The Stretton Street Affair

I further questioned him concerning De Gex and his friend Suzor.

“Monsieur Suzor has been in Madrid before,” he said. “He is agent of Señor De Gex. But how wealthy the latter must be! During the war he made a big loan to our Government. The real extent of it is not known, but some say that he can pull the strings of the Cabinet in any way he wishes, though the King disapproved of the whole transaction. At least that is the rumour. Yet, after all, Señor De Gex is a true friend of Spain, even though he, like all financiers, obtains huge percentages upon his loans.”

“True,” I laughed. “Men of wealth are seldom philanthropists. One finds more true philanthropy among the poor, and in the artistic circles of lower Bohemia, than in the circles of the ultra-rich. Philanthropy is not written in the dictionary of the war-rich – those blatant profiteers with their motors and their places in the country, who, having fattened upon the lives of the brave fellows who fought and died to save Europe from the unholy Hun, are now enjoying their lives, while the widows and orphans of heroes starve.”

“Ah, M’sieur Garfield, with that I entirely agree,” sighed the astute man seated at his writing-table with the three telephones at his elbow. “In my official career as head of the police department of Madrid, I have watched recent events, and I have seen how men who were little removed from the category of the worst criminals, have suddenly jumped into wealth, with its consequent notoriety, and the power which is inseparable from the possessor of money.”

“The international financier Oswald De Gex is one of those,” I said. “You cannot close your eyes to that fact!”

“You appear to entertain some antipathy towards him,” he remarked, a little surprised it seemed.

“No, not at all,” I assured him, smiling. “I only speak broadly. All these great financiers fatten upon the ruin of honest folk.”

“I hardly think that such is the case with Señor De Gex,” he remarked. “But you are English, and you probably know more than myself concerning his career.”

“Nobody in England knows much about him,” was my reply. “We only know that he is immensely wealthy, and that his riches are daily increased by the various ventures which he finances.”

“He is a great support to our Ministry of Finance,” declared the Chief of Police. “It was Count Chamartin who first interested him in Spain, I believe. In any case, they combined to finance a number of industrial enterprises, including the great Guadajoz Copper Mine which must, in itself, have brought them both a fortune.”

“You said that the count is dead,” I remarked.

“Yes. He died quite suddenly last year. He was one of the most popular men at Court, and his tragic death caused a great sensation. He was taken ill in the Sud Express while travelling from Madrid to keep an appointment with Señor De Gex in Paris, and though he was taken from the train on its arrival at San Sebastian and conveyed to the hospital, he died a few moments after reaching there. He had a weak heart, and had consulted two doctors only a month previously. They had ordered him a complete rest and change, but, contrary to their advice, he continued attending to his affairs – with fatal result.”

“And the countess?”

“Ah! Poor lady, she was beside herself with grief. She was his second wife. His first was the daughter of an Englishman who lived in Madrid. The present countess is the daughter of the Marquis Avellanosa of Algeciras, and they were a most devoted pair. She now lives in Segovia in comparative seclusion. The count’s untimely end was a great loss to Spain.”

It was news to me that Oswald De Gex was in Madrid with his agent Suzor in connexion with the new railway scheme. Indeed, what I had just been told was all amazing, and showed De Gex to be a man of outstanding genius. The mystery-man of Europe took good care to inform himself of any person who watched his movements, or sought to inquire into his business. It certainly was a master-stroke to pretend fear of assassination, and compel the police to act as his personal guard. By that means he had learnt that Hambledon and myself were in Madrid on purpose to discover what we could, hence he had hired the assassin Despujol to set that dastardly trap for me.

Again it was upon the tip of my tongue to reveal the suspicions I had of the great financier, but I refrained, because I could see that my companion held De Gex in high esteem as a friend and financial mainstay of his country.

A few moments later I reverted to the possibility of the arrest of Despujol, for if arrested he might betray De Gex as the person who had paid him to place those infected pins in my room. In such case my story would be heard and investigated.

But the Chief of Police shook his head dubiously.

“I fear that he has again gone into safe hiding – up in the mountains somewhere, without a doubt,” he replied. “It was an act of considerable daring to come boldly to Madrid and stay at your hotel when he knows full well the hue-and-cry for him is raised everywhere, and that there is actually ten thousand pesetas offered as reward for his capture.”

“Someone may betray him,” I suggested with a smile.

“Yes. We hope so. One of his friends, male or female, will no doubt do so and come one day to us for the reward. Not till then shall we know the truth of that strange attempt upon your life. The motive could not have been robbery, as you had nothing worth taking save your watch. If he had been found in De Gex’s room at the Ritz one could have understood it.”

