” I laughed triumphantly. “At last! you will confess! Good! I am all attention.”

“Listen carefully to the facts, Holford,” urged Kirk. “The Professor’s peril lies in the knowledge possessed by one man—yourself. It is therefore but just that you should know the truth.”

“I do not expect the truth from you,” I laughed. “How can I, after all that has passed?”

“The deceit I’ve practised upon you has been imperative,” was his audacious answer.

“Let me explain,” interrupted the impostor, advancing to the fireplace near which I stood. “First, I repeat that I am Professor Ernest Greer, and that this is my house. My statement can be verified later, but for the present I ask you to accept it as the truth. My old friend here, Kershaw Kirk, is not an adventurer, though he so often poses as such. But it is under necessity, for his real profession is that of a confidential agent of the British Government, the trusted head official of our Intelligence Department.”

At this I smiled incredulously, wondering what fantastic story he was about to relate, for even then I did not recognise him by the photograph I had obtained just before going up to Scotland. He was thinner, and his eyes were quite unlike those of the photograph, being narrower and deeper set.

“The plain facts are as follows,” he went on, after a second’s pause. “I had been experimenting until I had discovered an easy method of obtaining from the air those subtle elements helium and neon. My success had incidentally confirmed Sir William Ramsay’s estimation that the proportion of neon and helium in the atmosphere was about one to two in each hundred thousand, when a suggestion occurred to me that my process of hardening armour-plates might be improved upon, and a substance of great cutting power created. My experiments were long and tedious, but were at last crowned with success. I very foolishly gave, in the French scientific journal Cosmos, some account of these experiments, and a month later I was secretly informed by Kirk that the German Government—always our rivals where improvements in war material are concerned—was actively endeavouring to obtain my secret. As you know, I always kept my laboratory locked, and allowed no one within upon any pretext. My only confidante was my daughter Ethelwynn.”

And again he paused, glancing across at where Kirk stood, narrow-eyed and silent.

“Well,” he went on, “after another month had passed, Kirk returned from Germany, where he had been upon a secret mission for the Government, and then he urged me to exercise the greatest care. A very clever German agent, by name Max Leftwich, who had resided in London for some years, had been instructed to obtain my secret at all hazards. Kirk warned me that he was a man of remarkable tact and ability, and that under his control were fully a dozen agents rendering him assistance. It was he who had obtained for his employers in Berlin the secret of our new submarine boat, and who had controlled the survey of the Suffolk coast in view of the coming invasion. I confess that I laughed at Kirk’s fears—fears which were repeated to me by one of the Lords of the Admiralty only a week later. I saw no reason, however, for any serious apprehension. My laboratory was always locked, and could not be entered either from the skylight or conservatory, while the only keys of those double doors were secure upon my chain. But, alas! I had, like many another man, foolishly lulled myself into a sense of false security.”

And he sighed as he again paused.