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  Chapter XXI

  Checkmate

  "L'honneur n'existe que pour ceux qui ont de l'honneur."

  Two or three days later I received a telegram from Sander, couched inthe abrupt language affected by that keen-witted individual:

  "Ask John Turner if he knows Devar."

  The great banker's affairs were at this time of such moment that itseemed inconsiderate to trouble him with my difficulties. Also I wasbeginning to learn a lesson which has since been more fully impressedon my mind--namely, that there is only one person whose interest inone's affairs is continuous and sincere--namely, one's self. JohnTurner was a kind friend, and one who, I believe, bestowed a greataffection upon a very unworthy object; but at such a time, when Franceseemed to be crumbling away in the sight of men, it was surely askingtoo much that I should expect him to turn his thoughts to me. Icalled, however, at the hotel where he had established himself, andthere learnt from his valet that my friend was in the habit ofquitting his temporary abode early in the day, not to return untilevening.

  "Where does he lunch?" I asked.

  "Sometimes at one place, sometimes at another--wherever they have agood _chef_, sir," the man replied.

  I bethought me of my own club and its renown. Come peace or war, Iknew that John Turner never missed his meals. I left a note asking himto take luncheon with me at the club on the following day, to discussmatters of importance and meet a mutual acquaintance. I invited himfifteen minutes later than the hour named to Mr. Devar, and in theevening received his acceptance. As I was walking down St. JamesStreet the next morning I met Alphonse Giraud.

  "Will you lunch with me at the club," I said, "to-day, at one. I wantto give you every facility to carry out your scheme to keep an eye onme."

  Poor Alphonse blushed and hung his head.

  "John Turner will be there," I said, with a laugh, "and perhaps we mayhear something that will interest you--at all events, he will talk ofmoney, since you are so absorbed in it."

  So my luncheon party formed itself into a rather queer _partie carree_;for I knew John Turner's contempt for Alphonse, and hoped that hemight cherish a yet stronger feeling against Devar.

  At the hour appointed that gentleman arrived, and was pleased to bevery gracious and patronising. His manner towards me was that of a manof the world who is kindly disposed towards a country bumpkin. Ireceived him in the smaller smoking-room, where we were alone, andwere still sitting there when Alphonse came. It was quite evident thatthe little Frenchman appreciated the great English club.

  "Now, in Paris," he said, "we copy all this. But it is not the samething. We have our clubs, but they are quite different--they are butcafes--and why?"

  He looked at us in the deepest distress.

  "Because," I suggested, "you are by nature too sociable. Frenchmancannot meet without being polite to each other, so the independence ofa club is lost. Englishmen can share a cabin, and still be distant."

  "The furniture is the same," said Giraud, looking round with areflective eye, "but there is a different feeling in the air. It isdifferent from the Paris clubs. Do you know Paris, Monsieur Devar?"Devar paused.

  "Of course, I have been there," he replied, looking at the carpet."What Englishman has not?"

  "MR. DEVAR," REPEATED TURNER, "LET ME DRAW YOURATTENTION TO THE DOOR!"]

  And he was still saying pleasant things of the capital, when thebutton-boy brought me John Turner's card. I told him to bring thegentleman upstairs, and remember still the odd feeling in the throatwith which I heard Turner's step.

  The door was thrown open. The boy announced Mr. John Turner, and for abrief moment Devar's eye meeting mine told me that I had another enemyin the world. The man's face was mottled, and he sat quite still. Irose and shook hands with John Turner, who had not yet recovered hisbreath. Alphonse--ever polite and affable--did the same. Then I turnedand said:

  "Let me introduce to you Mr. Devar--Mr. John Turner."

  Turner's face, at no time expressive, did not change.

  "Ah!" he said, slowly--"Mr. Devar of Paris."

  There was a short silence, during which the two men looked at eachother, and Alphonse shuffled from one foot to the other in an intensedesire to keep things pleasant and friendly in circumstances dimlyadverse.

  "Mr. Devar," repeated Turner, "let me draw your attention to thedoor!"

  There was nothing dramatic about my old friend. He never forgot hisstoutness, and always carried it with dignity. He merely jerked histhumb towards the door by which he had entered.

  Devar must have known Turner better than I did. Perhaps he knew thesterner side of a character of which I had only experienced thekindness and friendship, for he stood with a white face, and neverlooked at Giraud or myself. Then he shrugged his shoulders and walkedslowly towards the door, his face wearing the sickly smile of thevanquished.

  "Is that what you invited me for?" asked my old friend, when the doorhad closed behind Devar.

  "Partly."

  "But I suppose we are to have some luncheon?"

  "Yes; there is some luncheon."

  "Then let us go to it," said Turner, with his watch in his hand. Butbefore we had reached the door, Alphonse had placed himself inTurner's way, looking as tall as he could.

  "Mr. Devar is my friend," he cried, with a dramatic gesture and afierce snatch at that side of his mustache which invariably failed himat crucial moments.

  "Then, my dear Giraud," said Turner, laying his fatherly hand on theFrenchman's shoulder, "say nothing about it. It is no matter forpride. Devar was once my clerk, and would now be doing penal servitudeif I had not let him off. Shall we go to luncheon?"

  But Alphonse was not to be mollified, and during a meal, of whichTurner duly appreciated the merits, concealed his annoyance with atact truly French. He was a little more formal in his speech--a littlemore ceremonious in manner, and John Turner ignored these signs with aplacid assurance for which I was grateful.

  "Where did you pick up Devar?" asked the banker, when the edge of hisappetite had been blunted by cold game pie.

