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TITLE: THE GREAT SECRET
AUTHOR: E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
EBOOK: E05729 (O'Briens Book Cellar)
LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

THE GREAT SECRET

BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

      I. ROOM No. 317

     II. A MIDNIGHT RAID

    III. MISS VAN HOYT

     IV. A MATCH AT LORD'S

      V. ON THE TERRACE

     VI. "MR. GUEST"

    VII. A "TETE-A-TETE" DINNER

   VIII. IN THE TOILS

     IX. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

      X. "WORTLEY FOOTE--THE SPY"

     XI. A LEGACY OF DANGER

    XII. OLD FRIENDS

   XIII. THE SHADOW DEEPENS

    XIV. GATHERING JACKALS

     XV. A DYING MAN

    XVI. I TAKE UP MY LEGACY

   XVII. NAGASKI'S INSTINCT

  XVIII. IN THE DEATH CHAMBER

    XIX. AN AFFAIR OF STATE

     XX. TRAVELLING COMPANIONS

    XXI. "FOR YOU!"

   XXII. "LOVED I NOT HONOR MORE"

  XXIII. THE PRETENDER

   XXIV. A PRACTICAL WOMAN

    XXV. A CABLE FROM EUROPE

   XXVI. FOR VALUE RECEIVED

  XXVII. INTERNATIONAL POLITICS

 XXVIII. DOUBLE DEALING

   XXIX. I CHANGE MY NATIONALITY

    XXX. THE "WAITERS' UNION"

   XXXI. IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP

  XXXII. SIR GILBERT HAS A SURPRISE

 XXXIII. A REUNION OF HEARTS

  XXXIV. RIFLE PRACTICE

   XXXV. "HIRSCH'S WIFE"

  XXXVI. AN URGENT WARNING

 XXXVII. THE BLACK BAG

XXXVIII. A LAST RESOURCE

  XXXIX. WORKING _The Oracle_

     XL. _The Oracle_ SPEAKS

CHAPTER I

ROOM NO. 317

I laid my papers down upon the broad mahogany counter, and exchanged
greetings with the tall frock-coated reception clerk who came smiling
towards me.

"I should like a single room on the third floor east, about the middle
corridor," I said. "Can you manage that for me? 317 I had last time."

He shook his head at once. "I am very sorry, Mr. Courage," he said, "but
all the rooms in that corridor are engaged. We will give you one on the
second floor at the same price."

I was about to close with his offer, when, with a word of excuse, he
hurried away to intercept some one who was passing through the hall. A
junior clerk took his place, and consulted the plan for a moment
doubtfully.

"There are several rooms exactly in the locality you asked for," he
remarked, "which are simply being held over. If you would prefer 317, you
can have it, and I will give 217 to our other client."

"Thank you," I answered, "I should prefer 317 if you can manage it."

He scribbled the number upon a ticket and handed it to the porter, who
stood behind with my dressing-case. A page caught up the key, and I
followed them to the lift. In the light of things which happened
afterwards, I have sometimes wondered what became of the unfortunate
junior clerk who gave me room number 317.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was six o'clock when I arrived at the Hotel Universal. I washed,
changed my clothes, and was shaved in the barber's shop. Afterwards, I
spent, I think, the ordinary countryman's evening about town--having some
regard always to the purpose of my visit. I dined at my club, went on to
the Empire with a couple of friends, supped at the Savoy, and, after a
brief return visit to the club, a single game of billiards and a final
whisky and soda, returned to my hotel contented and sleepy, and quite
prepared to tumble into bed. By some chance--the history of nations, as
my own did, will sometimes turn upon such slight events--I left my door
ajar whilst I sat upon the edge of the bed finishing a cigarette and
treeing my boots, preparatory to depositing them outside. Suddenly my
attention was arrested by a somewhat curious sound. I distinctly heard
the swift, stealthy footsteps of a man running at full speed along the
corridor. I leaned forward to listen. Then, without a moment's warning,
they paused outside my door. It was hastily pushed open and as hastily
closed. A man, half clothed and panting, was standing facing me--a
strange, pitiable object. The boots slipped from my fingers. I stared at
him in blank bewilderment.

"What the devil--" I began.

He made an anguished appeal to me for silence. Then I heard other
footsteps in the corridor pausing outside my closed door. There was a
moment's silence, then a soft muffled knocking. I moved towards it, only
to be met by the intruder's frenzied whisper--

"For God's sake keep quiet!"

The man's hot breath scorched my cheek, his hands gripped my arm with
nervous force, his hysterical whisper was barely audible, although his
lips were within a few inches of my ear.

"Keep quiet," he muttered, "and don't open the door!"

"Why not?" I asked.

"They will kill me," he answered simply.

I resumed my seat on the side of the bed. My sensations were a little
confused. Under ordinary circumstances, I should probably have been
angry. It was impossible, however, to persevere in such a sentiment
towards the abject creature who cowered by my side.

Yet, after all, was he abject? I looked away from the door, and, for the
second time, studied carefully the features of the man who had sought my
protection in so extraordinary a manner. He was clean shaven, his
features were good; his face, under ordinary circumstances, might have
been described as almost prepossessing. Just now it was whitened and
distorted by fear to such an extent that it gave to his expression a
perfectly repulsive cast. It was as though he looked beyond death and saw
things, however dimly, more terrible than human understanding can fitly
grapple with. There were subtleties of horror in his glassy eyes, in his
drawn and haggard features.

Nothing, perhaps, could more completely illustrate the effect his words
and appearance had upon me than the fact that I accepted his
extraordinary statement without any instinct of disbelief! Here was I,
an Englishman of sound nerves, of average courage, and certainly
untroubled with any superabundance of imagination, domiciled in a
perfectly well-known, if somewhat cosmopolitan, London hotel, and yet
willing to believe, on the statement of a person whom I had never seen
before in my life, that, within a few yards of me, were unseen men bent
upon murder.

From outside I heard a warning chink of metal, and, acting upon impulse,
I stepped forward and slipped the bolt of my door. Immediately afterwards
a key was softly inserted in the lock and turned. The door strained
against the bolt from some invisible pressure. Then there came the sound
of retreating footsteps. We heard the door of the next room opened and
closed. A moment later the handle of the communicating door was tried. I
had, however, bolted it before I commenced to undress.

"What the mischief are you about?" I cried angrily. "Can't you leave my
room alone?"

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