AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
Mr. Mask had a dark little office in the city down a long narrow
lane which led from Cheapside. In the building he inhabited were
many offices, mostly those of the legal profession, and Mr. Mask's
rooms were on the ground floor. He had only two. In the outer one
a clerk almost as old as Mr. Mask himself scribbled away in a slow
manner, and showed in clients to the inner room. This was a gloomy
little dungeon with one barred window looking out on to a blank
wall, damp and green with slime. Light was thrown into the room
through this window by means of a silvered glass, so the actual
illumination of the apartment was very small indeed, even in
summer. In winter the gas glared and flared all the day.
Here Mr. Mask sat like a spider in his den, and the place was so
full of cobwebs that it really suggested spiders in plenty. There
was a rusty grate in which a fire was never lighted, an old
mahogany bookcase filled with uninviting-looking volumes, and a
tin wash-stand which was hidden behind a screen of shabby Indian
workmanship. The walls were piled to the dingy ceiling with black
japanned deed-boxes, with the names of various clients inscribed
on them in white letters. Before the window--and dirty enough the
glass of that was--stood a large mahogany table covered untidily
with papers, deeds, briefs, memoranda, and such-like legal
documents. A small clearing in front was occupied by red blotting
paper, and a large lead ink bottle with a tray of pens. There was
one chair for Mr. Mask and one for a client. Finally, as there was
no carpet on the floor it may be guessed that the office was not an
inviting-looking sanctum. Into this hole--as it might fitly be
termed--Allen was shown one morning. He had not called immediately
on Mr. Mask when he came to town, as he had been searching for his
father for the last five days. But all inquiries proved futile.
Allen went to the hotel at which Mr. Hill usually stayed, but could
not find him there. He had not been stopping in the place for
months. Allen sought the aid of the police, but they could not find
Mr. Hill. Finally he put an advertisement in the paper, which
remained unanswered. Also Allen had called on Mr. Hill's bankers,
but found that he had not been near the place. It was so strange
that Allen was beginning to feel afraid. The message conveyed in the
symbol sent through Cain must be a very serious one, to make his
father cut himself off from those who knew him, in this way.
As a last resource, Allen came to see Mr. Mask, feeling he should
have done this before. Mask had a large business, but on the face of
it appeared to do very little in the dingy office. But he was a man
who could be trusted with a secret, and many people who knew this
intrusted him with affairs they wished kept quiet. Consequently
Mask's business was sometimes rather shady, but he made a great deal
of money by it, and that was all he cared about.
A silent, cold man was Mask, and even in his own home at Bloomsbury
he was secretive. Still the man had his good points, and had an
undercurrent of good nature of which he was somewhat ashamed, heaven
only knows why. If he had been as hard as he looked, he certainly
would not have asked Mrs. Palmer to give poor Eva a home.
"Well, Mr. Allen," said Mask, who called him thus to distinguish
him from his father, whom he had known many years, "so you have
come at last?" Allen, who was placing his hat on the floor, as
there was no table to put it on, started and stared. "Did you
expect me?"
"Long ago," said Mask, putting his fingers together and leaning back
with crossed legs; "in fact, you should have come to me five days ago.
There was no necessity for you to consult the police as to your
father's whereabouts, or to call at his bank and hotel, or to put that
very injudicious advertisement into the paper."
"You seem to know all about my doings?"
"Quite so. I know a great many things. To be frank, Mr. Allen, I have
had you watched by a private detective, ever since you came to town."
Allen rose in a towering rage. "How dare you do that, Mr. Mask?"
"I did so at your father's request," said the lawyer, on whom the
young man's rage produced not the least effect.
"You have seen him?"
"I have. He came to me when he arrived."
"Do you know where he is?"
"I do--but I am not at liberty to tell you."
"Do you know why he is acting in this way?"
Mr. Mask's calm face suddenly wrinkled. "No," he said, looking
perplexed, "frankly, Mr. Allen, I don't, and I am glad you have
called. I wish to talk the matter over with you."
"Why didn't you send for me, then?"
"Because it is never my wish to take the initiative. People come to
me. I don't go to them. I get a lot of business by waiting, Mr.
Allen. People are only too glad to find a man who can keep a secret;
I have made a fine business out of nothing, simply by holding my
tongue."
