Peter Ruff

“ Ruff,” he said, “are easily manifest in you. Now hear our decision. Your wife shall be restored to you on the day when you take up this position to which you have become entitled. Sit down and listen.”
Peter Ruff was a rebel at heart, but he felt the grip of iron.
“During these four years when you, my friend, have been growing turnips and shooting your game, events in the great world have marched, new powers have come into being, a new page of history has been opened. ”

“ Peter Ruff answered. “Please take a chair.”
Sir Richard took the easy-chair, and discovering a box of cigarettes upon the table, helped himself. Then his eyes fell upon Miss Brown.
“Can’t do without your secretary?” he remarked.
“Impossible!” Peter Ruff answered. “As I told you before, I am her guarantee that what you say to me, or before her, is spoken as though to the dead.”
Sir Richard nodded.
“Just as well,” he remarked, “for I am going to talk about a man who I wish were dead!”
“There are few of us,” Peter Ruff said, “who have not our enemies.” ”

“ Peter Ruff, with his back against the door, shook his head gravely.
“My dear Lord Merries,” he said, “my office is not a mortuary.”
Merries gasped.
“You know me, then?” he muttered, hoarsely.
“Of course,” Ruff answered. “It is my profession to know everybody. Go and sit down upon that easy-chair, and drink the brandy and soda which Miss Brown is about to mix for you. That’s right.”
Merries staggered across the room and half fell into an easy-chair. He leaned over the side with his face buried in his hands, unable still to face the horror which lay upon the floor. ”

“ It was a home, this, in which a man could well lead a peaceful life, could dream away his days to the music of the west wind, the gurgling stream, the song of birds, and the low murmuring of insects. Peter Ruff stood like a man turned to stone, for, even as he looked, these things passed away from before his eyes, the roar of the world beat in his ears—the world of intrigue, of crime, the world where the strong man hewed his way to power, and the weaklings fell like corn before the sickle. ”

“ Peter Ruff shook his head.
“More than that,” he said. “You are a brave man in your way, Sir Richard Dyson, but you are going about now shivering under a load of fear. It sits like a devil incarnate upon your shoulders. It poisons the air wherever you go. Write your cheque, Sir Richard, and you can leave that little black devil in my wastebasket. You are under my protection. Nothing will happen to you.”
Sir Richard sat like a man mesmerised. The little man with the amiable expression and the badly fitting suit was leaning back in his chair, his finger tips pressed together, waiting. ”

“ Peter Ruff emptied his own tumbler and took up his hat.
“Sir Richard,” he said, “you are like a good many other people. Now that the thing is done, you shrink from the thought of it. You even wonder how I could have planned to bring about the death of this man. Listen, Sir Richard. Pity for the deserving, or for those who have in them one single quality, one single grain, of good, is a sentiment which deserves respect. Pity for vermin, who crawl about the world leaving a poisonous trail upon everything they touch, is a false and unnatural sentiment. ”

“ Sir Richard took up his hat, lit another of Peter Ruff’s cigarettes, and departed. They heard the rattle of the lift as it descended. Then Miss Brown turned round in her chair.
“Don’t you do it, Peter!” she said solemnly. “The time has gone by for that sort of thing. The man may be unfit to live, but you don’t need to risk as much as that for a matter of five thousand pounds.”
Peter Ruff nodded.
“Quite right,” he said; “quite right, Violet. At the same time, five thousand pounds is an excellent sum. We must see what can be done.” ”

“ Peter Ruff declared. “Sorry the lift’s stopped. Three steps to the left and straight on. Good-night!”
Miss Brown arrived early the following morning, and was disposed to be inquisitive.
“I should like to know,” she said, “exactly what has become of Mr. Vincent Cawdor.”
Peter Ruff took her upstairs. There was a little mound of ashes in the grate.
She nodded.
“I imagined that,” she said. “But why did you send me out to watch yourself?”
“My dear Violet,” Peter Ruff answered, “there is no man in the world to-day who is my equal in the art of disguising himself. ”

