THE ST. JOHN'S WOOD ESTABLISHMENT.
Cleopatra Villa was a pleasant house and a very expensive one, as Lord
Calliston found to his cost. But then the presiding deity, by name
Lena Sarschine, was very beautiful, and insisted upon having her
dwelling fitted up in a corresponding manner, so Calliston gave way,
and spent a small fortune on this bijou residence.
Dowker knew a good many of these little paradises with their
worldly-wise Eves, the existence of whom was not supposed to be known
to the polite world, so he felt quite at ease when upon ringing the
bell he was admitted to the garden by a solemn-looking man servant.
He was well acquainted with Calliston's life both public and
private--neither side being very reputable--but then, with such
advantages of wrong doing as the world now offers, 'tis hard to be
virtuous.
Calliston had come into the title whilst in his childhood, and, the
estate having been well looked after during his minority, he found
plenty of money to spend when he came of age, and he certainly did
spend it. Horse-racing and yachting were his two principal pleasures,
but curiously enough his name was never mixed up with any well-known
woman, and few of his friends knew except by hearsay of the divinity
who dwelt in Cleopatra Villa. Calliston had fallen in love with her
down in the country some years before, and bringing her up to town
installed her in the bijou residence, which she rarely left.
Occasionally she went to the theatre, and sometimes drove in the Park,
but at such rare intervals that few people knew who she was. Calliston
was very jealous of her and seldom asked his friends to supper, but
she was reported by the few who had been thus honoured to be a very
beautiful woman with charming manners. The general opinion was that he
would end up by marrying her, when his entanglement with Lady
Balscombe became known, and henceforward he was seen more by that
lady's side than in the neighbourhood of St. John's Wood.
Dowker, from some mysterious source only known to himself, was
cognisant of all this, and had now come down to discover what
connection the establishment of St. John's Wood had with the murder in
Jermyn Street.
He knew that Calliston had gone off with Lady Balscombe, so said he
had a message from him and would like to see Miss Sarschine. The
servant showed him into a magnificently-furnished drawing-room, where
he awaited the appearance of the lady, intending when she entered to
ask her all particulars about her maid Lydia Fenny, with a view to
discovering the perpetrator of the crime. Being of an inquiring turn
of mind Dowker arose from his seat when the door was closed, and
folding his hands behind his back strolled about the room, his lank
grey-clad figure seeming sadly out of place.
It was not a very large apartment, but luxuriously furnished, the
walls being hung with pale-green silk draped in graceful folds and
caught up here and there with thick silver cords. The carpet, also of
a pale-green, was embroidered with bunches of white flowers, and the
window curtains were of soft white Liberty silk. There were two
windows on one side in deep recesses filled with brilliantly-tinted
flowers, white blossoms predominating, and at the end of the room were
folding doors opening into a conservatory filled with ferns, in the
middle of which a small fountain splashed musically into a wide marble
basin. There were low velvet-covered lounging chairs all about, tables
crowded with _bric-â-brac_ and photographs in oxydised silver frames,
whilst here and there on the carpet were skins of bears and tigers.
Contrary to the usual custom in drawing-rooms there was only one
mirror, a small oval glass over the mantel-piece framed in pale-green
plush. In the corners were high palms and other tropical vegetation,
with white marble statues peering from out of their green leaves, and
in one corner a handsome grand piano on the top of which lay a lot of
sheet music. The room was illuminated by two or three tall brass lamps
with bright green shades smothered in creamy lace, and just over the
piano were a number of quaint-looking weapons arranged in a fantastic
fashion. Highland broadswords, Indian daggers, and Malay krisses were
all grouped round a small silver shield handsomely embossed, and
though at first they seemed somewhat out of place against the rich
silk hangings, yet when the eyes became accustomed to them the effect
was not unpleasant.
Dowker took a leisurely survey of the apartment and then returned to
his seat to await the appearance of Miss Sarschine and to think over
the curious aspect the Piccadilly case now presented.
His cogitations ran somewhat after this fashion.
The time of the discovery of the body by Mr. Ellersby was about
half-past two--the medical evidence at the inquest was to the effect
that the deceased had been dead about two hours, so allowing a margin
for possible inaccuracies the crime must have been committed about
midnight, at which time there would be a certain amount of traffic
through Jermyn Street. But then the spectacle of a man talking to a
woman in the doorway of a house would hardly attract much attention,
and if the murderer had accomplished his purpose by means of poison
there was no doubt the fanciful description given by _Hash_ would be
tolerably correct. Supposing the assassin to have wounded his victim
by means of a poisoned weapon, she would have become confused and
giddy, finally passing into a comatose state, in which she would
quietly expire. Therefore, there would be no screaming to attract the
attention of passers-by, and albeit in any case lying down would have
aroused curiosity, yet the fog was so thick on that night that no one
would see the position of the criminal and his victim.
