Mysterious Mr. Sabin - free ebook by E. Phillips (Edward Phillips) Oppenheim

MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN

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CHAPTER I

“To all such meetings as these!” cried Densham, lifting his champagne glass from under the soft halo of the rose-shaded electric lights. “Let us drink to them, Wolfenden—Mr. Felix!” “To all such meetings!” echoed his vis-à-vis , also fingering the delicate stem of his glass. “An excellent toast!” “To all such meetings as these!” murmured the third man, who made up the little party. “A capital toast indeed!” They sat at a little round table in the brilliantly-lit supper-room of one of London’s mo

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CHAPTER II

The pitch of conversation had risen higher, still mingled with the intermittent popping of corks and the striking of matches. Blue wreaths of cigarette smoke were curling upwards—a delicate feeling of “abandon” was making itself felt amongst the roomful of people. The music grew softer as the babel of talk grew in volume. The whole environment became tinged with a faint but genial voluptuousness. Densham was laughing over the foibles of some mutual acquaintance; Wolfenden leaned back in his chai

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CHAPTER III

The three friends stood upon the pavement watching the little brougham until it disappeared round the corner in a flickering glitter of light. It would have been in accordance with precedent if after leaving the restaurant they had gone to some one of their clubs to smoke a cigar and drink whisky and apollinaris, while Harcutt retailed the latest society gossip, and Densham descanted on art, and Wolfenden contributed genial remarks upon things in general. But to-night all three were inclined to

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CHAPTER IV

The brougham containing the man who had figured in the “Milan” table list as Mr. Sabin, and his companion, turned into the Strand and proceeded westwards. Close behind it came Harcutt’s private cab—only a few yards away followed Densham’s hansom. The procession continued in the same order, skirting Trafalgar Square and along Pall Mall. Each in a different manner, the three men were perhaps equally interested in these people. Geoffrey Densham was attracted as an artist by the extreme and rare bea

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CHAPTER V

Wolfenden was evidently absolutely unprepared to see the girl whom he found occupying his own particular easy chair in his study. The light was only a dim one, and as she did not move or turn round at his entrance he did not recognise her until he was standing on the hearthrug by her side. Then he started with a little exclamation. “Miss Merton! Why, what on earth——” He stopped in the middle of his question and looked intently at her. Her head was thrown back amongst the cushions of the chair, a

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CHAPTER VI

Wolfenden, for an idler, was a young man of fairly precise habits. By ten o’clock next morning he had breakfasted, and before eleven he was riding in the Park. Perhaps he had some faint hope of seeing there something of the two people in whom he was now greatly interested. If so he was certainly disappointed. He looked with a new curiosity into the faces of the girls who galloped past him, and he was careful even to take particular notice of the few promenaders. But he did not see anything of Mr

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CHAPTER VII

Mrs. Thorpe-Satchell was not at home to ordinary callers. Nevertheless when a discreet servant brought her Mr. Francis Densham’s card she gave orders for his admittance without hesitation. That he was a privileged person it was easy to see. Mrs. Satchell received him with the most charming of smiles. “My dear Francis,” she exclaimed, “I do hope that you have lost that wretched headache! You looked perfectly miserable last night. I was so sorry for you.” Densham drew an easy chair to her side and

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CHAPTER VIII

Wolfenden returned to his rooms to lunch, intending to go round to see his last night’s visitor immediately afterwards. He had scarcely taken off his coat, however, before Selby met him in the hall, a note in his hand. “From the young lady, my lord,” he announced. “My wife has just sent it round.” Wolfenden tore the envelope open and read it. “ Thursday morning. “ Dear Lord Wolfenden ,—Of course I made a mistake in coming to you last night. I am very sorry indeed—more sorry than you will ever kn

