A dead silence, lasting for quite half a minute, followed the entry into the room of the unexpected visitant. There was a sneering smile on the latter’s face, while both Modjeska and Carter stared at him in dumbfounded astonishment. The Pole’s expression was perfectly ludicrous. His strange, brown eyes were open to their widest extent, losing thereby a lot of their sinister quality, his lower jaw had fallen as though completely beyond control. Carter was the first to recover himself.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘I want to speak to you – and him,’ replied Carberry in his affected tones.
‘This is hardly the time or the place I should imagine for your purpose.’
‘It is the right place and the right time, for my purpose is private and concerns you both.’
‘Vell, shut the door,’ hissed Modjeska recovering his faculties suddenly. ‘Ve do not vant all the people in the hotel to know ve meet here.’ Carberry obeyed, and advanced farther into the room. Carter noticed that the Pole quickly placed himself in such a position that he was now between the intruder and the door. ‘Explain, please,’ continued Modjeska, ‘vhy you come here in manner so secret.’
Carberry’s dark eyes were turned first on one, then on the other.
‘Exactly how much,’ he asked, ‘are you prepared to pay to make it worth my while to keep my mouth closed?’
Although the question caused Carter as much surprise as it apparently did Modjeska, he was sensible of a feeling of relief. Carberry did not, after all, represent an unknown and possibly dangerous party, neither was he a spy employed by Modjeska. Apparently he had discovered something concerning the activities of the latter and, associating Carter with him, had decided upon a little blackmail. It was the kind of thing that would appeal to a fellow of his type, thought the Secret Service man contemptuously, but he could not know the danger in which he was placing himself. Modjeska and company would think as little of removing anyone from the world who threatened to become inconvenient as they would a speck of dust from their attire.
Modjeska at first was frankly startled. Carter noticed, however, that he showed neither perturbation nor embarrassment and, when the initial sense of shock wore off, even smiled. But it was a wicked smile. The mouth was twisted pitilessly, the eyes, from behind their pince-nez, gleamed with utter cruelty. Perhaps for the first time, Carter realised the brutality underlying the suave manner of Ivan Modjeska. Carberry undoubtedly became, at that moment, aware of the peril in which he had placed himself. His pale face turned bloodless, fear looked naked from his eyes. However, with a visible effort, he pulled himself together, fondly imagining perhaps that he held the trump cards.
‘It seems to me, Mr Carberry,’ observed Modjeska in tones that can only be described as a purr, ‘that you are, for some reason vich ve do not know, trying to – vat is it you say in English?’ he appealed to Carter.
‘Blackmail us?’
‘Ah! Yes, blackmail us. My friend, Mr Carter, vill not, I think, mind mooch if you sit in that chair and explain to us.’
He indicated a chair on the opposite side of the bed. Carter nodded, and Julius Carberry, after a slight show of hesitation, walked round and sat down.
‘I know who you are, Ivan Modjeska,’ he declared in his sickeningly effeminate voice, ‘and I heard enough of your conversation with Mr Carter last night to assure me that you and he were about to join forces.’
Modjeska and Carter exchanged a quick and somewhat apprehensive glance.
‘Our conversation?’ repeated the former. ‘My friend, I think you dream. Of vat conversation do you speak?’
‘It is no use trying bluff,’ declared Carberry. ‘I refer to your conversation in this room after eleven. I saw you pass along the corridor. I was already very much interested in you, but your secretive manner increased my interest. You see my bedroom is number thirteen, which happens to be at the top of the stairs on the other side of the passage. I looked cautiously out and observed that you entered here. I knew this was Mr Carter’s room, and he is well-known to possess doctrines which I privately knew to be similar to yours. I waited till all was quiet; then I crept along the corridor and listened with my ear to the keyhole. You little thought your very interesting talk was being overheard, did you?’
Modjeska’s eyes became more wicked-looking than before.
