The master criminal

by G. Sidney Paternoster

Flurscheim smiled. "It's not a matter I can talk about," he answered, "without the permission of others, but I've seen how interested you are in Mr. Guy Hora, and I've put my own construction on your looking a bit down in the mouth this morning. I hope you'll excuse me speaking straight what's in my mind, and if I'm mistaken, I apologise for my interference. That's my impression, anyway," he continued, as Captain Marven did not reply, "so I thought that I would tell you that I think I know what is troubling Mr. Hora, and that I also think it is in my power to clear up the trouble. Of course, I may be mistaken, but I hope I am not, for I owe your young friend a debt I can never hope fully to repay."

He spoke so earnestly that Marven's reserve and irritation melted away, and the two men parted at the London terminus on the best of terms with each other.

But although Marven had not learned anything as to the nature of Flurscheim's intended action he felt easier in his mind, for he realised that the Jew was very much in earnest, and he drove off to his town house to make his preparations for his anticipated journey with a far lighter heart than he had possessed when leaving Whitsea.

These preparations were soon completed, and he was sitting down to a hastily prepared luncheon when Lynton Hora had knocked at his door. Hora had not anticipated finding Captain Marven in town, but had merely called in order to ascertain with certainty where the letter he had written would find him. Then finding that Marven was in the house, he had left the packet with instructions that it was to be immediately delivered.

The package Hora had left was a bulky one. Marven merely glanced at it when the servant brought it to him. Not until he had finished lunch did he cut the string. When the wrapper was unfolded and he had shaken out the contents his face paled, and he gasped for breath. There seemed but little reason for his agitation; the parcel contained nothing but a child's pinafore and a letter. Yet the sight of the pinafore was quite sufficient to blur his vision and set his hands shaking. He recognised it. He knew it instantly, without the necessity for turning to the corner where the letters G. M. were embroidered by his wife's own hand. He sprang to his feet and rang the bell violently.

"Where is the man who brought this parcel?" he demanded directly the servant who had waited on him made her appearance. His anxiety was so great that the woman was terrified, and some minutes elapsed before he could obtain from her a connected account of Hora's call. She seemed to think she must have been in some way to blame for receiving the package. Marven succeeded ultimately in reassuring her, and sent her out hastily to see if the messenger still lingered in the neighbourhood. He followed to the door and was grievously disappointed when she declared that he was nowhere to be seen. Bethinking himself of the unopened letter he returned to the room where he had left it. The envelope was similar to many which had reached him previously, on the anniversary of his child's disappearance, but when he opened it he saw that it contained much more than the three-lined typed message telling him that his child was alive. There were many sheets of note paper covered in a bold handwriting which seemed familiar to him. His hand shook more than ever as he smoothed out the sheets, and his eyes grew dim again. Was his son at last to be restored to him? He laid down the letter deliberately, and not until he had succeeded in mastering his emotion did he attempt to make himself acquainted with the contents. The opening sentence made his heart leap with joy. The epistle opened baldly, without any of the customary methods of address.

"The time has arrived when I am compelled to restore your son to you. I hope you will be proud of him. He is known to the world as Guy Hora."

Then his instinct had been right. Guy was his son. He wanted to read no more. That was quite enough. He would hasten to make himself known to his son. He rang the bell and ordered the servant to summon a cab immediately. He would send a wire to his wife informing her of the good news. He picked up the pinafore, folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket. The letter he could read on his way to Guy's chambers. But first he would see if his correspondent revealed himself. He turned to the last page. Yes, there was a signature, "Hartley Ruthven, now known as Lynton Hora."

He remembered his brother officer and unsuccessful rival perfectly. He had thought, like all the rest of the world, Ruthven had been dead years since. The reason for his child's disappearance ceased to be a mystery any longer. Yet why should Ruthven now desire to return to life? A sudden dread seized upon Marven as he remembered his old comrade's cold, revengeful nature, the nature which had been the real reason for his unpopularity in the regiment, instead of the possession of narrow means, to which Hora had always ascribed it. Perhaps this letter was only a part of Ruthven's revenge upon the successful rival. Perhaps he had better read it to the end before starting in search of Guy. He passed through the entire gamut of the emotions before he had come to the end of the epistle. Hora had deliberately set himself to describe Guy's history in plain, matter-of-fact terms. He gave details of the manner of the kidnapping of the child and particulars concerning him which left no doubt that he was writing the truth. Then he went on to relate how from the first he had trained Guy to a criminal career. Captain Marven's heart was eaten out with rage, and he swore to himself that the sun should not set before he exacted a reckoning from his enemy.

Hora wrote of Guy's university career, and as he read Marven's heart expanded again with joy. His boy had apparently been uninjured by his earlier education. He thanked God for that. Then came two pages in which Hora related the episodes of the Flurscheim robbery and of the despoiling of himself of the despatches entrusted to him. "The latter was an unpremeditated link in my chain of revenge," wrote Hora. "Fortune does not always favour the virtuous." The paper became blank to Marven's eyes. The servant who came to announce that the cab was waiting at the door had to speak twice before she could make her master comprehend.