DOWKER--DETECTIVE.
Mr. Dowker was a long lean man of a drab colour. His hair was thin, of
a neutral tint, his eyes a watery blue, and his somewhat large mouth
drawn down at the corners betokened a lachrymose nature. He wore
greyish clothes always a little threadbare, and large thick-soled
boots chosen rather for utility than beauty. His head-gear consisted
of a sad-coloured soft hat pulled well over his eyes, from under which
his scanty hair hung in a depressing manner. In fact he had a somewhat
sketchy appearance, as if he had been outlined and waited to be filled
up with colour, but this stage of development which would have turned
him into a thing of beauty, was never arrived at, and his general
appearance was dismal in the extreme. He wore a beard, that is several
tufts of straggly hair were planted in patches over his face but did
not seem to flourish. He never smiled and frequently sighed, so that
his manners as well as his appearance were not calculated to inculcate
cheerful thoughts.
But notwithstanding this unprepossessing exterior, there was no
cleverer man in London, and the most dexterous criminal would rather
have had any other detective after him than this apparently
unpromising thief-catcher. The outward resemblance of a man is not
invariably the index of his mind, and the Puritan physiognomy of Mr.
Dowker was a very serviceable mask to the acuteness and brilliancy of
his intellect. Consequently, when the Piccadilly Puzzle case promised
to be such a difficult one to unravel, it was placed in the hands of
Mr. Dowker and the whole affair left entirely to him. Dowker was
pleased at this tribute to his cleverness, and sighed in an approving
manner as he rapidly reviewed all the evidence which had come under
the eyes of the police.
In the first place it would be necessary to discover the name of the
deceased, and then by finding out the manner of her life, the motive
of the crime might be discovered, pointing to the criminal. The
clothing was not marked in any way, but on examining the hat, Dowker
found from a ticket on the inside that it had been purchased at the
shop of Madame Rêne in Regent Street; so, wrapping up the hat in
paper, he betook himself to the establishment of that lady, as the
first step in the chain of evidence which he hoped to complete by the
discovery of the assassin.
Madame Rêne's establishment was one of the smartest in London, and was
well-known to the feminine world, who were accustomed to pay the
exorbitant sums demanded there for goods which could have been bought
much cheaper elsewhere, but then they would not have been stamped with
Madame Rêne's approval, and that omission was to declare that the
article was unfashionable. Madame Rêne's trade-mark being thus
indispensable, ladies never ventured to go anywhere else if they could
possibly manage it, and Madame Rêne flourished greatly.
Dowker entered the shop and asked to see Madame Rêne, to whose
presence he was conducted at once, for the detective was well-known
there, haying been frequently employed by Madame in missions of a
delicate nature, principally concerning ladies of high rank and
diamonds.
Madame herself was short and stout, with a thoroughly English face,
and indeed, she had been born within the sound of Bow Bells, but took
her French name for trade purposes. Her voice was sharp and shrill,
and her black eyes bold and piercing--a thorough woman of business,
who knew the value of money and time, so wasted neither.
"Well, Mr. Dowker," said Madame when the detective had taken his seat
in her private office and closed the door, "what is the matter now? I
was just going to send for you."
"What about?" asked Dowker with a sigh, "more trouble?"
"Yes--Lady Balscombe's run away with Lord Calliston, and she owes me a
lot of money, so I want to know the chances of getting paid."
"Any security?" inquired the detective.
"Oh, yes--I'm not such a fool as to lend ladies money without
security," said Madame with a shrill laugh. "I've got a diamond
necklace, but I think it belongs to Sir Rupert Balscombe--part of the
family jewels--I suppose I'd better go and see him."
"I think that would be the wisest plan."
"Humph!" sniffed the lady, frowning, "I don't know. On the one hand he
may pay me my money and redeem the necklace, on the other he may kick
up a row, and I don't want my dealings in this way made public. I'd
have a whole army of husbands down on me--just like men--they go to
the Jews themselves to get ready money, and when their wives do a bit
of borrowing with their milliners, they make a fuss."
"Why not sell the necklace?"