‘Ah! The eavesdropper!’ he murmured, and shook his head with the air of an elder gently reproving a youngster for a minor transgression. ‘It is very mooch bad form – that. Perhaps tonight comes another eavesdropper. Who knows?’ He crossed quickly to the door, and, opening it softly, inspected the corridor. Presently he closed it again, and Carter did not fail to notice that this time he bolted it. ‘I think it vill be vell if you start at the beginning,’ he went on to the white-faced Carberry, ‘and explain vhy you have the so-great interest in me.’
‘I’ll tell you all,’ agreed Julius, ‘and then you’ll see that I have you – like this.’ He closed his hands slowly, as though getting a tight grip on something.
‘This is most entertaining, do you not think so?’ Modjeska asked Carter.
‘Very,’ replied the Secret Service man dryly.
‘You’ll understand quite a lot,’ continued Carberry, ‘when I tell you that Luigi Casaroli, who died in Shirland Road, was my mother’s brother!’
A little hiss escaped from between Modjeska’s thin lips. Carter now understood the touch of the foreigner in Carberry.
‘So you’re half Italian,’ he commented.
‘I am,’ acknowledged Julius, ‘and I’m proud of it. My Italian blood gives me the artistic side of my nature which my employers appreciate so much.’
‘Get on with your story,’ urged the disgusted Carter.
‘Luigi Casaroli,’ proceeded Carberry, now with a little more confidence than he had hitherto shown, ‘got into some unsavoury communistic trouble in Berlin, where he held a very good post. He fled to England to escape punishment, and my father, who used to be an important official of the Bootblack Brigade, persuaded him to become naturalised. He did, and my father found him a job. He and I became very friendly, and he grew very fond of me.’ Julius drew his hand backwards over his sleek hair and lowered his eyes modestly, his lips pursed. Carter longed to punch his head. ‘A short while before he died,’ pursued Carberry, ‘I called on him, and found him in a state of great terror. He confessed everything to me.’
‘Vat do you mean by everything?’ queried Modjeska.
‘He told me that members of an anarchist society had followed him to England, and had forced him to act as their agent in this country on threat of divulging what had occurred in Berlin. He said that the object of the society was to assassinate royalty in every country that possessed a king. He had received news that King Peter, who had accepted an invitation to visit England, was to be murdered on arrival here. He had been instructed to arrange accommodation for the three anarchists who had been selected for the deed. There were some rooms vacant in the house in which he lived. He proposed to arrange for the three men to have those, but he was in deadly terror. He believed, he told me, that his own death would result from the venture. I asked him why he did not tell the police. He replied that he dared not, because if he did the affair in Berlin would come to light. It was the shooting of a police official, who had been investigating the activities of a secret society to which he belonged, and which was connected in some way with the anarchists. He made me swear not to betray him, but to do my best to think of means by which he could escape from the toils. I promised to do so. It was because he knew of the Canute Hotel through my staying there that he gave the name to you, Ivan Modjeska. He told me about you and Vladimir Dimitrinhov, and asked me to watch you when you came to London.
‘I was away on my travels in the country when news of the raid on the house in Shirland Road reached me, and the death of my uncle and the three anarchists. None of the papers described exactly how the men were killed, though it was hinted in several that one of the anarchists had gone mad and shot down his associates before falling himself. I went to visit the ice cream man who lives in the basement when I returned to London. He had overheard the police speaking, and was able to tell me that my uncle, Luigi Casaroli, had threatened to betray the society to the English authorities, whereupon a man called Haeckel had snatched up a revolver, even though his wrists were handcuffed, and had shot him. Afterwards he killed the other two and himself. Now you know what I know, Ivan Modjeska, and you’re going to pay me well not to speak.’
The Pole sat on the bed studying him through narrowed eyes. Suddenly he turned to Carter.