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CHAPTER IX

Wolfenden forgot his anger at once. He hesitated for a moment, then he crossed the street and stood side by side with Felix upon the pavement. “I am glad to see that you are looking a sane man again,” Wolfenden said, after they had exchanged the usual greetings. “You might have been in a much more uncomfortable place, after your last night’s escapade.” Felix shrugged his shoulders. “I think,” he said, “that if I had succeeded a little discomfort would only have amused me. It is not pleasant to f

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CHAPTER X

Mr. Sabin, who had parted with Wolfenden with evident relief, leaned back in the cab and looked at his watch. “That young man,” he remarked, “has wasted ten minutes of my time. He will probably have to pay for it some day.” “By the bye,” the girl asked, “who is he?” “His name is Wolfenden—Lord Wolfenden.” “So I gathered; and who is Lord Wolfenden?” “The only son of Admiral the Earl of Deringham. I don’t know anything more than that about him myself.” “Admiral Deringham,” the girl repeated, thoug

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CHAPTER XI

At precisely the hour agreed upon Harcutt and Densham met in one of the ante-rooms leading into the “Milan” restaurant. They surrendered their coats and hats to an attendant, and strolled about waiting for Wolfenden. A quarter of an hour passed. The stream of people from the theatres began to grow thinner. Still, Wolfenden did not come. Harcutt took out his watch. “I propose that we do not wait any longer for Wolfenden,” he said. “I saw him this afternoon, and he answered me very oddly when I re

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CHAPTER XII

To leave London at all, under ordinary circumstances, was usually a hardship for Wolfenden, but to leave London at this particular moment of his life was little less than a calamity, yet a letter which he received a few mornings after the supper at the “Milan” left him scarcely any alternative. He read it over for the third time whilst his breakfast grew cold, and each time his duty seemed to become plainer. “ Deringham Hall, Norfolk. “ My dear Wolfenden ,—We have been rather looking for you to

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CHAPTER XIII

The Countess of Deringham might be excused for considering herself the most unfortunate woman in England. In a single week she had passed from the position of one of the most brilliant leaders of English society to be the keeper of a recluse, whose sanity was at least doubtful. Her husband, Admiral the Earl of Deringham, had been a man of iron nerve and constitution, with a splendid reputation, and undoubtedly a fine seaman. The horror of a single day had broken up his life. He had been the awe-

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CHAPTER XIV

Wolfenden was careful to reach the hall before the dinner gong had sounded. His father greeted him warmly, and Wolfenden was surprised to see so little outward change in him. He was carefully dressed, well groomed in every respect, and he wore a delicate orchid in his button-hole. During dinner he discussed the little round of London life and its various social events with perfect sanity, and permitted himself his usual good-natured grumble at Wolfenden for his dilatoriness in the choice of a pr

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CHAPTER XV

Both men looked up as Lady Deringham entered the room, carefully closing the door behind her. She had a card in her hand, and an open letter. “Wolfenden,” she said. “I am so glad that you are here. It is most fortunate! Something very singular has happened. You will be able to tell me what to do.” Mr. Blatherwick rose quietly and left the room. Wolfenden was all attention. “Some one has just arrived,” he remarked. “A gentleman, a complete stranger,” she assented. “This is his card. He seemed sur

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CHAPTER XVI

For a moment Wolfenden was speechless. Then, with a presence of mind which afterwards he marvelled at, he asked no more questions, but stepped up to the writing-table. “Blatherwick,” he said hurriedly, “we seem to have made a bad mistake. Will you try and rearrange these papers exactly as the admiral left them, and do not let him know that any one has entered the room or seen them.” Mr. Blatherwick commenced his task with trembling fingers. “I will do my best,” he said nervously. “But I am not s

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CHAPTER XVII

At very nearly the same moment as the man who had called himself Dr. Wilmot had leaped from the library window of Deringham Hall, Mr. Sabin sat alone in his sanctum waiting for a visitor. The room was quite a small one on the ground floor of the house, but was furnished with taste and evident originality in the Moorish fashion. Mr. Sabin himself was ensconced in an easy chair drawn close up to the fire, and a thin cloud of blue smoke was stealing up from a thick, Egyptian cigarette which was bur

