THE PICCADILLY ROOMS.
Calliston occupied a suite of rooms in a side street leading off
Piccadilly; and very comfortable apartments they were, being
luxuriously furnished in the prevailing fashion of the day. His
sitting-room was hung with dark red curtains and carpet to match, and
the furniture being of a kind designed to promote ease and comfort, it
looked very snug, particularly at night. There was a desk in one
corner of the room piled up with a disorderly heap of papers. Over
this were fencing foils and boxing gloves, arranged against the wall,
and the pictures mostly consisted of photographs of pretty women and
paintings of celebrated horses. There was a small table near the
fireplace on which lay pipes, cigar-boxes and tobacco jars, and on the
sideboard a spirit stand, which was much in favour with Calliston's
friends A small book-case contained an assortment of French novels,
principally of the Zola and Mendes school, and, judging from the
shabby appearance of the books, must have been pretty well read. The
whole apartment had a dissipated air, and the atmosphere was still
impregnated with a faint odour of stale tobacco smoke. Opening off
this apartment were a dressing-room and bed-room, and though the whole
ménage was somewhat limited, yet it made up in quality what it lacked
in quantity.
When Calliston was away, his Lares and Penates were looked after by a
worthy lady, who rejoiced in the name of Mrs. Povy, an appellation
which has in its sound a certain aroma of Pepys' Diary, but Lord
Calliston and his friends not being acquainted with the ingenuous
pages of the quaint Samuel, were unaware of this, so Mrs. Povy was
generally known by the name of Totty. She was elderly, very stout,
with a round red face the tint of which was due to health and not
drink, as she seldom imbibed anything stronger than tea. Totty was
addicted to a kind of regulation uniform, consisting of a black dress,
a huge white apron, and a muslin cap, set coquettishly on the side of
her elderly head. She was one of those quaint old motherly creatures,
who never offend, no matter what they say, and she frequently lectured
Calliston on the irregularity of his life, which that noble lord
accepted with an amused laugh.
The late Mr. Povy had long since departed this life, and having been
what is vulgarly known as a warm man, had left Totty comfortably off,
so that lady occupied her present position more from choice than
necessity. She had a gruff voice, and her casual remarks had the sound
of positive commands, which she found of great use with refractory
servants.
Totty learned from the papers that Lord Calliston had gone off to the
Azores with Lady Balscombe, and expressed her disapproval of his
action in the most emphatic manner to Mrs. Swizzle (a friend of her
youth) as they sat over their four-o'clock tea.
"Ah," said Totty, fixing her eyes pensively on the little black
tea-pot, "it ain't no good being a reformatory. The way I've talked to
him about his goings on and now look at his goings off."
"Perhaps he couldn't help himself," said Mrs. Swizzle, who was tall
and thin, and spoke in a kind of subdued whistle.
"He never tried to, I'll be bound," retorted Mrs. Povy, wrathfully.
"Not as he's always bin after married pussons, for I know there is a
gal as he pays for her board and lodging."
"Lor'," whistled Mrs. Swizzle, curiously. "Where?"
"Never you mind," returned Totty, screwing up her mouth. "She's a gal
as no decent woman 'ud speak to her--silks and satings and wasting of
money--oh, I've no patience with 'em! Kettles is snow in whiteness
with gals' morals now."
At this moment there came a ring at the door, and Totty hurrying away
to attend to it, Mrs. Swizzle made the best use of her time by eating
up the buttered toast as rapidly as she could.
When Mrs. Povy opened the door she was confronted by a lank figure in
grey, which was none other than Dowker, come to prosecute his
inquiries concerning Miss Sarschine.
"Well?" enquired Totty gruffly, annoyed at being disturbed, "and what
do you want?"
Dowker gazed on the substantial figure before him and sighed.
"A few words with you about Lord Calliston," he said softly.
Mrs. Povy shook with wrath.
"I ain't no spy or gossip," she said. "And if that is what you want to
find out, this ain't the shop--so walk out," and she prepared to shut
the door. But Dowker was too sharp for her, and placed his foot
inside.
"Wait a moment, my good lady," he said, quietly. "I don't mean any
harm to Lord Calliston, and what I want to speak to you about is
important."
Curiosity got the better of Totty's wrath, so after a time she
consented to speak to Dowker privately, and to this end led him
upstairs to Calliston's rooms.
"We're quiet here," she said, closing the door. "I can't ask you into
my own room, as a perticler friend of mine is drinking tea with me."
"This will do capitally," replied Dowker, glancing round the room. "And
now, as my curiosity may appear rude and you may refuse to answer some
of my questions, I may as well tell you who I am."
"And who are you?" asked Mrs. Povy uneasily, "a noospaper or a
politics?"