‘You of course knew of that so-tragic Sheerland Road affair – no?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Carter, ‘but I had no idea that––’
‘That it was any of my concerns? But now you know, you also know vhy I vant go there. The friend I talk of to you vas the ice cream man. He tell me also the same he has told Mr Carberry. My society vas mooch anxious about vat the police know. I am happy that it is very leetle.’ Abruptly he looked back at Julius, and his voice dropped to a purr again. ‘But tonight,’ he pronounced, ‘I have find out something very mooch important I think. Ve all vonder how it is the police know to raid the house in Sheerland Road. I have now the answer. Mr Carberry vas the man who told them.’
‘That’s a lie!’ gasped Julius starting up from his chair. ‘I did not go to the police at all.’
‘You did not go – no; perhaps not. But you could write – yes?’
‘I didn’t write either. I kept my promise to my uncle. Even then I thought that it would mean more profit to myself to keep quiet.’
‘It is not possible to believe that you did not tell them,’ insisted Modjeska. ‘Vat other person could do it? Nobody, my friend. Am I not right, Mr Carter?’
‘It looks like it,’ agreed Carter, though he knew the true facts. He turned a baleful look on Carberry, as Modjeska nodded approval. ‘You fool,’ growled the Secret Service man to Julius, who was again looking white-faced and shaken, ‘what did you expect to gain by mixing yourself up in an affair like this?’
‘I expect to gain quite a lot,’ was the reply, though not too confidently spoken.
‘Have you heard the English saying,’ queried Modjeska softly, ‘I like it very mooch – “Dead men tell not the tales”?’
Carberry laughed a trifle unsteadily.
‘You – you can’t frighten me like that,’ he returned, though his looks belied his words. ‘I have left a document with – with someone, which will be handed to the police if I – if anything happens to me.’
‘All that sounds very terrible,’ smiled Modjeska, ‘but vat do I care for your blackmail, my friend? – nothing, nothing at all. If your so-wonderful document went to the police, they could not act on it. They would find Ivan Modjeska and Vladimir Dimitrinhov most innocent men, vith not one leetle bit of proof to catch them.’
‘Bluff – all – all – bluff,’ stammered Carberry. ‘Whether there is proof to be found against you or – or not, my death would be – be significant, wouldn’t it? And don’t forget: the name of the society is in the document.’
For the first time Modjeska looked really perturbed.
‘Perhaps also in that document,’ he murmured, looking intently at Carberry, ‘is the address of the place vere the headquarters of the society are?’
The other nodded triumphantly.
‘I have not only given the address of the headquarters,’ he replied, ‘but also the address of the hiding place in Constantinople.’
The Pole removed his pince-nez, and polished them in his handkerchief, with hands that trembled a little. Now that the glasses were removed Carter, for the first time, obtained a real view of the man’s uncanny eyes. Their vivid, hypnotic quality was revealed in all its naked iniquity. The Secret Service man became almost fascinated by them. He did not wonder at the gasp which escaped from Julius Carberry. Glancing at the latter, he saw him staring with fearful intensity at Modjeska, his hands clenched, his teeth biting deep into his lower lip. Carter decided that the Pole had removed his pince-nez for the very purpose of terrifying the blackmailer. He sat slowly rubbing the glasses, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the other.
‘Vere is it – this document?’ he asked presently in a low vibrating voice.
‘I won’t tell you,’ came the faltering reply.
‘Oh, yes, you vill, my friend. Ivan Modjeska vills it that you tell him. Listen to me, very carefully. I say again you vill tell me vere the document is.’
‘No – no! I won’t!’
‘You vill.’ And the eyes continued gazing deep into those of the victim.
Carter realised, with a sense of horror, that the Pole was attempting to mesmerise Carberry. A vivid recollection of an occasion when an attempt of a similar nature had been made on him recurred to his mind. Somehow, even if it meant drawing the Pole’s suspicion on himself, he must put a stop to the foul work. He knew very well that once Julius was forced to reveal the information which Modjeska was attempting to tear from him, his life would be forfeit.
