The Black Mask (7 page)

“Who told you of it?”

“Of what?”

“‘Christian’s little fault.’ Which of my friends is already in your clutches, Beringer?”

“I don’t wish to create ill feeling, so I shan’t tell you. Rest assured, however, that your secret is safe with me.”

Niles knew no one except Crenshaw knew the facts in Christian’s case, Crenshaw and the three men who had betrayed him to his doom. He studied Beringer. The once trim officer had run to fat with his civilian ways. Yet Niles didn’t underestimate his opponent. He still retained enough strength and speed to make a stand-up fight a very chancy business. His gray eyes were never still, flicking over Niles, anticipating any move toward violence.

“Very well,” Niles said, sighing and sitting back as though he’d become boneless. “I’ll find out the answers.”

“Are you certain you don’t know them already?”

“You’ll want proof, I’m sure.”

“Always acceptable. Documentary evidence is so hard to argue against.”

“You haven’t shown me any evidence.”

“It is here.” From under the blotter, Beringer pulled out a thin dossier. “All the facts—dates, times, accusations, affidavits. Sworn to by his two dearest friends, who could have no reason to lie.” Beringer slid a paper into Niles’s hand.

“Roland Curtman ...” Miles mused. “Is that the same Curtman who was so recently brought down by the Black Mask?”

For the first time, Beringer seemed ill at ease. He twitched all over, almost shuddering. “A foolish man. Greed, it seems, was ever his downfall. I warned him.”

“You had ‘befriended’ him, too?”

“The Black Mask wasn’t the first to look at Curt-man’s secret records. Alas, a profitable friendship in many ways now severed. It makes me all the more delighted to bring you into the circle of my friends.”

“You leave me no choice but to join that company. But I shall want to see the proof of which you speak.”

“Naturally. I would expect nothing less from a man of your intelligence.” Beringer picked up the dossier on his desk, then, with deliberation, put it down again. “I must insist, with the greatest delicacy, of course, that you give me your word you won’t attempt to destroy these. I obtained them only with considerable expense. Their destruction would require me and thus, you, to be put to that expense again.”

‘You have my word.” Sir Niles held out his hand imperiously.

“The whole painful story, eh, Sir Niles?” Beringer said, after watching the younger man read in silence.

‘Yes, as you say.” With a cavalier gesture, he tossed the file back onto the desk. “Will you accept my check?”

Beringer patted the air soothingly. “With the greatest reluctance to give offense, Sir Niles, I will not. An enterprise like mine requires cash down.”

‘Very well. I shall send it by messenger in the morning.”

“And as for the rest?”

“I will reflect upon those secrets I know and choose among them for your delectation.”

 “Choose carefully, for both our sakes.”

The tall-case clock standing against the wall dropped eleven mellifluous notes into the conversation. Beringer peered at the clock face. “I’m pleased we have come to so easy an understanding, Sir Niles. The interest I have found in your conversation has tempted me into forgetting the lateness of the hour. May I see you out?”

“Certainly.” Sir Niles rose after Beringer and let the older man usher him to the door. “I must confess I appreciate your attitude. So many men in your position would have blustered and threatened. You set out your terms so politely... well, I needn’t tell you what great store I set by civility.”

“Ah, you are justly famed for your manners, Sir Niles. It is a genuine pleasure to deal with you. Not all of my friends are so delightful. The one I await now... but I am indiscreet. A grievous error for one in my profession.”

“I quite understand. You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake your hand.”

“Quite. Good evening, Sir Niles.”

After Sir Niles was gone, Beringer hesitated, glancing toward his library. He could just glimpse the corner of his desk, knowing Sir Niles’s dossier rested on the blotter. Prudence dictated he return and put it away at once. On the other hand, as a man of full body and indolent nature, he was reluctant to put himself to any extra physical effort. In a moment, his next appointment would appear. Better to wait here ready to open the door.

Within five minutes, he bowed deeply, greeting the elderly lady on the threshold. “Save your imitations of the manners of better men,” she said in a cracked contralto. “Let’s get to business.”

“
As
you wish, your grace. Come into the library, where it is warmer.”

