"I suppose you have already heard from your friend Gedge, who keeps you
in touch with everything, all the most recent news of Heaton," the
letter ran. "It appears that he was found on the floor of one of the
rooms at Denbury, with a wound in his head. He had suddenly gone out of
his mind. The doctor said that the case was a serious one, but before
arrangements could be made for placing him under restraint he had
escaped, and nothing since has been heard of him. The common idea is
that he has committed suicide owing to business complications. They
are, to tell the truth, beginning to smell a rat in the City. The
Prince's concessions have not turned out all that they were supposed to
be, and by a side wind I hear that your friend's financial status,
considerably weakened during the past few weeks, has, owing to his
sudden and unaccountable disappearance, dropped down to zero. If you
can find him, lose no time in doing so. Remember that he must not be
allowed to open his mouth. He may, however, be still of use, for his
credit has not altogether gone, and I hear he has a very satisfactory
balance at his bankers. But find out all from Gedge, and then write to
me."
There was neither signature nor address.
The words, "he must not be allowed to open his mouth," were, in
themselves, ominous. Who, I wondered, was the writer of that letter?
The postmark was that of "London, E.C.," showing that it had been posted
in the City.
I read it through a second time, then replaced it, and after some
further search returned to my own room.
When the maid brought my hot water next morning she told me that Mrs
Slade had announced her intention to leave at eleven o'clock; therefore
I packed, and leaving slightly earlier, was enabled to follow her cab to
Victoria Station, whence she travelled to Brighton, putting up at the
_Metropole_. I pursued similar tactics to those I had adopted in
London, staying in the same hotel and yet contriving never to be seen by
her. She went out but seldom. Sometimes in the morning she would
stroll beneath her pale mauve sunshade along the King's Road, or at
evening take an airing on the pier, but she apparently lived an aimless
life, spending her time in reading novels in her own apartment. As far
as I could learn, she met no one there, and only appeared to be killing
time and waiting. After a fortnight she moved along to Hastings, thence
to Ilfracombe, and afterwards to Hull.
We arrived at the _North-Eastern Hotel_ at Hull one evening towards the
end of August, having travelled by the express from London. Through
nearly a month I had kept close watch upon her, yet none of her
movements had been in the least suspicious. She lived well, always
having her own sitting-room, although she had no maid. Those days of
watchfulness were full of anxiety, and I had to resort to all sorts of
ingenious devices to prevent observation and recognition.
The station hotel at Hull is comfortable, but by no means a gay place of
residence, and for several days I wondered what might be her object in
visiting that Yorkshire port. The room adjoining her sitting-room on
the second floor became vacant on the third day after our arrival, and I
fortunately succeeded in obtaining it. She entertained no suspicion
that I was following her, although I dogged her movements everywhere.
In Hull she only went out twice, once to a stationer's in
Whitefriar-gate, and on the other occasion to the telegraph office. As
at Brighton and Ilfracombe, she still appeared to be waiting in patience
for the arrival of some one whom she expected.
About nine o'clock one evening, after she had remained nearly a week in
Hull, always taking her meals in her own room and passing her time in
reading, I had returned from the coffee-room, and was about to go forth
for a stroll, when suddenly I heard a waiter rap at her door and
announce a visitor.
A locked door separated her sitting-room from mine, and standing by it,
listening eagerly, I heard the sound of rustling paper, the hurried
closing of a box, and her permission to show the visitor up.
A few minutes passed in silence. Then I heard some one enter, and a
man's voice exclaimed with a distinctly foreign accent--
"Ah, my dear Edna! At last! I feared that you would have left before
my arrival."
"I expected you days ago," she answered, and I knew from the man's sigh
that he had sunk wearily into a chair.
"I was delayed," he explained. "I had a narrow escape. Oustromoff has
guessed the truth."
"What?" she gasped in alarm, "The secret is out?"
"Yes," he answered gruffly.
"Impossible!"
"I tell you it's the truth," he answered. "I escaped over the frontier
by the merest chance. Oustromoff's bloodhounds were at my heels. They
followed me to Vienna, but there I managed to escape them and travel to
Berlin. I knew that there was a warrant out for me--Roesch sent me word
that orders had been issued by the Minister of Police--therefore I
feared to cross to England by any of the mail routes. I knew the police
would be on the look-out at Calais, Antwerp, Ostend, Folkestone, and
Dieppe. Therefore I travelled to Copenhagen, thence by steamer to
Gothenburg, and rail to Christiania. I arrived by the weekly mail
steamer from there only an hour ago."
"What a journey!" exclaimed the woman I had been watching so long and
patiently. "Do you actually mean that you are unsafe--here, in
England?"
"Unsafe? Of course. The Ministry have telegraphed my description to
all police centres, with a request for my extradition."
"It is inconceivable," she cried, "just at the moment when all seemed
safest, that this catastrophe should fall! What of Roesch, Blumhardt,
and Schaefer?"
"Schaefer was arrested in Sofia on the day I left. Blumhardt escaped to
Varna, but was taken while embarking on board a cargo-boat for England.
I tell you I had a narrow escape--a very narrow escape."