‘I won’t tell you – I won’t!’ came now in great gasps from Carberry.
‘You vill. Nothing can vithstand the vill of Ivan Modjeska. Speak! Vere is the document?’
The tortured man tried vainly to tear his gaze away from those terrible eyes, but could not. He was easy prey to such a man as Modjeska. Before long his resistance was palpably weakening. He began to sob his refusal; then whine in a manner that was so animal-like as to shock Carter.
The latter could stand it no longer.
‘He is obstinate, isn’t he?’ he observed in matter-of-fact tones. ‘Never mind, Mr Modjeska, we will—’
The Pole turned on him like a wild beast.
‘You fool!’ he snarled. ‘You have spoilt it all vat I vas doing. Have you not the sense?’
A string of words in his own language sounding very much like profanity, burst in a torrent from his lips, but the tension was broken. Carberry was bending forward, his face hidden in his hands, his whole body trembling violently. Carter eyed Modjeska with well-simulated amazement.
‘What have I done?’ he demanded in a resentful voice.
‘Could you not see? Could you not see?’
‘See what? What was there to see? You were asking Carberry where his precious document is. I’m hanged if I can understand why.’
‘You are a fool – a big fool.’ Modjeska replaced his pince-nez. ‘I do not think I have ever before know a fool so great.’
‘Oh, you haven’t have you!’ snapped Carter. ‘Then you can jolly well clear out of my room. Perhaps you will be able to find someone who is not a fool.’
Modjeska looked surprised, and a little concerned.
‘Vat is this you say?’ he demanded. ‘Are you now refuse to be vone of us?’
‘Do you think I’m going to allow you or anyone else to call me a fool?’ grunted Carter, all the sullenness and resentment back in his face. ‘You can take your plots back to your own country, with you. I don’t want to have anything more to do with them. A fool am I?’
The Pole studied him for a moment, then smiled.
‘It is a misunderstanding betveen you and me – yes? I vill explain; after you vill know vhy I call you a big fool. Now I see you are not the fool – it is that you do not understand. Ven you know you vill be mooch angry vith yourself.’
‘Well, explain then.’
‘In a leetle time.’ He turned to the still trembling Carberry. ‘I think you have win, my friend,’ he announced. ‘You have us in your power – I admit it. For your silence ve must pay. Vat is it you ask?’
Such a complete change in his attitude was, to say the least of it, a little surprising. Carberry looked up at him and, although still pale and drawn, quickly now began to recover from his experience. The light of greed was in his eyes.
‘I – I knew you would see you were in my power before long,’ he muttered hoarsely.
Modjeska shrugged his shoulders.
‘Ah, yes,’ he confessed. ‘It vas evident, but I hoped that I could bluff you.’
‘It would take more than you to bluff me,’ boasted Julius.
‘Alas! I feel that you are right. Vell vat is the price vich you ask?’
Carter frowned thoughtfully. He knew very well that Modjeska had no intention of acceding to the blackmailer’s demands, but was unable to understand his object in thus appearing to surrender. There was devilry of some sort behind it without a doubt. Although he had interrupted Modjeska’s attempt at hypnotism, and for the time being had, he was quite certain, saved Carberry’s life, the Secret Service man was well aware of the deadly peril which was overhanging the commercial traveller. He feared that he would not always be in a position to save him. Carberry had now forgotten his terror in the sense of triumph that had come to him. It was obvious he was quite convinced that Modjeska now fully realised that he held the whip-hand, and had decided that all he could do was to treat with him. He sat as though considering the question asked for a minute or two, one hand placed in an affected manner on his hip. The fellow was quite unable to forbear from posing. Carter caught a whiff of some pungent scent as he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his lips. At length he gave Modjeska an arch look, his head on one side.
‘I suppose,’ he observed, ‘you will think I am a very greedy man, if I ask for ten thousand pounds?’
