Books: The Mystery of the Four Fingers

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"I'll wait a bit," Gurdon told himself. "It is just possible that my key
will fit this door. Anyway, it is worth trying."

Gurdon made his way back to his own room again, to return a minute or two
later with his key. To his great delight the door opened, and he stood in
a further corridor, close against the cage in which the lift worked
noiselessly up and down.

It was absolutely quiet, so that anybody standing there would have been
able to carry out any operation of an unlawful kind without observation.
Gurdon stood, looking down the lift shaft, until he saw that the cage was
once more beginning to ascend. It came up slowly and smoothly and without
the least noise, until it was level with the floor on which Gurdon was
standing. It was one of the open kind, so he could see inside quite
clearly. To all practical purposes, the lift was empty, save for the
presence of one man, who lay unconscious on the floor. The cage was
ascending so leisurely that Gurdon was in a position to make a close
examination of the figure before the whole structure had risen to the
next floor. It did not need a second glance to tell Gurdon that the man
in the cage was the attendant, and that he was suffering from the same
drug which had placed his boy assistant beyond all power of interfering.

"Now what does all this mean?" Gurdon muttered. "Who is there on the
floor above who is interested in getting these two people out of the way?
What do they want to bring up or send down which it is not safe to
dispose of by the ordinary means? I think I'll wait and see. No sleep for
me to-night."

The lift vanished in the same silent way. It hung overhead for some
little time, and once more appeared in sight, this time absolutely empty,
save for a small square box with iron bands at the corners, which lay
upon the floor. As the cage descended, Gurdon suddenly made up his mind
what to do. He sprang lightly on to the top of the falling cage, and
grasped the rope with both hands. A moment later and he was descending in
the darkness.

As far as he could judge, the lift went down to the basement, where, for
the time being, it remained. There was a warm damp smell in the air,
suggestive of fungus, whereby Gurdon judged that he must be in the vaults
beneath the hotel. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could
make out just in front of him a circular patch of light, which evidently
was a coal shoot.

He had no need to wait now for the full development of the adventure.
He could hear whispered voices and the clang of metal, as if somebody
had opened the door of the lift. One of the voices he failed to
understand, but with a thrill he recognised the fact that the speaker
was talking in either Spanish or Portuguese. Instantly it flashed into
his mind that this was the language most familiar to the man who called
himself Mark Fenwick. Beyond doubt he was quite right when he
identified this last development with the actors in the dramatic events
earlier in the evening.

"Now don't be long about it," a hoarse voice whispered. "There are two
more cases to send up, and two more to come down here. Has that van come
along, or shall we have to wait until morning?"

"The van is there right enough," another hoarse voice said. "We have
the stuff out on the pavement. Let's have the last lot here, and get it
up at once."

Gurdon could hear the sound of labored breathing as if the unseen man was
struggling with some heavy burden. Presently some square object was
deposited on the floor of the lift. It seemed to slip from someone's
hands, and dropped with a heavy thud that caused the lift to vibrate like
a thing of life."

"Clumsy fool," a voice muttered. "You might have dropped that on my foot.
What did you want to let go for?"

"I couldn't help it," another voice grumbled. "I didn't know it was half
so heavy. Besides, the rope broke."

"Oh, are you going to be there all night?"--another voice, with a
suggestion of a foreign accent in it, asked impatiently. "Don't forget
you have to bring the man down yet, and see that the boy is taken to his
place. Now, up with it."

Standing there, holding on to the rope and quivering with excitement,
Gurdon wondered what was going to happen next. Once more he felt himself
rising, and an instant later he was in the light again. He waited till
the lift had reached his own floor; then he jumped quickly down, taking
care as he went to note the heavy box which lay on the floor of the lift.
A corner of it had been split open by the heavy jar, and some shining
material like sand lay in a little heap, glittering in the rays of the
electric light.

Gurdon stood there panting for a moment, and rather at a loss to know
what to do next. Once more the lift came down, this time with two boxes
of a smaller size. They vanished; and as the lift rose once again, Gurdon
had barely time to hide himself behind the bedroom door, and thus escape
the observation of two men who now occupied the cage. He just caught a
fleeting glimpse of them, and saw that one was an absolute stranger, but
he felt his heart beating slightly faster as he recognised in the other
the now familiar form of Mark Fenwick. The mystery was beginning to
unfold itself.

