When the hired car bowled merrily around on the return journey and pulled up at the hotel, and a smiling group of servants assisted them in their entrance to the hotel, the Baroness von Sassniltz greeted Lady Remington. The opportunity and all the circumstances were of such a nature that it was almost necessary that Lady Remington should make the presentation. Thus Doctor Malsano and Gilda Tempest met the Baroness von Sassniltz.
It is necessary to talk of the Baroness von Sassniltz. She was rich, and of ancient lineage, but not of that old-world type which belonged to middle and eastern Europe, when the most exalted lady was little more than the ordinary frau or housewife. The baroness was brilliant and accomplished, and she was endowed with a commanding presence. She was handsome rather than beautiful, and as for her age—what does it matter so long as she remained attractive, and commanded the admiration of most, and the devotion of many, men.
Modern travel is so easy and it is so frequent that there is a closer intercourse in the society of nations. Switzerland and the Riviera are the acknowledged playgrounds where, by international accord, the crook may jostle the noble, and the conventions of the capitals of the world are allowed a licence and freedom undreamt of a decade ago.
Lady Remington first met the baroness at the Angst Hotel, Bordighera. The frigid bows which are grudgingly given by the highly-born in such circumstances, melted somewhat when, next season, mutual recognition was forced on them by an untimely jostle at the gaming tables of Monte Carlo. Of course those tables were never really fashionable, but they have always been fascinating. They possess the requisite diablerie to amuse the most exclusive and bored aristocracy of the countries of Europe. A further chance meeting at San Moritz completed the essentials necessary to break down the hidebound conventions that surround women’s introductions to one another.
Lady Remington and the Baroness von Sassniltz thus became friends. The baroness, so much younger than Lady Remington, possessed a vivacity and sense of initiative in the matter of social entertainment, which were very pleasing to her ladyship. The arduous nature of the late Sir Henry’s political life had been responsible for much that was almost drab in his wife’s career, which had been beautifully devoted to her husband.
The baroness’s jewels were a frequent topic of conversation in most of the capitals of Europe. The joy of possession is very great to the woman who owns jewellery, and the joy seems to increase with the risk that is attached to travel. The hairbreadth escapes, the thrills, and the states of panic attending the conveyance of the baroness’s jewels from one spa to another, were worth more than the cost of those expensive baubles. Her maid lived in a constant state of dread and apprehension in her efforts to protect the precious trinkets. There was not a crook in Europe who was not striving to outwit that poor woman and rob the baroness at the same time. Every variety of human emotion followed in their train, and the alert little Fräulein Schneider was the custodian of the priceless baubles, and ever on her guard to confuse the common enemy. Humanity is frail, and the most austere have a weak spot. Fräulein Schneider’s vigilance had become so much a part of her character that there were very few who detected the weak point in her armour. Coiled in a shapeless bunch at the back of her head there were long plaited strands of yellow hair. No one ever knew just how much of that hair there was, but the strands seemed interminable. This yellow hair was the one weak spot through which she could be approached. It was combed and pomaded, and plaited with scrupulous care. Everything about Fräulein Schneider was characterised by extreme care, from the guarding of the baroness’s jewels to the setting of the miniature black and white bonnet that surrounded the mighty monument of yellow hair.
“What beautiful hair, Fräulein!” was sufficient to extract a gratified smile, which was the first step towards relaxed vigilance. Doctor Malsano knew this weakness, and he watched and waited for the opportunity to apply the knowledge for his profit. A polished criminal is liable to take long chances when a big haul of booty appears probable. The doctor had shown himself rather indiscreet these last few days. Crossing the foyer of the hotel, after a long chat with the charming Lady Remington, he stumbled and almost fell into the arms of a little Englishman, who protested in such a ludicrous voice that the incident raised a titter among the guests at the hotel. There was no desire for laughter on the doctor’s part. In that brief, short while he had recognised Detective-Inspector Herrion of Scotland Yard. This immaculate little gentleman, with his fair hair parted in the middle, and a waxed moustache, was none other than the famous Herrion. A detective to-day, to be successful on the continent of Europe, must combine the qualities of an Admirable Crichton, with the cunning of a stoat. Detective-Inspector Herrion excelled these attributes, and, under alternating masks that varied from the superficial inanity of a Scarlet Pimpernel to the repellance of a viper, he did society much daring service. The apparent young sprig of aristocracy, with the deliciously insipid drawl and the grotesque monocle, was none other than Herrion, the one man of all others whom Doctor Malsano dreaded. This dainty little gentleman presented a very different appearance a few minutes later as he stripped before the mirror of the hotel washstand he revealed to himself the sinewy and fibrous muscles of the well-trained athlete.
Herrion was an athlete trained in that lithe school that embodies every active form of sport, from football to fencing, from la savate to the modern savage form of fighting and boxing. Equally deadly with a Browning revolver, a rifle at 800 yards, or a right and left among the birds in stubble or turnips.
This was the form and frame hidden behind such a mask of bored manner and faultless attire as could only be assumed by a Scarlet Pimpernel in his leisure moments. He was truly a man to be feared, and Doctor Malsano had learnt by bitter experience to run when his little, astute enemy loomed on the horizon. The recognition had been mutual at the time of the stumble, and Herrion knew the doctor was not staying in the Hôtel Royal for the cause of philanthropy. When the incident that produced the recognition had ceased to attract attention, the detective dodged through a service door used by the staff, and, making his way along corridors, knocked at an office door. Responding to the invitation to enter, he said to the rotund, bald-headed little man, ensconced in a big chair and surrounded by a maze of books and papers, “Forgive me, signor, for my brusque intrusion. Have you the Baroness von Sassniltz staying in your hotel?”
“Ah, inspector! It is you. I thought it was what you call ze greased lightning. I don’t know whether the baroness you speak of is staying in the hotel, but I will inquire,” and, ringing a bell, the jovial little manager continued: “You see at Nice we have so many barons, counts, ze English lords and people with titles, and at the Royal,”—this he said with a whimsical smile—“you see, Mr Inspector, we have the crème de la crème of what you call the haut-ton, the best society.”