Stepping ahead of him, she threw back her veil to reveal features once famous more for liveliness than beauty, yet fascinating enough to snare one of the great lords of the country for her husband. Though elderly now, her carriage remained effortless, and her dark eyes had no less snap and ginger than when she had been a girl.

She glanced at the brandy glasses still on the desk. “Entertaining plenty of company, aren’t you? How do I know we’re alone?”

“You have my word, your grace.”

“Hmmph. Save your breath.”

“Very well,” Beringer said silkily, knowing he had the upper hand. “You are at liberty to search.”

“I don’t care to spend another minute with scum like you. You claim to have uncovered a disreputable secret about my daughter. Let’s have it.”

From beneath his desk blotter, Beringer drew forth a second dossier. “On or about the fifteenth of September, eighteen-ought-five, her ladyship was brought to bed of a boy, presently known as Robert, Marquis of...”

‘Tell me something I don’t know,” the duchess said, though a close observer would have seen her cheeks grow pale under her brave paint.

Mr. Beringer prided himself on his observational skills. “Very well. In late January of that same year, her ladyship was visiting Parmeter House with a party of friends. Her husband was not with her. I have here statements from the chambermaid, a valet, and an undermaid that on at least three mornings, her ladyship was not alone in her bed. The inference must therefore be drawn, with the aid of a little elementary mathematics ...”

“Enough! You’re a long-winded devil. Instead of gouging your betters, you should stand for Parliament.”

“Too much work for me, your grace. I am a man of simple pleasures. Good food, good wine, the leisure to digest properly, these are my joys.”

“How much do you want?” she said, cutting to the point.

He told her. She refused absolutely to give him any information regarding her friends, but, after a word picture of the ruination of her daughter’s marriage and her grandson’s future, relented to the extent of offering to exchange political secrets she was privy to as the wife of a leading politician.

“Very well,” she said finally. “How shall I pay you? I haven’t any money of my own.”

“I am aware of it, your grace. However, I believe you possess a certain necklace that never leaves your skin? Aphrodite’s Tears?”

“My ... my necklace?” For the first time in the interview, the duchess seemed shaken, her hand seeking the high collar of her velvet dress. Beringer noticed she was staring past his shoulder.

‘Very well.” With a grand gesture, she jerked the piece from her throat and threw it, jangling, at Beringer’s feet.

Though stout, Beringer was willing to bend for such a prize. The necklace, a
dazzle
of baroque pink pearls and diamonds, swung from his hand. A genuine: smile lit Beringer’s face. “Truly a treasure beyond price.”

‘You can never sell it,” the duchess charged. “It’s too famous.”

“Sell it? Never. No, nor break it up, either. I shall keep it safe ... yes, safe.”

“You’d better take care,” the duchess said. “I have been warned the Black Mask has an interest in such things.”

“The Black Mask?” Beringer repeated. “Why threaten me with that bugaboo?”

“Curtman didn’t find him so.”

“Curtman again? Curtman was a fool and always has been. Even as a young man, he never showed any flair, such as is my genius.”

“You knew him?”

“Of course. A useful tool at times, but it was always I who thought of our schemes. Our other friend showed more courage, but he was weakened by the restraints of conscience.”

“Other friend?” The duchess’s voice seemed deeper.

“I am being indiscreet...” Beringer said. “I shall stop.”

“I hope you enjoy your comeuppance when it arrives,” she said bitterly.

“I? I’m as safe as houses, your grace. Who could prosecute me without exposing themselves? I have all the evidence hidden away. If the authorities come and dare to search, they won’t find anything I don’t wish them to find. Think of the embarrassment to yourself and your family. Our business is concluded, your grace. I bid you a good evening.”

He turned aside, holding up the necklace so that the pearls gleamed like sunset-colored moons in the candlelight and the diamonds offered their frigid beauty. He wasn’t even aware of the duchess’ departure, his courtesy and caution failing.

After gloating a few minutes, he remembered with visible alarm that he’d not yet hidden away the two dossiers on his desk. Dangerous if the duchess came back with friends or, worse yet, a magistrate. He liked the location of his home, but knew there were several magistrates living within a few minutes’ walk. If the duchess appeared on one of their doorsteps, they would listen to her. And his strongbox was not easy of access on purpose. It took time to reach it.