"That's what I'm going to do as soon as I hear from Lady Balscombe. I
suppose she'll be divorced, and marry Calliston--more fool she, for
he's a scamp--then she'll want to redeem the necklace quietly, but I
don't know where to write to her. Where have they gone to?"
"I hear in a yacht to the Azores," said Dowker, who knew everything;
"they'll turn up again I've no doubt--then you can see her."
"What an idiot she was to give up such a fair position!" said Madame,
who looked at the whole affair from a purely worldly point of view.
"She was nobody when Sir Rupert picked her up, and he gave her
everything--she made ducks and drakes of his money--they fought, and
the result is she's gone off with Calliston--a man who is the biggest
scamp in town."
"Yes, I know, got a little crib in St. John's Wood, said Dowker, who
had no hesitation in talking plainly to this woman, who knew as much
about fast life as he did.
"So I hear--never saw his mistress, but hear she's a beautiful
woman--there will be a row when she hears his latest escapade; but
he'll get tired of Lady Balscombe and go back to the St. John's Wood
establishment--they always do."
"Well, the whole affair will end as usual," said the detective with a
sigh, "in a public scandal and divorce; but I want to see you about
this," and taking the hat out of the parcel, he laid it before Madame.
It was rather striking-looking--black straw, with brown and blue
velvets twisted together and caught on one side with a slender silver
crescent.
"Yes, that's mine," said Madame, glancing at it. "Rather good style, I
think. What do you want to know?"
"The name of the person you sold it to."
"Humph!--rather a difficult question to answer--some one might have
bought it and taken it away with them, but if they left an address
I'll soon find out."
She touched a bell, and a girl appeared.
"Send Miss Brail to me--she's invaluable," explained Madame to Dowker
when the girl had vanished. "Such a wonderful memory, forgets nothing.
I find her useful in my deals with ladies--a milliner's business is
not all bonnets and hats, as we know."
"It's more than the world does," responded Dowker with as near an
approach to a smile as he allowed himself.
Miss Brail made her appearance, and decided the question at once.
"It was sold to a lady about two months ago--somewhere in St. John's
Wood."
"Was it a real lady?" asked Dowker.
"Well, she was more like a servant," responded Miss Brail doubtfully,
"I should say a lady's maid."
"Was it sent?" asked Madame impatiently.
"Yes--the address is in the book," answered Miss Brail, and went out
to get the book. In a few moments she returned, and announced:
"Lydia Fenny, Cleopatra Villa, St. John's Wood."
In spite of his habitual phlegm, Dowker started, on perceiving which,
Madame dismissed Miss Brail at once.
"Why do you start?" she asked curiously, when the door had closed.
Dowker sighed in his usual manner, and taking out his handkerchief,
twisted it up into a hard ball, a sure sign that he was impressed in
some way.
"Cleopatra Villa is Lord Calliston's place."
"Oh!" said Madame in rather an amazed tone, "what a curious thing we
should have been speaking about him! I suppose this Lydia Fenny is the
lady's maid there."
"Was the lady's maid," corrected Dowker.
"What do you mean?"
"If this hat," touching it, "was sold by you to Lydia Fenny--she is
dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes, the victim of the Jermyn Street murder."
"What?" Madame Rêne sprang to her feet, greatly agitated.
"I wanted to find out the name of the dead woman in order to get a
clue to the perpetrator of the crime," explained Dowker rapidly, "this
hat was on the head when the body was discovered. It had a mark inside
showing it was bought here, so I came here to find out to whom it was
sold--you tell me Lydia Fenny, so the logical conclusion is that Lydia
Fenny is the victim."
"It's all very strange," said Madame, rapidly looking at him with keen
eyes, "but it may not be Lydia Fenny at all. Other hats might have
been made similar to this one, or Lydia Fenny might have lent or given
the hat to another person."
"There is only one way of finding that out," said Dowker, wrapping up
the hat and rising to his feet.
"And that is?"
"To make inquiries at Cleopatra Villa. Good-day," and the detective
went out, leaving Madame transfixed with astonishment.
"Humph," she said at length. "I wonder if Lord Calliston's got
anything to do with this murder."