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CHAPTER XVIII

The Ambassador, when he left Mr. Sabin’s house, stepped into a hired hansom and drove off towards Arlington Street. A young man who had watched him come out, from the other side of the way, walked swiftly to the corner of the street and stepped into a private brougham which was waiting there. “To the Embassy,” he said. “Drive fast!” The carriage set him down in a few minutes at the house to which Densham and Harcutt had followed Mr. Sabin on the night of their first meeting with him. He walked s

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CHAPTER XIX

“Lord Wolfenden?” He laughed at her surprise, and took off his cap. He was breathless, for he had been scrambling up the steep side of the hill on which she was standing, looking steadfastly out to sea. Down in the valley from which he had come a small boy with a bag of golf clubs on his back was standing, making imaginary swings at the ball which lay before him. “I saw you from below,” he explained. “I couldn’t help coming up. You don’t mind?” “No; I am glad to see you,” she said simply. “You s

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CHAPTER XX

Wolfenden was in no particularly cheerful frame of mind when, a few moments after the half hour was up, Mr. Sabin appeared upon the pavilion tee, followed by a tall, dark young man carrying a bag of golf clubs. Mr. Sabin, on the other hand, was inclined to be sardonically cheerful. “Your handicap,” he remarked, “is two. Mine is one. Suppose we play level. We ought to make a good match.” Wolfenden looked at him in surprise. “Did you say one?” Mr. Sabin smiled. “Yes; they give me one at Pau and Ca

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CHAPTER XXI

Wolfenden lost his match upon the last hole; nevertheless it was a finely contested game, and when Mr. Sabin proposed a round on the following day, he accepted without hesitation. He did not like Mr. Sabin any the better—in fact he was beginning to acquire a deliberate distrust of him. Something of that fear with which other people regarded him had already communicated itself to Wolfenden. Without having the shadow of a definite suspicion with regard to the man or his character, he was inclined

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CHAPTER XXII

A woman stood, in the midst of a salt wilderness, gazing seaward. Around her was a long stretch of wet sand and of seaweed-stained rocks, rising from little pools of water left by the tide; and beyond, the flat, marshy country was broken only by that line of low cliffs, from which the little tufts of grass sprouted feebly. The waves which rolled almost to her feet were barely ripples, breaking with scarcely a visible effort upon the moist sand. Above, the sky was grey and threatening; only a few

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CHAPTER XXIII

Mr. Sabin and his niece had finished their dinner, and were lingering a little over an unusually luxurious dessert. Wolfenden had sent some muscatel grapes and peaches from the forcing houses at Deringham Hall—such peaches as Covent Garden could scarcely match, and certainly not excel. Mr. Sabin looked across at Helène as they were placed upon the table, with a significant smile. “An Englishman,” he remarked, pouring himself out a glass of burgundy and drawing the cigarettes towards him, “never

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CHAPTER XXIV

Wolfenden had been shown, as he supposed, into an empty room by the servant of whom he had inquired for Mr. Sabin. But the door was scarcely closed before a familiar sound from a distant corner warned him that he was not alone. He stopped short and looked fixedly at the slight, feminine figure whose white fingers were flashing over the keyboard of a typewriter. There was something very familiar about the curve of her neck and the waving of her brown hair; her back was to him, and she did not tur

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CHAPTER XXV

The Countess of Deringham was sitting alone in her smaller drawing-room, gazing steadfastly at a certain spot in the blazing fire before her. A little pile of grey ashes was all that remained of the sealed packet which she had placed within the bars only a few seconds ago. She watched it slowly grow shapeless—piece after piece went fluttering up the broad chimney. A gentle yet melancholy smile was parting her lips. A chapter of her life was floating away there with the little trembling strips li

