The Sins of Séverac Bablon | Page 9

his fine features, in
every vibrant tone of his voice, in the fire of his eyes. The air of the
study seemed charged with his electric passion.
Then, in an instant, he regained his former calm. Rising to his feet, he
threw off the heavy coat he wore and stood, a tall, handsome figure,
with his hands spread out, interrogatively.
"Do I look such a man?" he demanded.
Despite the theatrical savour of the thing, Sheard could not but feel the
real sincerity of his appeal; and, as he stared, wondering, at the fine
brow, the widely-opened eyes, the keen nostrils and delicate yet
indomitable mouth and chin, he was forced to admit that here was no
mere up-to-date cracksman, but something else, something more. "Is he
mad?" flashed again through his mind.
"No!" smiled Séverac Bablon, dropping back into the chair; "I am as
sane as you yourself!"
"Have I questioned it?"
"With your eyes and the left corner of your mouth, yes!" Sheard was
silent.
"I shall not weary you with a detailed exculpation of my acts,"
continued his visitor; "but you have a list on your table, no doubt, of the
people whom I forced to assist the Embankment poor?"
Sheard nodded.

"Mention but one whose name has ever before been associated with
charity; I mean the charity that has no relation to advertisement! You
are silent! You say"--glancing over the unfinished article--"that 'this
was a capricious burlesque of true philanthropy.' I reply that it served
its purpose--of proclaiming my arrival in London and of clearly
demonstrating the purpose of my coming! You ask who are my
accomplices! I answer--they are as the sands of the desert! You seek to
learn who I am. Seek, rather, to learn what I am!"
"Why have you selected me for this--honour?"
"I overheard some remarks of yours, contrasting a restaurant
supper-room with the Embankment which appealed to me! But, to
come to the point, do you believe me to be a rogue?"
Sheard smiled a trifle uneasily.
"You are doubtful," the other continued. "It has entered your mind that
a proper course would be to ring up Scotland Yard! Instead, come with
me! I will show you how little you know of me and of what I can do. I
will show you that no door is closed to me! Why do you hesitate? You
shall be home again, safe, within two hours. I pledge my word!"
Possessing the true journalistic soul, Sheard was sorely tempted; for to
the passion of the copy-hunter such an invitation could not fail in its
appeal. With only a momentary hesitation, he stood up.
"I'll come!" he said.
A smart landaulette stood waiting outside the house; and, without a
word to the chauffeur, Séverac Bablon opened the door and entered
after Sheard. The motor immediately started, and the car moved off
silently. The blinds were drawn.
"You will have to trust yourself implicitly in my hands," said Sheard's
extraordinary companion. "In a moment I shall ask you to fasten your
handkerchief about your eyes and to give me your word that you are
securely blindfolded!"

"Is it necessary?"
"Quite! Are you nervous?"
"No!"--shortly.
There was a brief interval of silence, during which the car, as well as it
was possible to judge, whirled through the deserted streets at a furious
speed.
"Will you oblige me?" came the musical voice.
The journalist took out his pocket-handkerchief, and making it into a
bandage, tied it firmly about his head.
"Are you ready?" asked Séverac Bablon.
"Yes."
A click told of a raised blind.
"Can you see?"
"Not a thing!"
"Then take my hand and follow quickly. Do not speak; do not
stumble!"
Cautiously feeling his way, Sheard, one hand clasping that of his guide,
stepped out into the keen night air, and was assisted by some third
person--probably the chauffeur--on to the roof of the car!
"Be silent!" from Séverac Bablon. "Fear nothing! Step forward as your
feet will be directed and trust implicitly to me!"
As a man in a dream Sheard stood there--on the roof of a motor-car, in
a London street--and waited. There came dimly to his ears, and from no
great distance, the sound of late traffic along what he judged to be a
main road. But immediately about him quiet reigned. They were

evidently in some deserted back-water of a great thoroughfare. A faint
scuffling sound arose, followed by that of someone lightly dropping
upon a stone pavement.
Then an arm was slipped about him and he was directed, in a whisper,
to step forward. He found his foot upon what he thought to be a flat
railing. His ankle was grasped from below and the voice of Séverac
Bablon came, "On to my shoulders--so!"
Still with the supporting arm about him, he stepped