"Then don't speak so loud," she urged. "Some one might be in the next
room, you know."
He rose and tried the door at which I stood. It was locked, and that
apparently reassured him.
"Whom do you think informed the Ministry of Police?"
"Ah! at present no one knows," he responded. "What do you think they
say?"
"What?"
"That some of your precious friends in London have exposed the whole
thing."
"My friends? Whom do you mean?"
"You know best who are your friends," he replied, with sarcasm.
"But no one is aware of the whole facts."
"Are you absolutely certain?"
"Absolutely."
"And the loan for the Prince?" he said. "Have you raised it?"
"No; the thing is too dangerous in these circumstances. I have made a
full report. You received it, I suppose?"
"No; I must have left Sofia before it arrived. Tell me."
"That very useful fool named Heaton has suddenly gone out of his mind."
"Insane?"
"Yes," she responded. "At least, he seems so to me. I placed the
matter before him, but he refused to have anything whatever to do with
it. His standing in the City has been utterly shattered by all sorts of
rumours regarding the worthlessness of certain of the concessions, and
as far as we are concerned our hopes of successfully raising the loan
have now disappeared into thin air."
"What!" he cried. "Have you utterly failed?"
"Yes," she answered. "Heaton assisted us while all was square, but now,
just when we want a snug little sum for ourselves, he has suddenly
become obstinate and refuses to raise a finger."
"Curse him! He shall assist us--by Heaven! I'll--I'll compel him!"
cried her mysterious companion furiously.
"To talk like that is useless," she responded. "Remember that he knows
something."
"Something, yes. But what?"
"He knows more than we think."
"Where is he now?"
"Nobody can discover. I saw him once, but he has disappeared. They say
he's a wandering lunatic. He left Denbury suddenly after showing signs
of madness, and although that terror of a woman, his wife, strove to
trace him, she was unsuccessful. His insanity, coupled with the fact
that financial ruin overtook him suddenly, apparently preyed upon her
mind. She fell ill, and according to a letter I received from Gedge a
few days ago, she died suddenly of an aneurism, and was buried last
Thursday at Budleigh-Salterton. The announcement of her death was in
yesterday's papers."
I listened to those words open-mouthed. My wife was dead! Then I was
free!
With my strained ear close to the thin wood of the door I stood
breathless, fearing that they might distinguish the rapid beating of my
heart.
"Your ingenuity has always been extraordinary, madame," he said
reflectively, "but in this last affair you have not shown your usual
tact."
"In what manner?"
"His Highness places confidence in you, yet you sit idly here, and
profess yourself unable to assist him."
"A warrant is out against you; nevertheless, you still consider the
Prince your friend. That is curious!" she remarked, with a touch of
sarcasm.
"Most certainly. It was Oustromoff's doings. His Highness is powerless
to control the Ministry of Police."
"And you believe that you will be safe in England?" she inquired
dubiously.
"I believe so, providing that I exercise care," he responded. "After
to-night it is best that we should remain strangers--you understand?"
"Of course."
"And Mrs Anson and her charge? Are they at a safe distance?"
"Yes. When I met Heaton he inquired after them. He particularly wished
to discover them, and of course I assisted him."
They both laughed in chorus. But her words in themselves were
sufficient proof that she feared the result of our re-union. They
impressed upon me the truth of my suspicion, namely, that Mabel held the
key to the enigma.
"What does he know?" asked the man, evidently referring to me.
"He is aware of the spot where the affair took place," she answered.
"What?" gasped her companion in alarm. "That can't be. He was stone
blind, you said!"
"Certainly he was. But by some means--how I can't say--he has
ascertained at least one fact."
"Did he make any remark to you?"
"Of course he did. He gave me to understand that he was acquainted with
the details of the whole affair." A long silence fell between them.
The mention of Mrs Anson and her charge held me breathless. The
"charge" referred to was evidently Mabel. I only hoped that from this
conversation I might obtain some clue to the whereabouts of my darling.
"I wonder how much Heaton really does know?" observed her visitor
reflectively at last.
"Too much, I fear," she answered. No doubt she recollected how I had
expressed my determination to go to Scotland Yard.
Again there was a prolonged pause.
"Roesch has arrived in London. I must see him," exclaimed the man.
"In London? I thought he was still at his post in the Ministry at
Sofia," she said in a tone of surprise.
"He was fortunate enough to obtain early intimation of Oustromoff's
intentions, and after warning me, escaped the same evening. He took
steamer, I heard, from Trieste to London."
"Why associate yourself further with that man?" she urged. "Surely it
will only add to the danger."
"What concerns myself likewise concerns him," he answered rather
ambiguously.
"You have apparently of late become closer friends. For what reason?"
"You will see later."
"With some distinctly evil purpose, I have no doubt," she observed, "but
remember that I have no further interest in any of your future schemes."
He grunted dubiously.
"Now that you think our fortunes have changed you contemplate deserting
us, eh?" he snapped. "A single word to the Prince and you would
conclude your career rather abruptly, I'm thinking."
"Is that intended as a threat?" she inquired in a calm voice.