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CHAPTER XXVI

“I am afraid,” Harcutt said, “that either the letter was a hoax, or the writer has thought better of the matter. It is half an hour past the time, and poor Mr. Blatherwick is still alone.” Wolfenden glanced towards the distant table where his father’s secretary was already finishing his modest meal. “Poor old Blatherwick!” he remarked; “I know he’s awfully relieved. He’s too nervous for this sort of thing; I believe he would have lost his head altogether if his mysterious correspondent had turne

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CHAPTER XXVII

Wolfenden sent his phaeton to the station with Harcutt, who had been summoned back to town upon important business. Afterwards he slipped back to the hall to wait for its return, and came face to face with Mr. Blatherwick, who was starting homewards. “I was looking for you,” Wolfenden said; “your luncheon party turned out a little differently to anything we had expected.” “I am happy,” Mr. Blatherwick said, “to be able to believe that the letter was after all a hoax. There was no one in the room

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CHAPTER XXVIII

“Wolf! Wolf!” Wolfenden, to whom sleep before the early morning hours was a thing absolutely impossible, was lounging in his easy chair meditating on the events of the day over a final cigarette. He had come to his room at midnight in rather a dejected frame of mind; the day’s happenings had scarcely gone in his favour. Helène had looked upon him coldly—almost with suspicion. In the morning he would be able to explain everything, but in the meantime Blanche was upon the spot, and he had an uneas

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CHAPTER XXIX

It was still an hour or two before dawn. No trace whatever of the marauders had been discovered either outside the house or within. With difficulty the Earl had been persuaded to relinquish his smoking revolver, and had retired to his room. The doors had all been locked, and two of the most trustworthy servants left in charge of the library. Wolfenden had himself accompanied his father upstairs and after a few words with him had returned to his own apartment. With his mother he had scarcely exch

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CHAPTER XXX

Mr. Sabin, entering his breakfast-room as usual at ten o’clock on the following morning, found, besides the usual pile of newspapers and letters, a telegram, which had arrived too late for delivery on the previous evening. He opened it in leisurely fashion whilst he sipped his coffee. It was handed in at the Charing Cross Post Office, and was signed simply “K.”:— “Just returned. When can you call and conclude arrangements? Am anxious to see you. Read to-night’s paper.—K.” The telegram slipped fr

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CHAPTER XXXI

A single glance from Mr. Sabin into Wolfenden’s face was sufficient. Under his breath he swore a small, quiet oath. Wolfenden’s appearance was unlooked for, and almost fatal, yet that did not prevent him from greeting his visitor with his usual ineffusive but well bred courtesy. “I am finishing a late breakfast,” he remarked. “Can I offer you anything—a glass of claret or Benedictine?” Wolfenden scarcely heard him, and answered altogether at random. He had suddenly become aware that Helène was i

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CHAPTER XXXII

At the sound of his cry, Helène, who had been crossing the hall, threw open the door just as Mr. Sabin’s fingers were upon the key. Seeing that he was powerless to keep from her the knowledge of what had happened, he did not oppose her entrance. She glided into the centre of the room with a stifled cry of terror. Together, she and Mr. Sabin bent over Wolfenden’s motionless figure. Mr. Sabin unfastened the waistcoat and felt his heart. She did not speak until he had held his hand there for severa

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CHAPTER XXXIII

Wolfenden, for perhaps the first time in his life, chose the inland road home. He was still feeling faint and giddy, and the fresh air only partially revived him. He walked slowly, and rested more than once. It took him almost half an hour to reach the cross roads. Here he sat on a stile for a few minutes, until he began to feel himself again. Just as he was preparing to resume his walk, he was aware of a carriage being driven rapidly towards him, along the private road from Deringham Hall. He s

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CHAPTER XXXIV

At about four o’clock in the afternoon, as Helène was preparing to leave the Lodge, a telegram was brought in to her from Mr. Sabin. “I have succeeded and am now en route for London. You had better follow when convenient, but do not be later than to-morrow.” She tore it into small pieces and hummed a tune. “It is enough,” she murmured. “I am not ambitious any longer. I am going to London, it is true, my dear uncle, but not to Kensington! You can play Richelieu to Henri and my cousin, if it pleas