‘Very greedy, yes,’ nodded the Pole, ‘but man – never.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Vat I have say. No vone vould take you for a man.’
‘Oh, I say. What else could I be?’
‘Ve vill not disguss the science of eugenics – no. You say you vant ten tousand pounds for to be silent. It is too mooch, my friend.’
Carberry, who seemed to have regained all his confidence, tossed his head in the style of a schoolgirl.
‘I will not take a penny less,’ he declared.
Modjeska sat for a while stroking his chin. Gone was all suggestion of fierceness from his manner, his expression was almost mild.
‘Vere you tink ve get all that money?’ he asked.
‘You have a very big fund. You see, I know a great deal about your society.’
‘Yes; I can see that,’ admitted Modjeska. ‘If you are paid this money, how are ve to know you vill then keep silence?’
‘I will give you my word,’ returned Carberry with a grand air.
The Pole grunted, but made no other comment. He again sat thoughtful for some moments, then he sighed.
‘Tomorrow I vill give you my answer. You vill vait?’
Julius rose from his chair.
‘If you come to my room before breakfast,’ he agreed, ‘I will wait till then with pleasure.’
‘Ah! You do not give me too mooch time. Very vell. I vill come.’
The blackmailer sauntered round the bed to the door; withdrew the bolt. For a few seconds he stood elegantly poised, an object, to Carter, of profound contempt, though he felt a good deal of pity for the fellow. ‘Please remember,’ lisped Julius, ‘that it is useless to try any tricks. It would be bad for you both if you forget that a friend of mine possesses a statement which, if published, would mean the end of the society you – er – adorn.’
‘What have I to do with it?’ growled Carter.
‘I have also mentioned you in my little report, Mr Carter. It contains, you see, a summary of the conversation in this room last night. You will probably be interested to know that I searched your room this evening.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Carter was greatly relieved now that the matter which had been troubling him was explained. ‘What did you expect to find here?’
‘Evidence against you,’ replied Carberry with a smirk.
‘You’re nothing but a common blackmailer and a thief,’ snarled the Secret Service man, ‘and if you think I’m afraid of you, you dirty sneak, you––’
‘Hush!’ interposed Modjeska, but his lips were twitching in a cruel smile which Julius could not see. ‘Remember, my friend, ve are in his power.’
‘I am glad you are remembering it, Ivan Modjeska,’ came from Carberry in approving tones. ‘You are a wise man. As for you,’ he looked again at Carter, ‘you will be well advised to follow Modjeska’s advice. I will take care that your excursion to that seditious meeting tonight is added to my statement – and at once. That in itself may not be criminal, but added to everything else it will tell against you.’
With that he went out, unbolting the door and closing it behind him, apparently quite unaware that he had made a fatal mistake. Carter had noticed it, and he quickly saw that Modjeska had also done so. The latter’s eyes were gleaming as the Secret Service man turned to look at him.
‘Ah! The so-wise Carberry,’ chuckled the Pole softly. ‘He has pretend the bluff. The so-precious document cannot be vith a friend, if he goes now to add vords to it.’
‘Perhaps he means he will write another document,’ hazarded Carter, his heart sinking as he realised the manner in which Carberry had so foolishly placed himself in Modjeska’s power by a thoughtless remark.
‘I do not tink that, my friend. Vere did you go tonight of vich he speak?’ Carter told him. ‘And the good Carberry follow you?’
‘I suppose so. At any rate he was there. We came back together. Now I want to know what you meant by calling me a fool, and saying I had spoilt everything.’
Modjeska explained to him at great length, and with many expressions of self-praise, the faculty he possessed of being able to hypnotise others.
‘I vas getting Carberry into my power,’ he concluded. ‘Soon he vould have told me vere that paper he had written vas, but you interrupt, I know because you did not understand vat I do, and it is all over – finished. The influence vas ruined.’
Carter stared at him like one amazed.