"And do you intend to do so in this instance?"
Mask shrugged his spare shoulders. "That depends. Johnstone!"
He raised his voice rather, and the door opened to admit a small
clerk with a large red beard and a bald head, and a face lined with
wrinkles. What his age was no one could tell, and he said as little
as he could, being as secretive as his master. Without a word he
stood at the door, seen dimly in the half light of the office, for
the day was dark. "Johnstone," said Mr. Mask. "I'll be engaged with
this gentleman for some time. Let no one in, till I call again."
Johnstone bowed and departed without a word, while Mr. Mask went on in
a smooth tone, "I sit in this office from ten in the morning till six
at night. Johnstone comes at nine and leaves at four."
"Why before you?" asked Allen, wondering why this information was
supplied.
"Because I like the office to myself to see nervous clients. The
lawyers in the other offices of the building do not stay late, and
frequently I am perfectly alone with clients who wish their business
kept so secret that they don't want even to be seen entering this
place."
"Are you not afraid?"
Mr. Mask shrugged his shoulders again. "No. Why should I be?"
"Some rough client might do you some harm."
"Oh, I don't think so. Any one who comes here finds it to his
interest to conciliate me, not to threaten. But I confess that I was
rather startled the other night."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll come to the story in time. Because I intend to tell it, I drew
your attention to my hours. Well, Mr. Allen," Mask leaned back again,
"and what can I do for you?"
"Tell me where my father is."
"I can't do that. I have not your father's permission to do so."
"How long will he be away?"
"Until I can induce him to return," said Mask blandly.
Allen leaned forward, and looked the lawyer in the eyes. "Is my
father afraid of being arrested?"
Mask started. "No. Why do you say that?"
"Because--but before I tell you, may I ask his reason for staying
away?"
Mask looked perplexed again. "I can't exactly tell you," he said. "I
may as well be frank, Mr. Allen, as I don't like the situation. Your
father, whom I have known all his life, came to me over a week ago
in great agitation. He said that he was in danger, but what the
danger was, he refused to confess. I insisted on an explanation, and
he promised to tell me some day. Meantime he wanted to be hidden away
for the time being. I arranged that for him."
"I don't think that was wise of you, Mr. Mask."
"My good Allen--I can call you so as I've known you since you were a
lad--there is no reason why I should not help your father. He may
have done something against the law, for all I know, but as he is my
client, it is my duty to help him. He is a good client to me, and I
am not such a fool as to lose him. It is my business to keep secrets,
and here is one I have not found out. But I don't intend to let your
father go away till I _do_ find out," said Mask grimly. "On that
condition I helped him. And after all," added the lawyer, "your
father is quite in his sane senses, and I have no right to dictate to
him, even when he acts in so eccentric a manner."
"He is always eccentric," said the son wearily; "but this behaviour is
beyond a joke. How is my mother to live?"
"I can't send her money. Your father will see to that."
"But why am I shut out from my father's confidence?"
"I can't say. Remember," said Mask in a slightly irritable tone, "I am
shut out also."
Allen, much perplexed over the situation which was sufficiently
annoying and mysterious, thought for a moment. "Did my father tell
you of the cardboard box he received?"
"He did not. He said nothing, save that he wished to hide for a
time, and would reveal his reason later."
"Then I must tell you everything I know," said Allen in
desperation. "If my father won't trust you, I must. My mother is
in a great state of alarm, and for her sake I must get him to come
back."
Mr. Mask looked doubtful. "I don't know whether he'll hear reason," he
said, after a pause. "However, what you tell me will go no further."
"Well then, Mr. Mask, I know why my father is afraid."
"It's more than I do. Why is he afraid?"
"Because he thinks he may be arrested for the murder of Strode."
Mask pushed back his chair and rose quickly. It was not an easy matter
to astonish a man, who, in that very room, had heard tales worthy of
the _Arabian Nights_, but Allen had certainly managed to do so. "Do you
mean to say he killed Strode?" he asked.
"No. But he thinks he did."
"How can that be?"
Allen related the episode of the pistol, and how he found that the
bullet which killed Strode would not fit the barrel. "So you see my
father thought he had killed him, and when this cross was sent----"
"What cross?" asked Mask, looking up quickly.