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CHAPTER XXXV

Mr. Sabin, whose carriage had set him down at the Cromer railway station with barely two minutes to spare, took his seat in an empty first-class smoking carriage of the London train and deliberately lit a fine cigar. He was filled with that sense of triumphant self-satisfaction which falls to the lot of a man who, after much arduous labour successfully accomplished, sees very near at hand the great desire of his life. Two days’ more quiet work, and his task was done. All that he had pledged hims

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CHAPTER XXXVI

“So I have found you at last!” Mr. Sabin looked up with a distinct start from the table where he sat writing. When he saw who his visitor was, he set down his pen and rose to receive her at once. He permitted himself to indulge in a little gesture of relief; her noiseless entrance had filled him with a sudden fear. “My dear Helène,” he said, placing a chair for her, “if I had had the least idea that you wished to see me, I would have let you know my whereabouts. I am sorry that you should have h

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CHAPTER XXXVII

Wolfenden, who had bought no paper on his way up from Norfolk, gazed with something approaching amazement at the huge placards everywhere displayed along the Strand, thrust into his cab by adventurous newsboys, flaunting upon every lamp-post. He alighted near Trafalgar Square, and purchased a Globe . The actual facts were meagre enough, but significant when considered in the light of a few days ago. A vacancy had occurred upon the throne of one of England’s far off dependencies. The British nomi

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CHAPTER XXXVIII

Mr. Sabin leaned back in his chair with a long, deep sigh of content. The labour of years was concluded at last. With that final little sketch his work was done. A pile of manuscripts and charts lay before him; everything was in order. He took a bill of lading from his letter-case, and pinned it carefully to the rest. Then he glanced at his watch, and, taking a cigarette-case from his pocket, began to smoke. There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Sabin, who had recognised the approaching footste

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CHAPTER XXXIX

When Wolfenden opened his paper on Saturday morning, London had already drawn a great breath, partly of relief partly of surprise, for the black head-lines which topped the columns of the papers, the placards in the streets, and the cry of the newsboys, all declared a most remarkable change in the political situation. Wolfenden, in common with most of his fellow-countrymen, could scarcely believe his eyes; yet there it was in plain black and white. The dogs of war had been called back. Germany w

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CHAPTER XL

The way to Pau which Mr. Sabin chose may possibly have been the most circuitous, but it was certainly the safest. Although not a muscle of his face had moved, although he had not by any physical movement or speech betrayed his knowledge of the fact, he was perfectly well aware that his little statement as to his future movements was overheard and carefully noted by the tall, immaculately dressed young man who by some strange chance seemed to have been at his elbow since he had left his rooms an

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CHAPTER XLI

It was their third day out, and Mr. Sabin was enjoying the voyage very much indeed. The Calipha was a small boat sailing to Boston instead of New York, and contemptuously termed by the ocean-going public an old tub. She carried, consequently, only seven passengers besides Mr. Sabin, and it had taken him but a very short time to decide that of those seven passengers not one was interested in him or his affairs. He had got clear away, for the present at any rate, from all the complications and dan

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CHAPTER XLII

At dinner-time Mrs. Watson appeared in a very dainty toilette of black and white, and was installed at the captain’s right hand. She was introduced at once to Mr. Sabin, and proceeded to make herself a very agreeable companion. “Why, I call this perfectly delightful!” was almost her first exclamation, after a swift glance at Mr. Sabin’s quiet but irreproachable dinner attire. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to find myself once more in civilised society. I was never so dull in my life as on t

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CHAPTER XLIII

The habit of early rising was one which Mr. Sabin had never cultivated, and breakfast was a meal which he abhorred. It was not until nearly midday on the following morning that he appeared on deck, and he had scarcely exchanged his customary greeting with the captain, before he was joined by Mr. Watson, who had obviously been on the look-out for him. “I want, sir,” the latter commenced, “to apologise to you for my conduct last night.” Mr. Sabin looked at him keenly. “There is no necessity for an

