MUDDY WATER
The secretary of the late Sir Charles Moon smiled irresolutely when he
recognized Dan. That young gentleman, who thought Penn a weak-kneed
idiot, had never taken much notice of him, but for the fact that he
was perfumed with the unusual scent would not have spoken to him now.
But as he looked at the lank creature with his yellow face, and scanty
moustache, he guessed that he was exactly the effeminate sort of
person who would use perfume. What he wished to know was why he
affected this particular kind of fragrance, and whence he obtained it.
To gain the information he pretended a friendliness for the man he was
far from feeling. Dan, strong, virile, and self-confident, was not
altogether just to Penn, who was not responsible for his pallid looks
and weak character. But Halliday was not a perfect individual by any
means, and had yet to learn that the weak are meant to be protected
and helped instead of being despised.
"You here, Mr. Penn?" said Dan, thus formal to mark the difference
between them.
"Yes," replied the man in his faint hesitating voice, and, as they
moved out of the crowd, Halliday smelt the weird perfume more strongly
than ever shaken from Penn's clothes by his movements. "I stopped to
look at the accident."
"A very ordinary one," rejoined Mr. Halliday, with a shrug. "By the
way, I have not seen you since the funeral of Sir Charles. What are
you doing now, if I may ask?"
"I am secretary to Lord Curberry."
"Oh!" The reply gave Dan something of a shock, for he did not expect
at the moment to hear his rival's name. But then the whole incident of
meeting Penn and smelling the incriminating perfume was strange.
Monsieur Chance had proved himself to be an actuality instead of the
mythical personage Dan had believed him to be. It was certainly odd
that the meeting had taken place, and odder still that Penn should
prove to be the servant of Curberry.
As Halliday said nothing more than "Oh!" the other man stroked his
moustache and explained. "Sir John got me the post, Mr. Halliday," he
said, with his shifty eyes anywhere but on Dan's inquiring face. "I
was quite stranded after Sir Charles's unexpected death, and did not
know where to turn for employment. As I support a widowed mother, the
situation was rather serious, so I took my courage in my hands and
went to Sir John. He was good enough to recommend me to Lord Curberry,
and I have been with his lordship for a month, more or less."
"I congratulate you, Mr. Penn, and Lord Curberry, also. Sir Charles
always said you were an excellent secretary," Dan stopped as Penn
bowed his acknowledgments to the compliment, and cast a keen side
glance at the man. They were walking through Trafalgar Square by this
time, passing under the shadow of Nelson's Column. "Do you know what I
was thinking of when behind you in the crowd yonder, Mr. Penn?" he
asked abruptly, and it must be confessed rather undiplomatically, if
he wished to get at the truth.
"No," said the secretary, with simplicity and manifest surprise. "No,
Mr. Halliday, how can I guess your thoughts?"
"I was thinking of the murder of your late employer," said Dan
straightly.
Penn blinked and shivered. "It's a horrible subject to think about,"
he remarked in a low voice. "I can scarcely get it out of my own
thoughts. I suppose the sight of me reminded you of the crime, Mr.
Halliday?"
"Scarcely, since I was behind you, and did not recognize you until you
turned," replied Dan, calmly, and the other appeared to be surprised.
"Then how----" he began, only to be cut short.
"It's that scent."
"Scent!" echoed Penn nervously, but manifestly still surprised. "I
don't understand exactly what you mean, Mr. Halliday. I like scent,
and use much of it."
Dan's lip curled. "So I perceive. But where did you get the particular
scent you are using now, may I ask?"
Something in his tone annoyed the secretary, for he drew himself up
and halted. "I don't know why you should criticize my tastes, Mr.
Halliday."
"I'm not criticizing them, and don't jump down my throat. But you reek
of some strange perfume, which I last smelt----" He paused.
"You cannot have smelt it anywhere," said Penn indifferently.
"What do you mean by that exactly?" asked Dan with considerable
sharpness.
Penn resumed his walk and drew his light eyebrows together. "I am
willing to explain as soon as you tell me why you speak of the scent."