"Dowker--detective."
Mrs. Povy's naturally red face became white.
"What's up?" she gasped. "Has Lord Calliston bin doing anything
wrong?"
"No, no," replied Dowker soothingly. "I only want to obtain some
information about Miss Sarschine."
"I don't know that kind of pusson," said Totty angrily. "Never mind if
you know her or not," retorted Dowker sternly, "but answer my
questions."
Mrs. Povy sniffed and would have refused, but there was something in
the detective's eye which quelled her, so she yielded an ungracious
assent.
"When did Lord Calliston leave town for his yacht?"
"About a week ago--on Monday last."
"Where was his yacht lying?"
"At Shoreham. He went to London Bridge Station to catch the ten
minutes past nine train. His yotsh was to leave next morning."
"Did he go alone?"
"As far as I know," retorted Totty. "If Lady Balscombe went with him
you can see it in the papers. I know no more than that."
"How often did Miss Sarschine call on Monday?"
"Once, in the afternoon, to see Lord Calliston."
"Did she see him?"
"No, he was out, so she said she'd call again in the evening."
"And did she?"
"Yes; but Lord Calliston had gone about eight o'clock to catch his
train. I suppose she thought he wouldn't go till next morning."
"Did she know he was going to elope with Lady Balscombe?"
"Not that I know of."
"Did she see anyone when she came the second time?"
"Yes, Mr. Desmond, my lord's cousin."
"What time was that?"
"About twelve, between eleven and twelve."
Dowker pondered a little. So she called here to see Calliston just
before she was murdered, and saw Desmond. Now the question was, what
had Desmond to do with the affair.
"Was Mr. Desmond here on that evening by accident?"
"No. He told me he had come to give Miss Sarschine a message from Lord
Calliston."
"You did not overhear their conversation?"
"Me," growled Tottie, indignantly, "I never listen--out when she was
leaving they were 'having a row."
"About what time?"
"I think at ten minutes after twelve."
"Did she go out alone?"
"Yes. Mr. Desmond followed shortly afterwards."
"Did he say anything?"
"No, not a word."
Dowker felt puzzled. It was evident Desmond had given her a message
from Calliston that made her angry, and she left the house in a rage,
but then this did not connect anyone with a design to murder her.
Suddenly he remembered that Ellersby had mentioned that he had met
Desmond coming up St. James' Street a short time before the body was
found. Was it possible that he had killed Miss Sarschine and was then
coming away from the scene of his crime? Impossible, because the
doctor said the woman must have been dead some hours. And yet he might
have killed her and gone down St. James' Street to avert suspicion,
and then come up again when he thought the coast would be clear.
Unfortunately, he had met Ellersby and then--well, Dowker made up his
mind he would go and see Ellersby, find out what he could about the
meeting, and afterwards call on Myles Desmond. He, perhaps, might give
some satisfactory explanation of his interview with Miss Sarschine,
and account for his presence after the interview. If he did not, well,
it would appear suspicious.
While these thoughts were rapidly passing through his mind, Totty had
her eyes fastened eagerly on him.
"Well, now I've answered all your questions," she said, "perhaps
you'll tell me what it all means."
"Murder!"
Mrs. Povy became quite excited, for she had a keen relish for horrors.
"Lor'! Who's dead--not Lord Calliston?"
"No. Miss Sarschine."
"Miss Sarschine!"
"Yes. She was murdered shortly after she left these rooms and after
her interview with Mr. Desmond."
"Oh, he is innocent, I'm sure," said Mrs. Povy eagerly. "What on earth
should he want to kill her for? Besides, he's in love with Miss
Penfold."
"Oh, and she, I understand, was going to marry Lord Calliston."
"I don't believe she'd ever have married him," said Tottie
disbelievingly; "she's that fond of Mr. Desmond, as never was. Where
are you going?"
"To attend to business," replied Dowker, "and by the way, where does
Mr. Desmond live?"
"You ain't going to arrest him for this murder?" shrieked Totty.
"No--no--there's no evidence," retorted Dowker lightly. "Where does he
live?"
"Primrose Crescent, in Bloomsbury," replied Mrs. Povy. The detective
took the address and went down stairs, followed by Mrs. Povy.
"You don't think Mr. Desmond did it, sir?" began Totty, "for
a more----"
"I don't think anything," said Dowker, putting on his hat. "You'll
hear soon enough what is done."
As he hurried away Mrs. Povy shut the door and returned to her room,
where she implored Mrs. Swizzle to mix her a glass of brandy.
"I've 'ad such a turn," she wailed, "as never was. Oh, it's a blessing
Povy died afore he saw his wife mixed up with them nasty police."