"That was a close thing," Gurdon muttered, as he wiped his hot face. "I
think I had better go back to my own room, and wait developments. One
can't be too careful."

The lift-boy was still sleeping on the bed; but his features were
twitching, as if already the drug was beginning to lose its effect. At
least, so Gurdon shrewdly thought, and subsequent events proved that he
was not far wrong. He was standing in his own room now, waiting by the
ventilator, when he heard the sound of footsteps on the other side of the
wall. Two men had entered the room, and by taking a little risk, Gurdon
could see that they were examining the unconscious boy coolly and
critically.

"I should think about five minutes more would do it," one of them said.
"Better carry him out, and shove him in that little sentry box of his.
When he comes to himself again he won't know but what he has fallen
asleep; barring a headache, the little beggar won't be any the worse for
the adventure."

"Have we got all the stuff up now?" the other man asked.

"Every bit of it," was the whispered reply. "I hope the old man is
satisfied now. It was not a bad idea of his to work this little game in a
great hotel of this kind. But, all the same, it is not without risks,
and I for one should be glad to get away to that place in the country
where we are going in a week or two."

Gurdon heard no more. He allowed the best part of half-an-hour to pass
before he ventured once more to creep through the ventilator and reach
the landing in the neighborhood of the lift. Everything looked quite
normal now, and as if nothing had happened. The lift boy sat in his
little hut, yawning and stretching himself. It was quite evident that he
knew nothing of the vile uses he had been put to. A sudden idea occurred
to Gurdon.

"I want you to bring the lift up to this floor," he said to the boy. "No,
I don't want to use it; I have lost something, and it occurs to me that I
might have left it in the lift."

In the usual unconcerned manner of his class the boy touched an electric
button, and the lift slowly rose from the basement.

"Does this go right down to the cellars?" Gurdon asked.

"It can if it's wanted to," the boy replied. "Only it very seldom does.
You see, we only use this lift for our customers. It's fitted with what
they call a pneumatic cushion--I mean, if anything goes wrong, the lift
falls into a funnel shaped well, made of concrete, which forms a cushion
of air, and so breaks the fall. They say you could cut the rope and let
it down without so much as upsetting a glass of water. Not that I should
like to try it, sir, but there you are."

Gurdon entered the lift, where he pretended to be searching for something
for a moment or two. In reality, he was scraping up some of the yellow
sand which had fallen from the box to the floor of the lift, and this he
proceeded to place in a scrap of paper. Then he decided that it was
absolutely necessary to retire to bed, though he was still in full
possession of his waking faculties. As a matter of fact, he was asleep
almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Nevertheless, he was up
early the following morning, and in Venner's bedroom long before
breakfast. He had an exciting story to tell, and he could not complain
that in Venner he had anything but an interested listener.

"We are getting on," the latter said grimly. "But before you say anything
more, I should like to have a look at that yellow sand you speak of.
Bring it over near the light."

Venner let the yellow stuff trickle through his hands; then he turned to
Gurdon with a smile.

"You look upon this as refuse, I suppose?" he said. "You seem to imagine
that it is of no great value."

"Well, is it?" Gurdon asked. "What is it?"

"Gold," Venner said curtly. "Pure virgin gold, of the very finest
quality. I never saw a better sample."

CHAPTER V

A PUZZLE FOR VENNER

Venner sat just for a moment or two with the thin stream trickling
through his fingers, and wondering what it all meant. With his superior
knowledge of past events, he could see in this something that it was
impossible for Gurdon to follow.

"I suppose this is some of the gold from the Four Finger Mine?" Gurdon
suggested. "Do you know, I have never handled any virgin gold before. I
had an idea that it was more brilliant and glittering. Is this very
good stuff?"

"Absolutely pure, I should say," Venner replied. "There are two ways of
gold mining. One is by crushing quartz in machinery, as they do in South
Africa, and the other is by obtaining the metal in what are called
pockets or placers. This is the way in which it is generally found in
Australia and Mexico. I should not be in the least surprised if this came
from the Four Finger Mine."