"Hang it, man," rejoined Halliday, dropping into step, "any one would
notice the scent and speak of it since it is so strong."
"Oh"--Penn's brow cleared--"I understand now. You have taken a fancy
to the scent and wish me to get you some."
Halliday was about to make an indignant denial, when he suddenly
changed his mind, seeing a chance of learning something. "Well, can
you get me some?"
"No," said Penn coolly; "I cannot. This is a particular perfume which
comes from the Island of Sumatra. I have a cousin there who knows that
I like perfumes, and he sent me a single bottle."
"Can't I buy it anywhere?"
"No, it is not to be obtained in England," said Penn curtly.
"In that case," said Halliday slowly, "it is strange that I should
have smelt the same perfume on the clothes of Sir Charles after his
death."
"Did you?" Penn looked surprised. "That is impossible. Why, Sir
Charles detested scents, and I never dared to use this one until I
left him for the night."
"You used it on the night of the murder?"
"Of course. I used it every night when I left Sir Charles. On that
evening he sent me away with my usual batch of letters, and was going
down to the House later. I would not have seen him until the next
morning, so I took the opportunity to indulge in this taste."
"Then how did Sir Charles's clothes become impregnated with it?"
"I am unable to say. Why do you ask? Surely"--Penn turned an alarmed
face towards the speaker, and looked yellower than ever--"surely you
do not suspect me of keeping back anything from the police likely to
lead to the detection of the assassin."
"Ask yourself, Mr. Penn," said Dan coldly. "I and Inspector Tenson and
Mr. Durwin smelt this particular perfume on the clothes of the dead
man, and I do not mind telling you that the police consider it
something of a clue."
"A clue to what? To me? It must be, since I alone possess this scent.
I certainly came into the library when summoned by Mr. Durwin, and I
helped to look after Sir Charles. As I was strongly perfumed with the
scent it is not impossible that my employer's clothes took what,
doubtless, you will call the taint. I think," ended Penn in a
dignified manner, "that such is the proper explanation. You have found
a mare's nest, Mr. Halliday."
"Upon my word, I believe I have," said Dan, quite good-humoredly, "but
you must forgive me, Mr. Penn. Inspector Tenson agreed with me that
the fly and the scent were clues."
"About the fly I know nothing," said the secretary positively, "but
this scent is not to be had in England, and Sir Charles's clothes
could only have gathered the fragrance from mine. If Inspector Tenson
suspects me----"
"No, no, no!" interrupted Halliday quickly. "I assure you that he does
not."
"He would if you told him of our meeting," retorted Penn as they
passed into Piccadilly Circus, "and as I don't like even a suspicion
to rest on me, Mr. Halliday--for my good name is my fortune--I shall
go and see him and explain the whole circumstance. Indeed, if he
wishes it, I shall give him the bottle which my cousin sent me from
Sumatra, and never shall I use the scent again. I do not like these
injurious suspicions."
"Don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill," said Dan, drily; "if I
have hurt your feelings, I apologize."
"I accept your apology only on condition that you accept my
explanation."
Dan inwardly chuckled at Penn's dignity, but replied, readily enough.
"Oh, yes, for if I did not accept your explanation I should not make
any apology. You are probably right since the scent must have got on
to Sir Charles's clothes from your own. The clue--as we took it to
be--has ended in smoke."
"But don't you think that I should see Inspector Tenson and explain?"
"There is no need," Dan assured him, soothingly. "If the Inspector
says anything about the scent, I shall explain; and, after all, it was
I who suggested the perfume as a clue."
"Would you like what is left of the bottle?" asked Penn, pacified by
the very frank apology of the other.
"No, thanks, I never use perfumes. I hate them."
"So did Sir Charles," mused Penn, and eyeing Dan with a lack-lustre
gaze. "I wonder he did not suspect me of liking them. If he had come
upon me scented in this manner, he would have kicked me out."
"It is to be hoped Lord Curberry has not the same dislike," said Dan,
who having learned all he wished, desired to escape from such boring
society.
"No, he has not," said Penn with great simplicity; "he is very kind to
me. I suppose he will marry Miss Moon."