"Take it as such, if you wish," the man responded angrily. "Through
your confounded bungling you've brought exposure upon us. We have only
you to thank for it. You know me quite well enough to be aware that
when I make threats they are never idle ones."
"And you are sufficiently well acquainted with me to know that I never
run unnecessary risks."
"I know you to be a devilishly clever woman," he said. "But in your
dealings with that man Heaton you showed weakness--a coward's weakness.
All that he knows is through your own folly. You attempted to mislead
him by your actions and letters, but he has, it seems, been a little too
shrewd for you."
"And if he does know the truth--even, indeed, if he dared to inform the
police--what direct evidence can he give, pray?" she queried. "He was
blind, and therefore saw nothing. He is now mad, and nobody will
believe him."
"Even though he may be an idiot his mouth is better closed," her
companion growled.
His words startled me. This unseen man's intention was apparently to
make a further attempt upon my life. But I chuckled within myself.
Forewarned is forearmed.
Just at that moment I heard the waiter tap at the door, and opening it,
announce the arrival of another visitor--a Mr Roesch.
"Why, I wonder, has he sought you here?" exclaimed the man when the
waiter had gone. "He must have some important news!"
Next moment the door was again thrown open, and the new arrival entered.
All three spoke quickly together in a foreign tongue. The man Roesch
then made a brief statement, which apparently held his two companions
for some moments speechless in alarm. Then again they all commenced
talking in low confidential tones in that strange language--Slav I
believe it was.
Whatever it might have been, and although I understood no word of it, it
brought back vividly to my memory the indelible recollection of the
night of the tragedy at The Boltons.
I listened attentively. Yes, there was no mistake--those tones were
familiar. That trio of voices were the same that with my sharpened ears
I had overheard conversing in the inner room immediately before the
commission of the crime.
I have said that my nerves were shattered. All the past was a torturing
memory to me, but the quintessence of that torture was my failure to
discover my love. I believed that she alone could supply the solution
of the enigma, and what truth there was in that suspicion you shall duly
see.
The three voices continued to speak in that foreign tongue for perhaps
half an hour, during which period I was unable to form any idea of the
trend of the new-comer's announcement.
Then I heard the visitors taking their leave, apparently with many of
those gesticulated reassurances of respect which mark the shallow
foreigner. I extinguished my light and opened my door cautiously. As
they passed on their way down the corridor I succeeded in obtaining a
very good view of the interesting pair. They were talking together, and
I distinguished the man who had first called upon Edna by his deep
voice. He was a short, thick-set, black-bearded man of forty,
well-dressed in black, with a heavy gold albert across his ample vest.
His companion, whose name was apparently Roesch, was considerably older,
about fifty-five or so, of spare build, erect, thin-faced, with long
grey whiskers descending from either cheek, and shaven chin. He wore a
frock-coat and silk hat, and was of a type altogether superior to his
companion.
The woman Grainger's coffee was brought to her as usual in the morning,
but about ten o'clock she rang again, and when the chambermaid
responded, said--
"Here are two letters. Post them for me in the box in the bureau, and
tell them to send my bill at once. I leave at ten forty-five."
"Yes'm." And the girl departed to post the letters.
To whom, I wondered, were those letters addressed? Within my mind I
strove to devise some plan whereby I could obtain a glance at the
addresses. The box, however, was only at the foot of the stairs,
therefore ere I could resolve upon any plan the girl had dropped them
into it, and I heard her linen flounces beating along the corridor
again. Those letters were in the post, and beyond my reach.
She had written those two missives during the night, and after the
departure of her visitors. They had, no doubt, some connexion with the
matter which the trio had so earnestly discussed in that tantalising
foreign tongue.
In hesitancy I remained some little time, then a sudden thought occurred
to me. I addressed an envelope to the hall-porter of my club, enclosing
a blank sheet of paper, and then descending, posted it. The box was
placed outside the bureau, and the instant I had dropped the letter in I
turned, as though in anger with myself, and, entering the bureau, said
to the clerk--
"I've unfortunately posted a letter without a stamp. Have you the key
of the box?"
"The box belongs to the Post Office, sir," he answered. "But we have a
key to it."
"Then I should esteem it a favour if you would recover my letter for me.
It is most important that the addressee should not be charged for its
postage. I regret that my absent-mindedness should give you this
trouble."
The clerk took the key from a drawer at the end of the bureau, and
opening the box, took out the half-dozen or so letters which it
contained, and spread them upon the desk. Among them were two square,
pale-faced envelopes. As I took my own letter and affixed a stamp I
glanced eagerly at the address of both.
One bore the superscription: "Mr P. Gechkuloff, 98, King Henry's Road,
Hampstead, N.W."
Upon the other were words which caused my heart to leap joyfully within
me. They were--
"Miss Mabel Anson, _Langham Hotel_, London."
I posted my letter, hurried upstairs and paid my bill. Edna had already
packed her trunk, but had changed her mind, and did not intend leaving
Hull that day. I heard her inform the chambermaid of her intention of
remaining, then I left the hotel, and caught the ten-forty-five express
for London.