"There is no reason why it shouldn't," Gurdon said. "It is pretty
evident, from what you told me last night, that Mark Fenwick has
discovered the mysterious treasure house, but that does not account for
all these proceedings. Why should he have taken all the trouble he did
last night, when he might just as well have brought the stuff in, and
taken the other boxes out by the front door?"

"That is what we have to find out," Venner said. "That fellow may call
himself a millionaire, but I believe he is nothing more nor less than a
desperate adventurer."

Gurdon nodded his assent. There must have been something very urgent to
compel Mark Fenwick to adopt such methods. Why was he so strangely
anxious to conceal the knowledge that he was receiving boxes of pure gold
in the hotel, and that he was sending out something of equal value?
However carefully the thing might have been planned the drugging of lift
attendants must have been attended with considerable risk. And the
slightest accident would have brought about a revelation. As it was,
everything seemed to have passed off smoothly, except for the chance by
which Gurdon had stumbled on the mystery.

"We can't leave the thing here," the latter said. "For once in my life I
am going to turn amateur detective. I have made up my mind to get into
Fenwick's suite of rooms and see what is going on there. Of course, the
thing will take time, and will have to be carefully planned. Do you think
it is possible for us to make use of your wife in this matter?"

"I don't think so," Venner said thoughtfully.

"In the first place, I don't much like the idea; and in the second, I
am entirely at a loss to know what mysterious hold Mark Fenwick has on
Vera. As I told you last night, she left me within a very short time of
our marriage, and until a few hours ago I had never looked upon her
again. Something terrible must have happened, or she would never have
deserted me in the way she did. I don't for a moment believe that Mark
Fenwick knew anything about our marriage, but on that point I cannot be
absolutely certain. You had better come back to me later in the day, and
I will see what I can do. It is just possible that good fortune may be
on my side."

The afternoon was dragging on, and still Venner was no nearer to a
practical scheme which would enable him to make an examination of
Fenwick's rooms without the chance of discovery. He was lounging in the
hall, smoking innumerable cigarettes, when Fenwick himself came down the
stairs. Obviously the man was going on a journey, for he was closely
muffled up in a big fur coat, and behind him came a servant, carrying two
bags and a railway rug. It was a little gloomy in the lobby, so Venner
was enabled to watch what was going on without being seen himself. He did
not fail to note a certain strained anxiety that rested on Fenwick's
face. The man looked behind him once or twice, as if half afraid of being
followed. Venner had seen that same furtive air in men who are wanted by
the police. Fenwick stopped at the office and handed a couple of keys to
the clerk. His instructions were quite audible to Venner.

"I shan't want those for a day or two," he said. "You will see that no
one has them under any pretext. Probably, I shall be back by Saturday at
the latest."

Venner did not scruple to follow Fenwick's disappearing figure as far as
the street. He was anxious to obtain a clue to Fenwick's destination.
Straining his ears, he just managed to catch the words "Charing Cross,"
and then returned to the hall, by no means dissatisfied. Obviously,
Fenwick was intending to cross the Channel for a day or two, and he had
said to the clerk that he would not be back before Saturday.

Here was something like a chance at last. Very slowly and thoughtfully,
Venner went up the stairs in the direction of his own room. He had
ascertained by this time that one part of Fenwick's suite was immediately
over his own bedroom. His idea now was to walk up to the next floor, and
make a close examination of the rooms there. It did not take him long to
discover the fact that Fenwick's suite was self contained, like a flat.
That is to say, a strong outer door once locked made communication with
the suite of rooms impossible. Venner was still pondering over his
problem when the master door opened, and Vera came out so hurriedly as
almost to fall into Venner's arms. She turned pale as she saw him; and as
she closed the big door hurriedly behind her, Venner could see that she
had in her hand the tiny Yale key which gave entrance to the suite of
rooms. The girl looked distressed and embarrassed, but not much more so
than Venner, who was feeling not a little guilty.

But all this was lost upon Vera; her own agitation and her own
unhappiness seemed to have blinded her to everything else.

"What are you doing here?" she stammered.

"Perhaps I am looking for you," Venner said. He had quite recovered
himself by this time. "I was in the lobby just now, when I saw that
scoundrel, Fenwick, go out. He is not coming back for a day or two, I
understand."

"No," Vera said with accents of evident relief. "He is gone, but I don't
know where he is gone. He never tells me."

