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.