THE MISSING LINK.
Flip, having a wonderfully tenacious memory, did not forget the
conversation he had overheard between Myles and Miss Penfold; so going
to his patron's office, he repeated it in due course to Dowker. The
result was that the detective became much exercised in his mind over
the whole affair. He could not understand Desmond's refusal to tell
the name of the woman he saw on the night of the murder. True, Desmond
denied it was Lena Sarschine, but then his denial went for nothing, as
he would do so to save himself from suspicion. Mrs. Povy said Lena
Sarschine had been there between eleven and twelve, and it was
unlikely she would be wrong, seeing how well acquainted she was with
the appearance of the dead woman. But then, judging from the drift of
Desmond's remarks, his refusal to speak was dictated by a desire to
screen the honour of a woman. If so, it could not have been Lena
Sarschine, for she had no honour to lose, and his refusal to speak
would be a piece of Quixotism, which he, as a man of the world, would
be one of the first to recognize. At this moment, a sudden thought
flashed across Dowker's mind--could it have been Lady Balscombe
herself who had the interview with Desmond? Here, indeed, would be a
strong motive for Desmond to keep silence, as the visit of a lady to a
bachelor's rooms at night would endanger her reputation. Lady
Balscombe had, it is true, flung reputation to the winds, but on
Monday night it would not have been too late to save her, so if she
had seen Desmond, he might have tried to persuade her to give up the
elopement, and failed.
"I think I see it all," said Dowker, musingly. "She was to have met
Lord Calliston on that night to go down by the nine train, but went to
the ball first to avoid suspicion. He got tired of waiting for her,
and went off to The Pink 'Un.' She would have let him know her plans
by telegram, and called at his rooms after the ball to explain. He was
away and did not get the telegram, so when she arrived at the rooms
she found Desmond. He tried to persuade her to go back; she refuses,
and after some angry words goes out in a rage, stays all night
somewhere, and goes down to Shoreham in the morning, but all this does
not explain Lena Sarschine's death. It can't be possible that Lady
Balscombe killed her--no, it can't be that--there is no connection
between the two."
He ran over in his mind the principal items of the conversation as
reported by Flip, and his thoughts took a new turn.
"Lady Balscombe did not leave her house in Park Lane till after
midnight, so that would not have given her time to be at Lord
Calliston's chambers and have an interview with Desmond, therefore it
cannot have been her. I wish I could find out the name of the Woman
who saw Desmond, and I'd also like to know the name of the woman who
saw Lady Balscombe on that night, and discover what was the exact time
Lady Balscombe left the house--let me see."
He took out his note-book, and wrote the following memoranda:
1. To find out name of woman who called at Calliston's chambers on
Monday (night of murder) between eleven and twelve.
This could only be proved by Myles Desmond himself, as Mrs. Povy
asserted it was Lena Sarschine, and Desmond denied it; therefore there
was a dead-lock--affirmation and denial.
Memo.--To see Desmond and find out name of visitor.
2. To ascertain appearance and, if possible, name of woman who visited
Lady Balscombe on night of murder, as it might possibly have some
bearing on case.
A servant in Lady Balscombe's house could probably furnish this
information.
Memo--To try and find out said servant.
3. To discover exact time Lady Balscombe left her house on Tuesday
morning, also ascertain subsequent movements. This would also have to
be discovered through a servant--as to finding out subsequent
movements, discover, if possible, train she left London by, and what
she did between time of leaving her house and leaving by train.
Memo.--These discoveries must be left to future developments of case.
4. To find out what has become of missing dagger.
Possibly this might be discovered in Desmond's possession.
Mem.--Search his room--secretly--employ agent--say Flip.
5. To search out early life of Lena Sarschine!
Might be discovered in a small measure from Lydia Fenny, who, being
confidential maid, might possibly have gathered information from
casual remarks.
Mem.--To see Lydia Fenny.
Having thus arranged his plan of action satisfactorily, Dowker turned
his attention to Number four of his memoranda, and proceeded to tell
Flip what he wanted him to do.
"You see this?" asked Dowker, showing Flip the dagger he had
abstracted from Cleopatra Villa.
Flip intimated by a vigorous nod of his head that he did.
"I've got an idea," explained Dowker smoothly, "that a dagger very
similar to this is to be found in the possession of Mr. Myles Desmond,
the gentleman you saw to-day, so I want you by some means to get into
his rooms and find out if it's there."
Flip screwed his face into a look of profound thought, and then smiled
in a satisfied manner.
"I'll do it, Guv'nor," he said, sagaciously.
"How?" asked Dowker, curious to learn how this juvenile detective
proposed to deal with the problem.
"I'll doss on his doorstep to-night," said Flip, "and when he comes
'ome do a 'perish'--you knows"--in an explanatory tone--"say I'm dyin'
for victuals--'e'll take me inside, and when I gits there you leave me
alone, guv'nor, I'm fly!"
"Well, you can manage it as you please," said Dowker. "But don't you
prick yourself with it, as it's poisoned, and Flip, if you bring me
this dagger without him knowing about it, I'll give you half a sov."
"Done, Guv'nor!" said Flip, joyfully, and bidding adieu to his patron,
went off to get something to eat and prepare his plan of action.