Just for a moment Venner looked somewhat sternly at his companion. Here
was an opportunity for an explanation too good to be lost.

"There is a little alcove at the end of the corridor," he said. "I see it
is full of ferns and flowers. In fact, the very place for a confidence.
Vera, whether you like it or not, I am going to have an explanation."

The girl shrank back, and every vestige of color faded from her face.
Yet at the same time, the pleading, imploring eyes which she turned upon
her companion's face were filled with the deepest affection. Badly as he
had been treated, Venner could not doubt for a moment the sincerity of
the woman who had become his wife. But he did not fail to realise that
few men would have put up with conduct like this, however much in love
they might have been. Therefore, the hand that he laid on Vera's arm was
strong and firm, and she made no resistance as he led her in the
direction of the little alcove.

"Now," he said. "Are you going to tell me why you left me so mysteriously
on our wedding day? You merely went to change your dress, and you never
returned. Am I to understand that at the very last moment you learned
something that made it absolutely necessary for us to part? Do you really
mean that?"

"Indeed, I do, Gerald," the girl said. "There was a letter waiting for me
in my bedroom. It was a short letter, but long enough to wreck my
happiness for all time."

"No, no," Venner cried; "not for all time. You asked me to trust you
absolutely and implicitly, and I have done so. I believe every word that
you say, and I am prepared to wait patiently enough till the good time
comes. But I am not going to sit down quietly like this and see a pure
life like yours wrecked for the sake of such a scoundrel as Fenwick.
Surely it is not for his sake that you--"

"Oh, no," the girl cried. "My sacrifice is not for his sake at all, but
for that of another whose life is bound up with his in the strangest
possible way. When you first met me, Gerald, and asked me to be your
wife, you did not display the faintest curiosity as to my past history.
Why was that?"

"Why should I?" Venner demanded. "I am my own master, I have more money
than I know what to do with and I have practically no relations to
consider. You were all-sufficient for me; I loved you for your own sake
alone; I cared nothing, and I care nothing still for your past. What I
want to know is, how long this is going on?"

"That I cannot tell you," Vera said sadly. "You must go on trusting me,
dear. You must--"

The speaker broke off suddenly, as someone in the corridor called her
name. She slipped away from Venner's side, and, looking through the palms
and flowers, he could see that she was talking eagerly to a woman who had
the appearance of a lady's maid. Venner could not fail to note the calm
strength of the woman's face. It was only for a moment; then Vera came
back with a telegram in her hand.

"I must go at once," she said. "It is something of great importance. I
don't know when I shall see you again--"

"I do," Venner said grimly. "You are going to dine with me to-night.
Come just for once; let us imagine we are on our honeymoon. That
blackguard Fenwick is away, and he will be none the wiser. Now, I want
you to promise me."

"I really can't," Vera protested. "If you only knew the danger--"

However, Venner's persistency got its own way. A moment later Vera was
hurrying down the corridor. It was not until she was out of sight that
Venner found that she had gone away, leaving the little Yale key behind
her on the table. He thrilled at the sight of it. Here was the
opportunity for which he had been waiting.

Not more than ten minutes had elapsed when, thanks to the use of the
telephone, Gurdon had reached the Grand Empire Hotel. In a few hurried
words, Venner gave him a brief outline of what had happened. There was no
time to lose.

"Of course, it is a risk," Venner said, "and I am not altogether sure
that I am justified in taking advantage of this little slip on the part
of my wife. What do you think?"

"I think you are talking a lot of rot," Gurdon said emphatically. "You
love the girl, you believe implicitly in her, and you are desperately
anxious to get her out of the hands of that blackguard, Fenwick. From
some morbid idea of self sacrifice, your wife continues to lead this life
of misery rather than betray what she would probably call a trust. It
seems to me that you would be more than foolish to hesitate longer."

"Come along, then," Venner said. "Let's see what we can do."

The key was in the lock at length, and the big door thrown open,
disclosing a luxurious suite of rooms beyond. So far as the explorers
could see at present, they had the place entirely to themselves. No
doubt Fenwick's servants had taken advantage of his absence to make a
holiday. For the most part, the rooms presented nothing out of the
common; they might have been inhabited by anybody possessing large
means. In one of the rooms stood a desk, carefully locked, and by its
side a fireproof safe.