On the other side of the room, the bookcases rose to the ceiling. A rolling ladder made it possible to obtain those books otherwise out of easy reach.

With the dossiers under one arm and the necklace still dangling from his hand, Beringer tottered and huffed his way up. At the top, he paused, breathing heavily.

Then he pushed aside one section of the bookcase, revealing that the books were no more than spines and an inch of cover, glued to a flat panel. So long as no one tried to pull out a copy of one of the very dull books—mostly sermons—the illusion was perfect. Behind the panel was his strongbox, locked with a cunning pressure lock. It took just the right touch to open and even he, with all his practice, sometimes was driven to the swearing point before it opened.

The dossiers slipped from beneath his arm and fluttered down like wounded birds. As he glanced down, saying, “Damnation!” by a lucky chance his hand pushed forward in such a way as to open the lock. With a heavy sigh, stuffing the necklace into his pocket, Beringer started down the ladder to collect the papers blowing about the carpet.

Two steps from the bottom, he paused, doubting. Where had the draft come from? His beautifully paneled library was never drafty. He hated drafts, blowing cold down the back of his neck when all he wanted was quiet, warmth, and comfort. Now a significant draft was making the candle flames dance. Beringer looked around wildly, the chill on his skin sinking down to his bones when he saw the figure standing silently by the curtains.

“You!”

“I.” The slim figure, clad all in black even to the inky leather mask that, clung to his white cheeks and brow, walked slowly forward. He held his voice to a harsh whisper.

“What do you want?”

“Come, come. Let us not play such foolish games, Beringer. You know why I have come. The same reason I appeared to Curtman. His evil ways drew me to him. They say, don’t they, that the devil claims his own?”

“Do you claim to be some diabolical angel of vengeance? You’re nothing but a common thief!”

“And you are an uncommon one ... no!”

Beringer cast one desperate glance upward and tried in a mad scramble to reach his secret cache. But the whip-like figure of the Black Mask flashed across the room, seized the heavier man by the tails of his coat, and yanked. Beringer tumbled off the ladder, striving to stay upright. But his heel slipped on one of the loose pages, and he fell with a crash that shook some of the genuine books off the shelves.

A silver-mounted pistol appeared in the mountebank’s hand. “Don’t move.”

With a great deal more elegance than Beringer displayed, the Black Mask whisked up the ladder to peer into the secret horde. Even though his attention seemed to be on what he saw, the pistol never wavered in its aim over Beringer’s heart. No sooner had Beringer stolen out a fat hand to give the ladder a push that would shake the interloper off than the finger on the trigger tightened.

“I really shouldn’t, if I were you,” the Black Mask said. “It would be such a pleasure to kill you.”

With a sweeping of his arm, the Black Mask sent everything tumbling down over Beringer’s quivering form. Papers, small boxes, miniature paintings cascaded in a seemingly never-ending fall, Beringer flinching under it all.

The dark figure stepped down from the ladder after being certain the box was empty. “My, my, such an extensive collection. Whatever shall we do with so much? I know ...” He pointed a commanding finger toward the fireplace.

“No. You don’t understand. You have no idea how much I’ve paid ... listen, there’s plenty for us both. We’ll be partners,” Beringer said, sweating. ‘You can’t expect to go on robbing forever. You’ll end on the gallows. Be sensible. You can’t ask me to burn my life’s work.”

“You’ll make me weep in a minute.”

“Look. Look at this.” The fat man scooped up a box and flipped open the latch. A brilliant cascade of rainbows seemed to float in the air. “They give me their jewels when they have no money. Look. A fortune. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires. All yours, if you go away and leave me in peace.”

These papers must be burnt.”

“No, I beg of you.”

“Yes. Come now. You need the exercise. I fear you lead an unhealthy life.” The comment was punctuated with a wave of the pistol.

Trip after weary trip, in fear of his life, the blackmailer carried all his hard-won spoils to the inferno. He cowered back from the intense heat as indiscretions, infatuations, and immoralities burned. Paper, blackened to floating ash, flew up the chimney.

While Beringer labored, the Black Mask stirred the rubbish with his booted foot, kicking aside the assorted jewel boxes that lay, like fat oysters pregnant with pearls, among the papers. “How do your victims explain the loss of so many pretties to their fathers and husbands?”