Now, the next question was why did Miss Sarschine not make inquiries
after her maid--a week had elapsed since the murder, and the girl's
absence for that time would certainly seem unaccountable. On her
non-appearance her mistress would watch the papers to see if anything
had happened to her. She would then notice the Jermyn Street murder,
and from the description given would have no difficulty in recognizing
her servant. Since though she had without doubt become cognisant of
the fact that Lydia Fenny was dead she had not come forward to
identify the body, and Dowker pondered over the reason she had for
this reticence.
"She can't have committed the crime herself," said Dowker in a puzzled
tone, "as she would hardly do so in such a public place, but why has
she been so quiet?--again she couldn't know anything about poisoned
weapons--no, she must have some other reason for holding her tongue."
At this moment his attention was caught by the display of weapons on
the wall, and with a short exclamation he walked across the room and
looked sharply at them. They were arranged in a fantastic pattern,
each side being the same, but here Dowker noticed with much curiosity
that one side was incomplete, a Malay kriss having been removed. He
looked at the other side and there were certainly two arranged
crossways, but on the other there was only one. Dowker was startled by
this discovery as it seemed to point to the fact that the crime had
been committed by the missing kriss. He knew the Malays were a savage
nation, and without doubt poisoned their daggers, so the absence of
one of these would argue that this had been the weapon used. He
gingerly touched the point of a kriss with the tip of his finger, and
then drew it hastily away.
"It might be poisoned," he muttered, looking at his finger to assure
himself he had not broken the skin. "I wonder if it is--I'd like to
find out."
Glancing hastily round the room to make sure he was alone, he took a
kriss from the wall on the other side so that the pattern was now
equalised, and trusted to this fact to hide his abstraction of the
weapon. Then he took some old letters out of his pocket, and tearing
them up into strips carefully swathed the blade of the kriss to
prevent possible accidents, and slipped the parcel into his breast
pocket.
"I'll go and see a doctor," he muttered to himself as he buttoned his
coat, "and try the effect of this on a dog; if the symptoms of death
are the same, that will be proof conclusive that the missing dagger
was used to commit the crime. Once I establish that, I'll soon find
out the guilty party, as it must have been some one in this
house--especially as Lydia Fenny was a servant here."
He walked back again to his chair and had just sat down when the door
opened and a woman entered. Not at all pretty, medium height, dark
hair and eyes, and a sharp, active-looking face, which, however,
was disfigured by marks of the small pox. She was dressed in a
well-made dark costume and wore a knot of crimson ribbon round her
throat. Dowker surveyed this lady carefully and instantly came to the
conclusion that this was a fellow-servant of Lydia Fenny--certainly
not Miss Sarschine.
"Hang it," muttered Dowker, "he wouldn't make love to that!"
The newcomer advanced as Dowker arose to his feet.
"You want to see Miss Sarschine?" she asked, looking at the detective.
"Yes; have I the pleasure----?"
"No; I am not Miss Sarschine, but I can let her have any message you
wish delivered."
"Cannot I see the lady herself?"
"You cannot; she is out of town."
"Oh!" Dowker looked rather blank. This then was the reason Miss
Sarschine did not come forward to identify the body.
"From whom is your message?" asked the woman.
"From--from--Lord Calliston," said Dowker, in a hesitating manner.
"That's impossible," replied the woman curtly.
"Why?"
"Because Lord Calliston is away yachting, and Miss Sarschine is with
him."
"Oh, indeed!"
Dowker was beginning to feel rather nonplussed as he was now at a loss
for an excuse for his presence, so he tried another plan.
"Do you read the papers?" he asked sharply.
"Sometimes; not often," said the woman, somewhat taken aback. "Why do
you ask?"
"I have particular reasons for the question."
"I am not bound to answer your question. May I ask your name?"
"Dowker--detective."
The woman started at this and looked a little curiously at him.
"What do you want to know?"
"Are any of the servants of this house missing?"
"No."
"Dear me! have any been lately dismissed?"
"No; do you allude to any particular servant?"
"Yes; Lydia Fenny."
The woman started again.
"What about her?"
"She is dead. If you had read the papers you would have noticed the
Jermyn Street tragedy. She is the victim."
"There is some mistake," said the woman, quietly.
"I don't think so," replied Dowker, coolly taking out the hat from the
newspaper. "Do you know this?"
At the sight of the hat the woman became violently agitated.
"Yes; where did you get this?"
"It was on the head of the woman who was murdered."
The other gave a cry and staggered back.
"Oh, my God!" she said, under her breath, "what does it all mean?"