"No chance of getting into either of those," Gurdon said. "Besides, the
attempt would be too risky. Don't you notice a peculiar noise going on?
Sounds almost like machinery."

Surely enough, from a distant apartment there came a peculiar click and
rumble, followed by a whirr of wheels, as if someone was running out a
small motor close by. At the same time, the two friends noticed the
unmistakable odor of petrol on the atmosphere.

"What the dickens can that be?" Gurdon said. "Its most assuredly in the
flat, and not far off, either."

"The only way to find out is to go and see," Venner replied. "I fancy
this is the way."

They came at length to a small room at the end of a long corridor. It
was evidently from this room that the sound of machinery came, for the
nearer they came the louder it grew. The door was slightly ajar, and
looking in, the friends could see two men, evidently engaged on some
mechanical task. There was a fire of charcoal in the grate, and attached
to it a pair of small but powerful bellows, driven by a small motor. In
the heart of the fire was a metal crucible, so white and dazzling hot
that it was almost impossible for the eye to look upon it. Venner did not
fail to notice that the men engaged in this mysterious occupation were
masked; at least, they wore exceedingly large smoked spectacles, which
came to much the same thing. Behind them stood another man, who had every
appearance of being a master workman. He had a short pipe in his mouth, a
pair of slippers on his feet, and his somewhat expansive body was swathed
in a frock coat. Presently he made a sign, and with the aid of a long
pair of tongs, the white hot crucible was lifted from the fire. It was
impossible for the two men outside to see what became of it, but
evidently the foreman was satisfied with the experiment, for he gave a
grunt of approval.

"I think that will do," he muttered. "The impression is excellent.
Now, you fellows can take a rest whilst I go off and finish the other
lot of stuff."

"He's coming out," Venner whispered. "Let us make a bolt for it. It
won't do to be caught here."

They darted down the corridor together, and stood in an angle of a
doorway, a little undecided as to what to do next. The man in the frock
coat passed them, carrying under one arm a square case, that bore some
resemblance to the slide in which photographers slip their negatives
after taking a photograph. The man in the frock coat placed his burden on
a chair, and then, apparently, hurried back for something he had
forgotten.

"Here is our chance," Gurdon whispered. "Let's see what is in that case.
There may be an important clue here."

The thing was done rapidly and neatly. Inside the case, between layers of
cotton wool, lay a great number of gold coins, obviously sovereigns. They
appeared to be in a fine state of preservation, for they glistened in the
light like new gold.

"Put one in your pocket," whispered Venner.

"I'm afraid we are going to have our journey for our pains; but still,
you can't tell. Better take two while you are about it."

Gurdon slipped the coins into his pocket, then turned away in the
direction of the door as the man in the frock coat came back,
thoughtfully whistling, as if to give the intruders a chance of escape.
Before he appeared in sight the outer door closed softly, and Venner and
Gurdon were in the corridor once more.

CHAPTER VI

A PARTIAL FAILURE

"Do you notice anything peculiar about these coins?" Venner said, when
once more they were back in the comparative seclusion of the
smoking-room. "Have a good look at them."

Gurdon complied; he turned the coins over in his hand and weighed them on
his fingers. So far as he could see they were good, honest, British
coins, each well worth the twenty shillings which they were supposed to
represent.

"I don't see anything peculiar about them at all," he said. "So far as I
can judge, they appear to be genuine enough. At first I began to think
that our friend Fenwick had turned coiner. Look at this."

As he spoke Gurdon dashed the coin down upon a marble table. It rang true
and clear.

"I'd give a pound for it," he said. "The weight in itself is a good test.
No coiner yet has ever discovered a metal that will weigh like gold and
ring as true. The only strange thing about the coin is that it is in such
a wonderful state of preservation. It might have come out of the Mint
yesterday. I am afraid we shall have to abandon the idea of laying
Fenwick by the heels on the charge of making counterfeit money. I'll
swear this is genuine."

"I am of the same opinion, too," Venner said. "I have handled too much
gold in my time to be easily deceived. Still, there is something wrong
here, and I'll tell you why. Look at those two coins again, and tell me
the dates on them."

"That is very easily done. One is dated 1901 and the other is dated 1899.
I don't see that you gain anything by pointing out that fact to me. I
don't see what you are driving at."

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