“ Peter Ruff smiled grimly.
“Yes, it sounds all right,” he admitted.
“They won’t expect you to take any notice of it, surely?” she continued. “When you bought this place, Peter, and left your London offices, you gave them definitely to understand that you had retired into private life, that all these things were finished with you.”
“There are some things,” Peter Ruff said, slowly, “which are never finished.”
“But you resigned,” she reminded him. “I remember your letter distinctly.”
“From the Double-Four,” he answered, “no resignation is recognized save death. ”

“ Miss Brown remarked, complacently.
“You will leave at once,” Peter Ruff said, “and you will go to the French Cafe at the Milan. Get a table facing the courtyard, and towards the hotel side of the room. Keep your eyes open and tell me exactly what you see.”
She looked at him with parted lips. Her eyes were full of eager questioning.
“Mere skirmishing,” Peter Ruff continued, “but I think—yes, I think that it may lead to something.”
“Whom am I to watch?” she asked.
“Any one who looks interesting,” Peter Ruff answered. “For instance, if this person Vincent Cawdor should be about.” ”

“ Peter Ruff said. “If there is anything I can do—”
“You are very kind,” she murmured, half raising her eyes to his and dropping them again, “but, you see, we are perfect strangers to one another. You don’t know me at all, do you? And I have only heard of you through the newspapers. You might think all sorts of things about my coming here to make enquiries about a gentleman.”
“I can assure you,” Peter Ruff said, sincerely, “that you need have no fears—no fears at all. Just speak to me quite frankly. Mr. Fitzgerald was a friend of yours, was he not?”
Maud simpered. ”

“ Peter Ruff nodded.
“Put up a notice,” he said—“‘Back on Friday.’ Pack up your books and take them round to the Bank before you leave. The lift man will call you a taxi-cab.”
He watched her preparations with a sort of gloomy calm.
“I wish you’d tell me what is the matter with you?” she asked, as she turned to follow her belongings.
“I do not know,” Peter Ruff said. “I, suppose I am suffering from what you would call presentiments. Be at Charing-Cross punctually.”
“Why do you go at all?” she asked. “These people are of no further use to you. ”

“ Peter Ruff murmured.
“Mr. Dory is not well off,” she continued, “and I am afraid that I am very fond of life and going about, and everything is so expensive nowadays. Then I don’t like his profession. I think it is hateful to be always trying to catch people and put them in prison—don’t you, Mr. Ruff?”
Peter Ruff smiled.
“Naturally,” he answered. “Your husband and I work from the opposite poles of life. He is always seeking to make criminals of the people whom I am always trying to prove worthy members of society.”
“How noble!” Maud exclaimed, clasping her hands and looking up at him. ”

“ Peter Ruff repeated.
She nodded.
“He seemed to have a lot of bad luck this last year,” she said. “All his cases went wrong, and they don’t think so much of him at Scotland Yard as they did. I am not sure that he hasn’t begun to drink a little.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Peter Ruff said, gravely.
“I don’t see why you should be,” she answered, bluntly. “He was no friend of yours, nor isn’t now. He may not be so dangerous as he was, but if ever you come across him, you take my tip and be careful. He means to do you a mischief some day, if he can. ”

“ You prefer the company of law-abiding people, even though their ways be narrow. It was part of that sentiment, Peter, which led you to fall in love with a coal-merchant’s daughter. I can see that you will end your days in the halo of respectability.”
Peter Ruff was a little thoughtful. ”

“ Peter Ruff drove through the gray dawn to his hotel, in the splendid automobile of Monsieur de Founcelles, whose homeward route lay in that direction. It was four o’clock when he accepted his key from a sleepy-looking clerk, and turned towards the staircase. The hotel was wrapped in semi-gloom. Sweepers and cleaners were at work. The palms had been turned out into the courtyard. Dust sheets lay over the furniture. One person only, save himself and the untidy-looking servants, was astir. ”

“ For every hopelessly corrupt man who is induced to quit this life there is a more deserving one, somewhere or other, for whom the world is a better place.”
“So that, after all, you are a philanthropist, Mr. Ruff,” Sir Richard said, with a forced smile.
Peter Ruff shook his head.
“A philosopher,” he answered, buttoning up his notes.
CHAPTER IX. THE PERFIDY OF MISS BROWN
Peter Ruff came down to his office with a single letter in his hand, bearing a French postmark. He returned his secretary’s morning greeting a little absently, and seated himself at his desk. ”