I smiled. The Chief of Police never suspected the true facts of the case, facts within my own knowledge, which were of such an amazing and startling character that I hesitated to relate them.

When I left my friend I again sought Hambledon and told him all I had learnt.

“H’m!” he grunted. “Very wily of De Gex to get the police to keep an eye upon me. If I’m not careful I shall suddenly find myself under arrest as a suspicious person who is in the habit of loitering in the vicinity of the great financier.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “This seems to put an end to our present activity – does it not?”

“Well, he apparently knows that we are watching,” Hambledon said. “What a pity we cannot tell the police all we know.”

“If we did we should not be believed, and, moreover, they wouldn’t hear a word against the great man who is such a friend to Spain. Money buys reputation, remember. Nobody knows that better than De Gex.”

Hambledon was standing at my bedroom window looking thoughtfully down upon the Puerta del Sol with its crowd of hurrying foot-passengers.

“It seems a miserable ending to all our careful surveillance upon Suzor – doesn’t it?” he grumbled.

“True, it does. But now that the pair are on the alert I cannot see that anything can be gained by remaining in Madrid longer,” I pointed out.

“Then you intend to give up the quest for the truth?”

“Not by any means,” I replied quickly. “I intend, at all hazards, and at all costs, to still fathom the mystery. What we have learned since we came to Spain puts quite a different complexion upon matters. We are now in possession of certain facts concerning De Gex – facts of which we had no suspicion. We had never dreamed that to further his ends he did not hesitate to employ a notorious criminal to commit murder with malice aforethought. Neither did we know anything of his financial dealings with the Spanish Ministry of Finance, or his partnership with the Conde de Chamartin, or that the drug he used upon poor Gabrielle and myself was the obscure but most deadly and dangerous orosin. All these are points which may in the near future be of greatest advantage to us. Therefore we must not despair. Let us take courage and continue to probe the mystery – for the sake of poor Gabrielle Tennison,” I urged. “Let us act as quietly and discreetly as our enemy is acting, and we may yet attain success!”

CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH

THE TRACK OF DESPUJOL

Having decided to still remain in Madrid I deemed it advisable to engage the services of a private inquiry agent to watch the movements of De Gex and Suzor, who still remained at the Ritz. The mystery-man, living under an assumed name, never went out in the daytime, though Suzor often went forth, paying visits to certain banks and commercial offices in connexion with the proposed new railway.

The man we engaged was an elderly ex-detective of the Seville police, named Pardo, who very soon discovered the identity of the secret agent employed to keep surveillance upon De Gex on behalf of the police so that no harm should befall him.

In consequence, I took Pardo into my confidence, and calling him to my hotel, explained that I desired to keep secret watch upon the Frenchman Suzor, without the knowledge of the detective watching De Gex.

“I particularly desire to know the addresses of any telegram which Suzor may send. Probably he may send some message to Italy. If so, please discover the address and the text of the message.”

I believed that De Gex might communicate with Moroni, now that the plot of Despujol had failed.

“I will watch, señor,” was the grey-haired Spaniard’s reply. “If Señor Suzor sends any telegram I shall probably obtain a copy of it. They know me well at the chief telegraph office. Señor Suzor appears to be transacting a considerable amount of business in Madrid – a scheme for a new railway, I understand.”

“Yes, I know. All I want you to do is to find out who visits Mr. De Gex, and whether any telegrams are sent by either him or Mr. Suzor.”

“I quite understand, señor,” was the detective’s reply as he rose, and a few minutes later withdrew.

Late in the evening two days afterwards I returned to the hotel to find the man Pardo awaiting me. After I had taken him up to my room and closed the door, he drew a piece of paper from his pocket, saying in French:

“Señor Suzor sent a telegram at half-past eight this evening of which this is a copy.”

The message he handed me was in a pencilled scribble, and was in English as follows:

“Charles Rabel, Rue de Lalande 163, Montauban. —

“Important that I should see you. Meet me at Hôtel Luxembourg, Nîmes, without fail, next Monday at noon. – O.”

The initial “O” stood for Oswald – Oswald De Gex! So the mystery-man of Europe contemplated leaving Madrid!

I thanked the man Pardo, who said:

“Señor Suzor did not dispatch the telegram from the chief office in the Calle del Correo, but from the branch office in the Plaza del Progreso. He apparently wished to send it in secret.”