"Then you suppose wrong. He will not," snapped Halliday roughly.
"He loves her devotedly," insisted the secretary, and with a glint of
malice in his pale-colored eyes.
"Good-day," rejoined Dan shortly, as he did not wish to argue the
matter. He turned into Regent Street--for by this time they had
crossed the Circus--when Penn ran after him and seized his arm.
"Is there any chance of the woman who killed Sir Charles being found?"
"No," replied Dan, halting for a moment. "Why?"
"Because Sir Charles was good to me, and I should like his death to be
avenged. That is only natural. Surely the police will search."
"They are searching, Mr. Penn, and can discover nothing."
"Perhaps Lord Curberry may hunt for this woman. I shall ask him to,
and as he loves Miss Moon so devotedly, he will try to learn the
truth."
Irritated by this speech--for Penn knew very well of the rivalry--Dan
became scarlet. "I shall discover the truth. Lord Curberry need not
trouble himself."
"If you discover the truth----" began Penn, and hesitated.
"Well?" asked Halliday sharply.
"I think Lord Curberry will certainly marry Miss Moon."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Dan, but Penn gave no answer.
Shaking his head significantly, he stepped back, and in one moment was
lost in the midst of the crowd which thronged the corner. Halliday
would have followed, for the man's last observation seemed to hint
that he knew more about the truth than he was disposed to admit; but
many people came between him and the secretary, so it was impossible
to get hold of him again. Dan was forced to walk on alone and he
walked on pondering deeply.
Did Penn know the truth? It seemed impossible that he should know it.
The evidence of the typewriting girl went to show that he had not left
his private room all the evening until summoned by Durwin when the
death was discovered. What Penn said about the perfume appeared to be
reasonable enough, as he certainly had handled the body, and if
reeking of the scent--as he was reeking on this very day--it was not
surprising that the odor should communicate itself to the dress
clothes of the dead man. Some odors cling very powerfully, and endure
for a considerable time. This Sumatra scent assuredly had done so, for
it was quite three hours after the death that Dan himself had seen the
corpse, and even then he had smelt the perfume. However, on the face
of it, Halliday saw no reason to doubt Penn's statement, and quite
understood how he became, through Sir John's mediation, the secretary
of Lord Curberry. Only the last speech of the secretary was strange.
Why should he say that, if the truth were discovered by Dan, Curberry
would marry the girl, when, on the discovery of the truth--so far as
Dan could see--the marriage of himself to Lillian depended? Dan could
find no answer to this question, and had half a mind to follow Penn to
his new employer's house, so as to force an explanation. But as he
knew Curberry did not like him, he decided to let matters stand as
they were, and only reveal what he had heard to Laurance.
For the next four or five days, young Halliday went about his business
in a quiet, determined manner, and thought as little as possible of
Lillian. He did not even write or call to see her, since he wished to
give up his whole attention to discovering the truth about Moon's
death. If he thought of love and Lillian, he certainly could not
concentrate his mind on the necessary search. And it was very
necessary, if he intended to marry the girl. He became certain that in
some way Sir John intended to trick him, but if he found out the false
Mrs. Brown, and solved the mystery, Sir John would be forced out of
sheer justice to sanction the marriage. It was heroical of Halliday to
turn his thoughts from his beloved and it was no easy task to one so
deeply in love as he. But he saw the need of it, and manfully set
himself to endure present pain for future joy. Whether Lillian saw
things in the same light, or resented his neglect, he did not know, as
he had no word from her, neither came there any letter from Mrs.
Bolstreath. Dan had, certainly been pushed out of the girl's life by
her astute uncle; but it was his own common sense that kept him out of
it--for the time being--be it understood. Love demands its martyrs,
and Halliday had become one for Love's sake. By doing so, although he
knew it not, he was displaying more real love towards her than he had
ever done in his life before.