‘Can you really do that?’ he asked in a hushed voice. ‘You are not fooling?’
Modjeska sat up with an air of great pride.
‘There is no foolery. It is true. I, Ivan Modjeska, can mesmerise ven I vill. It is mooch useful gift.’
Carter took care that a look of great respect came into his face. The Pole noticed it, and was extremely gratified. For some moments he basked in the imagined adulation of his companion.
‘I’m sorry I butted in,’ apologised the Englishman humbly.
‘It is no matter – you did not know. Another time you vill understand, yes? I, therefore, forgive.’
Carter looked duly grateful for the other’s magnanimity.
‘It is decent of you,’ he murmured.
Modjeska leant forward; patted him on the arm.
‘The more I see you, my friend,’ he declared expansively, ‘so mooch the more I like you. Ivan Modjeska vill alvays be your friend. You have my vord. Your leetle mistake matters not. Ve know now Mr Carberry, that clever vone, has not the document given avay. It is vith him. Oh, the poor Carberry!’
He laughed, and the utter cold-bloodedness of the laugh sent a shiver through the Englishman. He showed no sign of his feelings however.
‘What do you intend to do?’ he asked casually.
Modjeska shrugged his shoulders.
‘Who knows vat may happen? In this vorld life is mooch uncertain. Vone day a man is in health so good, and the next day he is suddenly dead. It is sad, but ve cannot help it. The vorld goes on just the same.’
Carter did not press him to disclose his intentions for fear of raising suspicions in his mind, but he resolved to keep a watch on Carberry’s room for the rest of the night. The Pole took a thick wallet from his pocket. From it he extracted a transcontinental rail and boat ticket which he handed to Carter. The latter examined it, and saw that it was dated two days hence. The destination was Vienna.
‘On Sunday, my friend, you vill go to Vienna vith this. Ven you arrive I vill meet you at the station. Hermann Grote and I vill go tomorrow night by the boat train for Southampton. Ve have business in Havre, you see. Your train vill leave from Victoria at nine of the clock in the morning, and you vill go by vay of Dover, Ostend and Brussels. It is understood?’
‘Perfectly.’
Modjeska gave him a roll of notes.
‘There you have tventy pounds vich ve vill call expenses. You cannot say Ivan Modjeska is not generous.’
‘I think you are very generous,’ returned Carter in exultant tones. ‘I haven’t had as much money as this for a long time.’
‘There is mooch more vere that come from. Ven you are of the society, you vill be mooch vell paid. Ve do not starve our comrades who serve the great cause. Now, my friend, I vill leave you. There vill be no more to be said until ve meet in Vienna.’
‘Are you going to consult Mr Grote about Carberry?’
‘I have not make up my mind. Perhaps. I vill tink vat is best to do. Goodnight.’
Carter waited some time after he had gone, to make sure that he was not still in the corridor. Then, after switching off the light, and slipping on his overcoat – he had no dressing gown with him – he quietly opened his door, placed a chair on the threshold and sat where he could see the door of Carberry’s room without being seen himself. He was determined that somehow or other, even if it meant bringing himself under suspicion, he would save the blackmailer’s life. If no attempt was made on him that night he would see that on the following day, at least until Modjeska and Grote had departed, he would be amply protected by the Secret Service. An hour, two hours went by, and Modjeska did not come back. Carter began to think that the Pole had no intention of doing anything that night. Perhaps, when he visited Carberry before breakfast, he would carry out the murderous designs he was undoubtedly nursing. It would be a very risky proceeding, and foolish in the extreme, but there was no knowing what might be in the evil mind of Modjeska. Suddenly the Secret Service man sat bolt upright. The door of room number thirteen had opened. In the dim light cast by the solitary electric lamp that had been left burning in the corridor he saw a man appear, close the door quietly behind him and go quietly down the stairs. There was no mistaking the somewhat corpulent form of Ivan Modjeska.