“ Peter Ruff answered, devoting himself to the game.
The following night, being the last but one before the wedding itself, a large dinner-party had been arranged for, and the resources of even so princely a mansion as Clenarvon Court were strained to their utmost by the entertainment of something like one hundred guests in the great banqueting-hall. The meal was about half-way through when those who were not too entirely engrossed in conversation were startled by hearing a dull, rumbling sound, like the moving of a number of pieces of heavy furniture. People looked doubtfully at one another. ”

“ What is there, do you think, in a dull English house-party to attract a man like myself? Don’t you understand that it is the gambler’s instinct—the restless desire to be playing pitch-and-toss with fate, with honor, with life and death, if you will—that brings such as myself into the ranks of the ‘Double-Four’? It is the weariness which kills, Peter Ruff. One must needs keep it from one’s bones. ”

“ Peter Ruff said, stretching out his hand for his hat.
She waved to him to put it down.
“I will tell you,” she said. “It has nothing to do with the case, but since you ask, you shall know. There is a dear little girl in our company—Fluffy Dean we all call her—only eighteen years old. We all love her, she is so sweet, and just like I was when I first went on the stage, only much nicer. She is very pretty, she has no money, and she is such an affectionate little dear that although she is as good as gold, we are all terrified for her sake whenever she makes acquaintances. ”

“ Maud tossed her head.
“I don’t see anything so wonderful about that,” she declared.
“Listen to me, Maud,” her husband said, rising to his feet. “You aren’t a fool—not quite. You’ve spent some time with Peter Ruff. How much—think carefully—how much does he remind you of Spencer Fitzgerald?”
“Not at all,” she answered promptly. “Why, he is years older, and though Spencer was quite the gentleman, there’s something about Mr. Ruff, and the way he dresses and knows his way about—well, you can tell he’s been a gentleman all his life.”
John Dory’s face fell. ”

“ Sir Richard answered.
Peter Ruff yawned for a moment, but covered the indiscretion with his hand.
“Respecting this inconvenience,” he said, “which you admit that the disappearance of Job Masters has caused you, what is its tangible side?”
Sir Richard drew his chair a little nearer to the table where Ruff was sitting. His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“It seems absurd,” he said, “and yet, what I tell you is the truth. I have been followed about—shadowed, in fact—for several days. Men, even in my own social circle, seem to hold aloof from me. ”

“ Peter Ruff said, firmly, “we seek the truth. Be so good as to humour me in this. Dory, will you go to the front door, stand upon the mat—so? You are Captain Sotherst—you have just entered. I am Austen Abbott. You, Miss Shaw, have just ordered me from the room. You see, I move toward the door. I open it—so. Miss Shaw,” he added, turning swiftly towards her, “once more will you assure me that every one who was in the flat that night, with the exception of your domestic servant, is present now?” ”

“ As Lady Mary and her escort drew near, the reason for the young American’s annoyance became clearer—his two companions were talking softly, but with great animation, in a foreign language, which it was obvious that he did not understand. Peter Ruff’s elbow pressed against his partner’s arm, and their pace slackened. He ventured, even, to pause for a moment, looking into the ballroom as though in search of some one, and he had by no means the appearance of a man likely to understand Hungarian. Then, to Lady Mary’s surprise, he touched the Count von Hern on the shoulder and addressed him. ”

“ Mr. Ruff, you are such a clever man. Can’t you see the truth?”
Peter Ruff looked at her steadily for several moments.
“Lady Mary,” he said, “I can see what you are going to suggest. You are going on the assumption that Austen Abbott was shot by Letty Shaw and that your brother is taking the thing on his shoulders.”
“I am sure of it!” she declared. “The girl did it herself, beyond a doubt. Brian would never have shot any one. He might have horsewhipped him, perhaps—even beaten him to death—but shot him in cold blood—never!” ”