Meanwhile, Laurance lost no time in publishing his letter, which dealt
with the mystery of Moon's death. As _The Moment_, including its extra
letter-writing sheet, had a large circulation, and as it was a season
devoid of news, the letter caused great discussions. It was
sufficiently alarming to those who loved law and order, since it
boldly announced that a gang of criminals existed which coldly and
cautiously and deliberately employed its members to put people to
death. The letter called attention to the fly--and that an artificial
one--on Sir Charles's neck near the poisoned wound, and declared that
such was the sign-manual of the accursed society. No mention was made
of the scent, since Dan had explained what Penn had said to Laurance,
and Laurance had accepted the explanation as valid. But there was
quite enough in the letter to startle the most dull, especially when
the writer called attention to the happening of various mysterious
murders, and suggested that such were the work of this misguided set
of people who constituted the unknown gang; finally, Freddy ended his
letter by saying that Moon had knowledge of the gang, and had sent for
a Scotland Yard official--name not given--to explain the whole matter,
when he met with his death. It was a fact, therefore, that the false
Mrs. Brown was an emissary of the gang who had been sent to murder Sir
Charles, and had performed her vile errand only too well. A postscript
to the epistle invited discussion, and particularly called upon any
person who knew of an artificial fly being found on a corpse to give
evidence.
In two days the sheet was filled with letters from various people, and
the matter was much discussed. Some of the writers laughed at the idea
of such a society existing in a civilized country such as England,
while others expressed alarm and asked what the police were doing not
to arrest the criminals. These last scribes evidently entirely forgot
that no one knew where the central quarters of the gang were, and that
the letter of Mr. Laurance was an attempt to root out the heart of the
mystery. Those who appeared in print and aided the circulation of _The
Moment_ by buying their own lucubrations certainly did not help much.
The generality of the letters were discursive and ornate, wandering
very much from the point, and giving no positive information such as
would assist Freddy's purpose. But three or four epistles drew
attention to certain mysterious crimes, the perpetrators of which had
never been brought to justice, and who were not even known. There was
the case of a young girl found dead on the Brighton railway line, near
Redhill, and who must have been thrown out of the train. Then some one
wrote about a miser in the East End who had been strangled, and
another person recalled the drowning of a well-known philanthropist in
the Serpentine. A verdict of suicide had been brought in as regards
this last victim, but the writer of the letter positively asserted
that the philanthropist had not the slightest intention of making away
with himself. Finally came a batch of letters concerning children who
had been murdered.
But only in one case did it appear that any fly was seen on the
victim, and that was when a schoolmistress was stabbed to the heart
while in bed and asleep. The assassin had entered and escaped by the
window, and the victim's mother--who wrote the letter drawing
attention to this case--had found the fly on her daughter's cheek. She
had thought nothing of it at the time, and had brushed away the
insect. But after the mention of the fly on Sir Charles Moon's neck,
she remembered the incident. Also it turned out that the
schoolmistress, had she lived, would have inherited a large sum of
money. It was this last circumstance that suggested the intervention
of the gang to murder the girl, so that someone else might inherit.
But all the letters dealing with the various cases were vague, and no
enlightening details could be given. All that could be said was that
there were many unusual deaths, the mystery of which could not be
solved. Laurance, reading the letters during the week of their
appearance, felt sure that the gang existed, but he was more or less
alone in his opinion. Even Dan was doubtful.
"It seems such a large order for a number of people to band themselves
together, to murder on this comprehensive scale," he objected; "and I
don't quite see the object. Many of the victims mentioned in these
letters are poor."
"You seem to have changed your mind about the matter," said Laurance
drily, "for when my letter appeared you were assured that there was
such a gang."
"Only because of Sir Charles's remarks to Durwin."
"It was a pity Sir Charles was not more explicit," retorted Freddy
crossly.
"He had no time to be explicit," said Dan patiently, "since he died
before he explained. But let us admit, for the sake of argument, that
such a gang exists. Why should the members murder poor people?"
"Folks have been murdered by way of revenge, as well as for money. And
let me remind you, Dan, that four or five of these victims mentioned
in the letters had money, or were about to inherit money. I am quite
convinced," said Laurance, striking the table, "that there is such an
association."
"An association for what?"
