William Le Queux - The Great Court Scandal

Le Queux William

The Great Court Scandal

William Le Queux, one of the most popular of present-day authors, was born in London on July 2, 1864. He has followed many callings in his time. After studying art in Paris, he made a tour on foot through France and Germany. Then he drifted into journalism, attaching himself to the Paris Morning News. Later, he crossed to London, where he joined the staff of the Globe in the Gallery of the House of Commons. This was in 1888, and he continued to report Parliament till 1891, when he was appointed a sub-editor on the Globe. Along with his work as a journalist he developed his faculty for fiction, and in 1893 resigned his position on the press to take up novel-writing as a business. His first book was Guilty Bonds published in 1890. Since that date he has issued an average of three novels a year. One of Mr Le Queuxs recreations is revolver practice, and that may account for the free use of the shooting iron which distinguishes some of his romances.

The Ladybird will refuse to have anything to do with the affair, my dear fellow. It touches a womans honour, and I know her too well.

Bah! Well compel her to help us. She must.

She wouldnt risk it, declared Harry Kinder, shaking his head.

Risk it! Well, well have to risk something! Were in a nice hole just now! Our traps at the Grand, with a bill of two thousand seven hundred francs to pay, and the Ladybird coolly sends us from London a postal order for twenty-seven shillings and sixpence all she has!

She might have kept it and bought a new sunshade or a box of chocolates with it.

The little fool! Fancy sending twenty-seven bob to three men stranded in Paris! I cant see why old Roddy thinks so much of her, remarked Guy Bourne to his companion.

Because shes his daughter, and because after all you must admit that shes jolly clever with her fingers.

Of course we know that. Shes the smartest woman in London. But what makes you think that when the suggestion is made to her she will refuse?

Well, just this. Shes uncommonly good-looking, dresses with exquisite taste, and when occasion demands can assume the manner of a high-born lady, which is, of course, just what we want; but of late Ive noticed a very great change in her. She used to act heedless of risk, and entirely without pity or compunction. Nowadays, however, she seems becoming chicken-hearted.

Perhaps shes in love, remarked the other with a sarcastic grin.

Thats just it. I honestly think that she really is in love, said the short, hard-faced, clean-shaven man of fifty, whose fair, rather scanty hair, reddish face, tightly-cut trousers, and check-tweed suit gave him a distinctly horsey appearance, as he seated himself upon the edge of the table in the shabby sitting-room au troisième above the noisy Rue Lafayette, in Paris.

The Ladybird in love! Whatever next! ejaculated Guy Bourne, a man some ten years his junior, and extremely well, even rather foppishly, dressed. His features were handsome, his hair dark, and outwardly he had all the appearance of a well-set-up Englishman. His gold sleeve-links bore a crest and cipher in blue enamel, and his dark moustache was carefully trained, for he was essentially a man of taste and refinement. Well, he added, Ive got my own opinion, old chap, and youre quite welcome to yours. The Ladybird may be in love, as you suspect, but shell have to help us in this. Its a big thing, I know; but look what it means to us! If shes in love, whos the jay? he asked, lighting a cigarette carelessly.

Ah! now you ask me a question.

Well, declared Bourne rather anxiously, whoever he may be, the acquaintanceship must be broken off and that very quickly, too. For us the very worst catastrophe would be for our little Ladybird to fall in love. She might, in one of her moments of sentimentality, be indiscreet, as all women are apt to be; and if so well, it would be all up with us. You quite recognise the danger?

I do, most certainly, the other replied, with a serious look, as he glanced around the poorly-furnished room, with its painted wood floor in lieu of carpet. As soon as were back we must keep our eyes upon her, and ascertain the identity of this secret lover.

But shes never shown any spark of affection before, Bourne said, although he knew that the secret lover was actually himself. We must ask Roddy all about it. Being her father, he may know something.

I only wish we were back in London again, sonny, declared Kinder. Paris has never been safe for us since that wretched affair in the Boulevard Magenta. Why Roddy brought us over I cant think.

He had his eye on something big that unfortunately hasnt come off. Therefore were now landed at the Grand with a big hotel bill and no money to pay it with. The Johnnie in the bureau presented it to me this morning, and asked for payment. I bluffed him that I was going down to the bank and would settle it this evening.

With twenty-seven and sixpence! remarked the clean-shaven man with sarcasm.

Yes, responded his companion grimly. I only wish we could get our traps away. Ive got all my new rig-out in my trunk, and cant afford to lose it.

We must get back to London somehow, Harry said decisively. Every moment we remain here increases our peril. They have our photographs at the Prefecture, remember, and here the police are pretty quick at making an arrest. Were wanted, even now, for the Boulevard Magenta affair. A pity the Doctor hit the poor old chap so hard, wasnt it?

A thousand pities. But the Doctor was always erratic always in fear of too much noise being made. He knocked the old fellow down when there was really no necessity: a towel twisted around his mouth would have been quite as effectual, and the affair would not have assumed so ugly a phase as it afterwards did. No; youre quite right, Harry, old chap; Paris is no place for us nowadays.

Ah! Kinder sighed regretfully. And yet weve had jolly good times here, havent we? And weve brought off some big things once or twice, until Latour and his cadaverous crowd became jealous of us, and gave us away that morning at the St. Lazare station, just when Roddy was working the confidence of those two American women. By Jove! we all had a narrow escape, and had to fly.

I remember. Two agents pounced upon me, but I managed to give them the slip and get away that night to Amiens. A good job for us, the younger man added, that Latour wont have a chance to betray his friends for another fifteen years.

What! has he been lagged? asked the horsey man as he bit the end off a cigar.

Yes, for a nasty affair down at Marseilles. He was opening a bankers safe that was his speciality, you know and he blundered.

Then Im not sorry for him, Kinder declared, crossing the room and looking out of the window into the busy thoroughfare below.

It was noon, on a bright May day, and the traffic over the granite setts in the Rue Lafayette was deafening, the huge steam trams snorting and clanging as they ascended the hill to the Gare du Nord.

Guy Bourne was endeavouring to solve a very serious financial difficulty. The three shabbily-furnished rooms in which they were was a small apartment which Roddy Redmayne, alias The Mute, alias Ward, alias Scott-Martin, and alias a dozen other names beside, had taken for a month, and were, truth to tell, the temporary headquarters of The Mutes clever and daring gang of international thieves, who moved from city to city plying their profession.