It was now about six o'clock and very dark, the sky being overcast
with clouds. Soon it began to rain steadily, and the streets became
sloppy and dismal. Flip drew his rags round him, shivered a little in
a professional manner, and then, going off to a cook-shop he
patronised in Drury Lane, had a hunch of bread and a steaming cup of
coffee for a small sum.
Being thus prepared for his work, Flip wiped his mouth, and, sallying
forth into the dirty Lane, took his way up to Bloomsbury, combining
business with pleasure by begging on the road.
Turning into Primrose Crescent, he soon found the house he wanted, and
curling himself up on the doorstep, waited patiently for chance to
deliver Myles into his designing hands.
The rain continued to pour down steadily, and as it was now dark Flip
could see the windows all along the street being lighted up. The
gas-lamps also shone brightly through the rain, and were reflected in
dull, blurred splashes on the pavements. Occasionally a gentleman
would hurry past with his umbrella up, and a ragged tramp would slouch
along singing a dismal ditty. It was dreary waiting, but Flip was used
to such times, and sat quite contented, thinking how he could lay out
his promised half-sovereign to the best advantage, till his quick ear
caught the sound of footsteps inside.
This was his cue, so he immediately lay down on the wet stones, and
commenced to moan dismally: Myles opened the door, and would have
stumbled over him, for he was right in front of the entrance after the
fashion of the clown in the pantomime, only he caught sight of him in
time.
"Hullo," said Myles crossly, "what the deuce is the matter?"
Flip made no reply to this, but groaned with renewed vigour, upon
which Desmond, who was a kind-hearted man, bent down and touched the
ragged little figure.
"Are you ill?" he asked gently.
"Oh, lor'--awful--my insides," groaned Flip pressing his dirty hands
on his stomach. "Ain't 'ad a bit for days."
Myles was doubtful as to the genuineness of this case as he knew how
deceptive tramps are, but as the poor lad did seem in pain, and it was
raining heavily, he determined to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Can you rise?" he asked sharply, "if so get up and come inside. I'll
give you something to do you good."
With many groans and asseverations of extreme pain Flip struggled to
his feet, and aided by Myles went inside, up the stairs, and was at
last safely deposited on the hearthrug in front of the fire, where he
lay and groaned with great dramatic effect.
"I'll give you some hot port wine," said Myles, going to the sideboard
and taking out a glass and a bottle, "so I'll have to go downstairs
and get some hot water--you wait here."
Flip groaned again and gyrated on the floor like a young eel; but when
the door had closed behind his benefactor, he sprang to his feet and
took a survey of the room.
It was a large and lofty apartment, with a pair of folding doors on
one side, which being half open showed Flip that the other room was a
bed-room.
There was a sideboard in the sitting-room and near this a
writing-table, towards which Flip darted and commenced to turn over
the papers rapidly with the idea of finding the dagger hidden
underneath.
Nothing however rewarded his efforts, and though he looked into the
sideboard, examined the book-case and lifted up the covers of the
chairs, he found no sign of the weapon.
"Must be in the bed-room," thought Flip, scratching his head in
perplexity and wondering how he could get in, when suddenly it
occurred to him that he had not examined the mantel-piece.
There was not a moment to be lost, as Myles might return at any
moment, so in a second Flip scrambled up on a chair, and was eagerly
looking among the ornaments on the mantel-piece.
There was a mirror framed in tarnished gold, and in front of this a
tawdry French clock under a glass shade, two Dresden china figures
simpering at one another, and two tall green vases at each end. Flip
saw nothing of what he wanted till he peered into one of these vases,
when he saw something looking like steel, and drew forth a slender
shining blade with no handle.
"Wonder if this is what the guy'nor wants," he said to himself,
turning it over gingerly, "tain't got no 'andle."
He thought for a moment, and then, as he had been so lucky with one
vase looked into the other, and found a cross handle--he joined the
two and they fitted perfectly. Being certain this was what Dowker
wanted, he was thinking how he could take it, when he heard Myles
ascending the stairs. Jumping down he hid the broken blade and the
handle securely among his rags, being very careful not to prick
himself as he remembered Dowker's warning about the poison, then he
lay down on the hearthrug again, and was groaning loudly when Myles
entered with the hot water.
"Feeling bad?" asked Myles sympathetically, pouring out some port
wine.
"Awful," groaned Flip feeling not a bit of compunction at the
treacherous part he was playing. "It's cold I think--cold and 'unger."
"Here drink this," said Desmond, kneeling down beside him, and giving
him the steaming tumbler. "It will do you good."
"Thanks, guv'nor," said Flip gratefully, feeling if the broken blade
was all safe, "it 'ull warm me up."
Desmond lighted his pipe and sat watching the ragged little Arab
drinking the hot wine, never thinking for a moment that he was
nourishing a viper--a viper that would turn and sting him. Honest
himself, he never suspected wrong-doing in others, and while
succouring this outcast he did not know he was doing an evil thing for
himself.
After Flip had finished the wine he declared he felt better, and with
many asseverations of gratitude took leave of his benefactor.
"Poor little devil!" said Desmond as he closed the door and saw the
ragged little urchin scudding away into the darkness, "he seemed very
bad--well I've done one good action, so perhaps it will bring me a
reward."
It did, and the reward was that next morning Myles Desmond of
Bloomsbury, journalist, was arrested for the murder of Lena Sarschine.