"You are very dull. To get undesirable people out of the way.
Remember, in the reign of Louis XIV there were dozens of poisoners in
Paris who undertook to kill people when engaged to do so. The reason
was for revenge, or desire for money, or--or--or for other reasons,"
ended Laurance vaguely.
"Hum!" Dan stroked his chin, "it may be as you say. Certainly Sir
Charles was got rid of, because he knew too much."
"About this gang," insisted Laurance, "since he was to see Durwin
about the same. I am certain that such an association exists."
"You said that before," Halliday reminded him.
"And I say it again. At all events there is one thing certain--that we
have learned from these letters of many mysterious crimes."
"But only in one case was the fly discovered," objected Dan again.
"That is not to be wondered at," replied the journalist; "the wonder
is that such a small insect should be noticed at all. No one would
ever think of connecting a fly, whether dead or alive, with the death.
The mother of this schoolmistress did not, until your experience with
regard to Moon was quoted in my letter. The fly business is quite
ridiculous."
"And perhaps means nothing."
"Oh, I think it does, seeing that in Moon's case, the fly was
artificial. Probably in the case of the schoolmistress it was
artificial also, only the mother who noticed it did not make an
examination. Why should she? I wonder the gang don't have a better
trade-mark."
"Perhaps the gang may think it would be spotted if it did."
"Then why have any trade-mark at all," answered Laurance, sensibly.
"If there is to be a sign, there should be some sensible one. If the
fly was stamped on the skin, as the purple fern was stamped, there
would be some sense in the matter. But a fly, artificial or real,
is----" Freddy spread out his hands, for words entirely failed him.
"Well," said Dan after a pause, "I don't know what to say, since
everything is so vague. However, I shall assume that such a gang
exists, and shall do my best to aid you to bring about its
destruction, as that means my marriage to Lillian. To help, I must
have money, so the sooner we get North and engage one of Vincent's
machines with all the latest improvements, the better shall I be
pleased." He moved towards the door, as they were in Laurance's rooms
when this conversation took place, and there he halted. "I think,
Freddy, you will have a chance of proving in your own person, as to
the truth of your supposition regarding this gang!"
"What do you mean?" asked Laurance somewhat startled.
"Well," murmured Dan, "the gang knows you started the hunt for its
destruction, as I expect the members read the papers. If that is the
case you will be a source of danger, such as Sir Charles was and----"
"I'll look after myself," interrupted Laurance grimly.
"Well, if you don't, and the worst comes," said Dan agreeably, "I
shall carefully examine your corpse for the celebrated fly."
"I'll look after myself," said Laurance again, "and if you think I am
going to give up doing business through fear of death, you are much
mistaken. If I can find the gang and exterminate the gang, I'll get a
much larger salary, and so will be able to marry Mildred."
"Oh, that's her name, is it? Mildred Vincent! Is she pretty?"
"You might not think so, since Miss Moon is your ideal," said Freddy,
with a blush. "Mildred is dark and tall, and well-proportioned--none
of your skimpy women, old man."
"Lillian isn't skimpy," cried Halliday indignantly.
"I never said she was. Let us call her fairy-like."
"That's better. And your Mildred?"
"You'll see her when we go North the day after tomorrow."
"Good!" Dan nodded thankfully, "we go to Vincent the day after
to-morrow?"
"Yes. Meet me at a quarter to twelve at St. Pancras Station; the train
leaves at mid-day and we change at Thawley for Beswick about four
o'clock. I expect we'll arrive--all going well--at Sheepeak about
six."
"Good. But why shouldn't all go well?" inquired Dan, after a pause.
Laurance chuckled. "According to you, the gang will hunt me down, and
as you are in my company--well!" he chuckled again.
"Oh, I don't care a cent for the gang, no more than yourself,"
retorted Dan with a shrug. "I'm not even going to think of the beasts.
We go North to get the machine which will enable me to win this two
thousand. And then----"
"And then?" echoed Laurance with a grin.
"Then I shall discover the truth, crush the gang, and marry Lillian."
In this way, therefore, the muddy water was stirred up.