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CHAPTER XLIV

Mr. Sabin ate his luncheon with unimpaired appetite and with his usual care that everything of which he partook should be so far as possible of the best. The close presence of the German man-of-war did not greatly alarm him. He had some knowledge of the laws and courtesies of maritime life, and he could not conceive by what means short of actual force he could be inveigled on board of her. Mr. Watson’s last words had been a little disquieting, but he probably held an exaggerated opinion as to th

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CHAPTER XLV

Mr. Sabin found the captain by no means inclined to talk about the visit which they had just received. He was still hurt and ruffled at the propositions which had been made to him, and annoyed at the various delays which seemed conspiring to prevent him from making a decent passage. “I have been most confoundedly insulted by those d—— Germans,” he said to Mr. Sabin, meeting him a little later in the gangway. “I don’t know exactly what your position may be, but you will have to be on your guard.

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CHAPTER XLVI

At dinner-time Mr. Sabin was the most silent of the little quartette who occupied the head of the table. The captain, who had discovered that notwithstanding their stoppage they had made a very fair day’s run, and had just noticed a favourable change in the wind, was in a better humour, and on the whole was disposed to feel satisfied with himself for the way he had repulsed the captain of the Kaiser Wilhelm . He departed from his usual custom so far as to drink a glass of Mr. Sabin’s champagne,

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CHAPTER XLVII

The night was still enough, but piled-up masses of black clouds obscured a weakly moon, and there were only now and then uncertain gleams of glimmering light. There was no fog, nor any sign of any. The captain slept in his room, and on deck the steamer was utterly deserted. Only through the black darkness she still bounded on, her furnaces roaring, and the black trail of smoke leaving a long clear track behind her. It seemed as though every one were sleeping on board the steamer except those who

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CHAPTER XLVIII

“I suppose,” Mr. Sabin began, closing the door of the cabin behind him, “that I may take it—this episode—as an indication of your refusal to accept the proposals I made to you?” Mr. Watson did not immediately reply. He had seated himself on the corner of a lounge and was leaning forward, his head resting moodily upon his hands. His sallow face was paler even than usual, and his expression was sullen. He looked, as he undoubtedly was, in an evil humour with himself and all things. “It was not a m

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CHAPTER XLIX

Mr. Sabin found it a harder matter than he had anticipated to induce the captain to consent to the scheme he had formulated. Nevertheless, he succeeded in the end, and by lunch time the following day the whole affair was settled. There was a certain amount of risk in the affair, but, on the other hand, if successfully carried out, it set free once and for ever the two men mainly concerned in it. Mr. Sabin, who was in rather a curious mood, came out of the captain’s room a little after one o’cloc

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CHAPTER L

The voyage of the Calipha came to its usual termination about ten o’clock on the following morning, when she passed Boston lights and steamed slowly down the smooth waters of the harbour. The seven passengers were all upon deck in wonderfully transformed guise. Already the steamer chairs were being tied up and piled away; the stewards, officiously anxious to render some last service, were hovering around. Mrs. Watson, in a plain tailor gown and quiet felt hat, was sitting heavily veiled apart an

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CHAPTER LI

Of all unhappy men he is assuredly the most unhappy who, ambitious, patient, and doggedly persevering, has chosen the moment to make his supreme venture and having made it has reaped failure instead of success. The gambler while he lives may play again; the miser, robbed, embark once more upon his furtive task of hoarding money; even the rejected lover need not despair of some day, somewhere finding happiness, since no one heart has a monopoly of love. But to him who aspires to shape the destiny

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CHAPTER LII

Mr. Sabin found himself late on the afternoon of the following day alone on the platform of a little wooden station, watching the train which had dropped him there a few minutes ago snorting away round a distant curve. Outside, the servant whom he had hired that morning in New York was busy endeavouring to arrange for a conveyance of some sort in which they might complete their journey. Mr. Sabin himself was well content to remain where he was. The primitiveness of the place itself and the magni

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