  "He picked me up," answered I; and went on to explain how thisgentleman had forced himself upon us, and how Sander had given me aplain hint how to rid myself of him.

  "Of course," said John Turner, "he is in league with Miste, and hasbeen keeping him informed of your movements. If you see Devar again,kick him. I had that pleasure myself once, but I'm afraid you willnever get the chance. The man has had a finger in every Anglo-Frenchswindle of the last ten years. He dares not show his face in Paris."

  We continued to talk of Mr. Devar and his liabilities, of which theleast seemed to be the risk of a kicking from myself. The man had, itappeared, sailed too near the wind of fraud on several occasions, andJohn Turner held him in the hollow of his hand.

  Alphonse, however, was not to be appeased. His honour had, as heimagined, been assailed by this insult to one upon whom he hadbestowed his friendship, and he took no part in our talk when it wasof Devar.

  Turner did not stay long after we had finished our wine.

  "No," he said, "if I do not keep moving I shall go to sleep."

  When he had left us, Alphonse showed a restlessness which soonculminated in departure, and I sat down to write to Sander. The rapidexit (which ultimately proved to be as complete as it was sudden) ofMr. Devar could not fail to have some bearing on the quest in whichSander was engaged, and I now recapitulated in mind many suspiciousincidents connected with the well-dressed adventurer who had so easilyfound an entree to Isabella's house.

  Alphonse went, as I later learnt, straight to Hyde Park Street, andfound Isabella alone. For Madame de Clericy and Lucille were regularin their attendance at a neighbouring Roman Catholic Church, whithermany Frenchwomen resorted at this time to pray for their friends andcountry.

  "Howard," said Alphonse, "has grossly insulted Mr. Devar. In mycountry such an incident would not pass without bloodshed."

  And he related, with considerable fire, the scene in the smoking-ro
omat the club.

  "But it was Mr. Turner and not Dick who insulted Mr. Devar."

  "That is true, but Howard planned the whole--it was a trick, a trap."

  "A clever trap," said Isabella, with her incomprehensible smile. "Idid not know that Dick had the wit."

  "Mr. Turner appears to have known Devar before," explained Alphonse,"and seemed to have some cause for complaint against him, though I donot believe all he said. And now Howard wantonly insults one of yourfriends, a gentleman who has dined in this house. He takes too muchupon himself. If you will only say the word, Miss Gayerson, I willquarrel with Howard myself."

  And Isabella, as Alphonse subsequently told me, received this offerwith an ill-concealed smile.

  "Dick is not afraid of the responsibility," she said, and did notappear so resentful as her champion.

  "But why did he do it?"

  Isabella did not answer at once, and Alphonse, whose good heartinvariably tricked his temper, made a suggestion.

  "Is it because he thought Mr. Devar no fit friend for yourself, MissGayerson?"

  Isabella laughed derisively before she did me another wrong.

  "He does not trouble about me or my affairs," she answered. "No, it isbecause Mr. Devar is too clever a person to be a welcome observer ofDick's actions. Dick probably knows that Mr. Devar is an expert inmoney matters, and less easy to deceive than yourself and a fewignorant and trusting women."

  "You mean in the matter of my fortune?"

  "Yes," replied the friend of my childhood. "It is probable that Mr.Devar suspects what others suspect. But you are so simple, MonsieurGiraud!"

  Alphonse shrugged his shoulders.

  "It is not that--Mademoiselle," he said with his light laugh. "It isthat I am a fool."

  Isabella was not looking at him, but at her quiet hands claspedtogether on her lap.

  "We all know," she said, "that Dick is supplying Madame de Clericywith money that does not come from her estates. Whence does it come?"

  "You suggest," said Alphonse, "that Howard has recovered my money andis supporting Madame de Clericy and Lucille with it."

  What answer Isabella would have made to this I know not, for it was atthis moment that the servant threw open the door and ushered me into asilence which was significant even to one of no very quickunderstanding. I saw that Alphonse Giraud was agitated and caught asingular gleam in Isabella's eyes. I suppose she was one of thosewomen who take pleasure in stirring up strife between men. Her cheekshad a faint pink flush on them that made her suddenly beautiful. I hadnever noticed her looks before.

  It was Alphonse who spoke first.

  "There are several points, Monsieur," he said, angrily, "upon which Idemand an explanation."

  "All right--but I am not going to quarrel with you, Giraud."

  I looked very straight at Isabella, whose eyes, however, did not fallunder mine. But I think she knew that I blamed her for this.

  "You have insulted a friend of Miss Gayerson's."

  "A matter," was my reply, "which rests between Miss Gayerson andmyself. I have rid her house of a scoundrel--that is all."

  I thought Isabella was going to speak, but she closed her pale lipsagain and glanced at Alphonse.

  "You have been supplying Madame de Clericy with money during the lastsix months?" said he.--"Yes."

  "Your own money?"--"Most certainly"--and I was soft-hearted enough toomit reminding him that he owed me a thousand francs.

  "You have repeatedly told me," pursued Alphonse, who seemed to benursing his anger into an artificial life, "that you are penniless.Whence comes this money?"

  "I borrowed it."

  "And if Madame de Clericy fails to repay you, you will be ruined?"

  "Precisely."

  "And you ask me to believe that," laughed Giraud, scornfully.

  "No," answered I, going towards the door, for my temper was rising,and there remained but that way of avoiding a quarrel. "You may do asyou like."

  As I turned to close the door I caught sight of Isabella's face, andit wore a look that took me back to school holidays, when she and Iwandered in the Hopton woods together, and were, I dare say,sentimental enough.