"Mean? It means that Lydia Fenny is dead."
"No!" she cried vehemently, "not dead."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am Lydia Fenny."
Dowker stared at her aghast.
"Yes," she went on rapidly, "the hat is mine; how did you find out I
was the owner?"
"I went to Madame Rêne and she told me you bought it from her; but who
was the dead woman?"
Lydia Fenny again gave a cry.
"I'm afraid to say--I'm afraid to say; how was she dressed?"
"In a sealskin jacket, a silk dress and that hat."
Lydia wrung her hands in despair.
"It must be true," she moaned; "it is the dress she wore."
"Who wore?" asked Dowker in an excited tone.
"My mistress--Miss Sarschine."
The case seemed to be more mysterious than ever; instead of the maid
it was the mistress. Dowker took a photograph of the deceased and gave
it to Lydia.
"Who is that?" he asked eagerly.
"Miss Sarchine," she replied quickly; "but what is the matter with her
face?"
"Swollen by poison."
"Poison?"
"Yes. On Monday last she was found lying dead in Jermyn Street, killed
by a poisoned dagger."
"Last Monday night!" said Lydia with a gasp, "that was the last time I
saw her."
"Look here," said Dowker quietly, "you'd better tell me all about it.
I am employed in the case and I want to discover who murdered your
mistress; so tell me all you know."
Lydia Fenny, who seemed to possess strong nerves, sat down and began
to speak deliberately.
"I will tell you everything and help you to bring the murderer of my
poor mistress to justice but I don't know anyone who would have killed
her. She lived a very quiet life and had few friends. Lord Calliston
came here very frequently, and she was very much in love with him.
Where she came from I don't know, as I have only been with her about a
year, but he often told her he would make her his wife, and she was
always imploring him to do so. About three months ago he met some
great lady----"
"Lady Balscombe?"
"Yes, that was the name--and fell in love with her. He neglected Miss
Sarschine and she reproached him. There was a lot of trouble and
quarrelling between them and Lord Calliston stayed away a good bit.
Three weeks ago I went away for a holiday, and when I came back I
found my mistress in a terrible state. She had discovered in some way
that Lord Calliston had determined to elope with Lady Balscombe and go
off to the Azores in his yacht. Miss Sarschine was mad with rage; she
said she would kill them both; and then thought she'd play a trick
upon Lord Calliston and go off with him instead. This was on Monday
last."
"The time of the murder," murmured Dowker.
"She went to Lord Calliston's rooms in Piccadilly and found out from
his valet that he intended to leave town that evening for Shoreham,
where his yacht was lying, and that Lady Balscombe was to follow him
early next morning. So she came back here and, waiting till the
evening, dressed herself and put on my hat as less conspicuous than
her own. She intended to catch the ten minutes past nine train from
London Bridge Station and go right on board Lord Calliston's yacht and
insist upon his sailing and leaving Lady Balscombe in the lurch. She
went out about seven with that intention and since then I have heard
nothing of her. I thought she had carried out her scheme and gone off
with Lord Calliston to the Azores."
"Did you not hear of the Jermyn Street murder?"
"Yes, casually, but I never thought of connecting it with my mistress,
and all the servants here live very quietly, so they would never think
Miss Sarschine was the victim."
"What was she doing in Jermyn Street?"
"I can't tell you. Lord Calliston has rooms in Piccadilly, so perhaps
she went there first and then through Jermyn Street on her way to the
station."
"You do not know anyone who had a grudge against her?"
"No--no one."
Dowker arose to his feet.
"I will call and see you again," he said, "but meanwhile give me Lord
Calliston's address in Piccadilly and I will find out if Miss
Sarschine was at his rooms on that night."
Lydia Fenny, who was now crying, gave the necessary address and
followed him to the door.
"One moment," said Dowker, stopping. "Where is the dagger that used to
be on the wall?"
Lydia looked round for the weapons and gave a cry of astonishment.
"Two are gone."
"I have the one, but the other--where is it?"
"Miss Sarschine took it down on Monday, and said if Calliston did not
take her with him she'd kill him."
"Kill him--not herself?"
"No, she had no idea of committing suicide. What are you going to do
with the other?"
"Try it on a dog, and find out if the symptoms of death are the same,
then I will know the companion dagger to this was the cause of your
mistress's death."
"But who would take it from her and use it?"
"That's what I've got to find out. She must have met some one in
Jermyn Street who killed her with it."
"It can't be suicide?"
"Hardly. The wound is in the jugular vein in the neck, so it could
hardly have been self-inflicted. Besides, she would not choose a
public street to die in."
"When shall I see you again?"
"After I have found out what took place in the Piccadilly chambers on
Monday last."
And Dowker departed, very well satisfied with the result of his
inquiries.