"I forgot. I thought you knew." And Allen related everything in
detail. Mask heard the story with his chin on his hand, and in
silence. Even when in full possession of the facts he did not speak.
Allen grew impatient. "What do you think?"
Mask moved a few papers hither and thither, but did not look straight
at his visitor. "It's a mystery," he said. "I know not what to say.
But I am perfectly sure of one thing," he added with emphasis, "that
your father never shot Strode----"
"I said so. The bullet that went through the heart did not fit the
barrel of my revolver."
"You misunderstand me. I don't even believe that your father fired the
shot which ripped the flesh of the arm. Why, Strode was his best
friend and he was devoted to him."
"My father to Strode, or Strode to my father?"
"Both ways you can take it. Why, it was Strode brought about the
marriage between your parents."
"My mother told me how the marriage came about," said Allen quickly,
"but I understood that my father acted from a chivalrous motive."
Mask's lip curled. "I fear not," he said, "there were circumstances
connected with your mother----"
Allen shifted himself uneasily and grew red. "I know--I know," he said
sharply, "my mother told me about the necklace. Surely you did not
believe her guilty, Mr. Mask?"
"No," said the lawyer emphatically, "I certainly did not. I can't say
who stole the necklace, but it was lost and the thief has never been
found. As to the marriage"--he waved his hand--"Strode brought it
about--at least he told me so. How he managed I can't say, unless it
was that he used his influence over your father."
"My mother believes----"
"I know. All the more credit to her. But we can discuss this on some
more fitting occasion. Meantime we must talk of your father. I don't
see why you shouldn't see him," said Mask musingly.
"Give me his address."
"Humph," said the lawyer, smiling slightly. "I'll see. But about
this murder? Your father did not kill the man."
"No," said Allen sharply, "I swear he did not."
"Quite so. Well, who did, and what was the motive?"
"Robbery was the motive," said Allen, taking a letter out of his
pocket. "Read this, I received it from Miss Strode."
Mask took the letter, but did not read it immediately. "I don't
believe the motive was robbery," he declared deliberately; "Strode had
little money. He certainly brought a hundred or so from Africa and I
cashed his letters of credit."
"Did you give him the money in notes?"
"Yes; and what is more I have the numbers of the notes. I see what
you mean: you fancy the notes were stolen and that the criminal can
thus be traced."
"Read the letter," said Allen impatiently.
The lawyer did so, and thus became possessed of a faithful report of
Saltars' communications to Eva which she had detailed for Allen's
benefit. On ending he placed the letter on the table. "A blue
pocket-book," said Mask musingly. "Yes, he had such a one. I
remember he placed the notes in it. I wonder I didn't ask about that
at the inquest. It's stolen. Humph! Looks like a commonplace robbery
after all. Allen," he raised his eyes, "I gave Strode two hundred in
ten pound Bank of England notes. As I have the numbers, I may be
able to trace how much of this sum has been spent by inquiring at
the Bank. The numbers that are missing will be those that Strode had
in the blue pocket-book when he went on that fatal journey to
Westhaven. If the murderer stole the book and has cashed the notes
he may be traced by the numbers."
"I agree. But what about the forty thousand pounds?"
Mask shook his head. "I can't say. Strode certainly never mentioned
to me that he had such a sum."
"Did he say he had diamonds?"
"No. Perhaps, as Miss Strode suggests, the forty thousand pounds may
have been locked up in diamonds as a portable way to carry such a sum.
But we found no diamonds amongst his effects, so it is probable he
carried them on his person."
"And was murdered for the sake of them?"
"Perhaps. It was strange, though, that Strode should have spoken to me
about his wooden hand. He promised that he would return from Wargrove
to place a large sum of money in my hands--probably the forty thousand
pounds, though he did not mention the amount."
"I dare say he intended to turn the diamonds into money and then give
it to you."
"Perhaps," said Mask carelessly, "but we are not yet sure if the
money was in diamonds. However, Strode said, that when he wanted the
promised money, he would get it from me personally, and, if he did
not apply in person, he would send the wooden hand. As he certainly
would not have let the hand be taken from him while alive, it was a
very safe token to send."
Allen looked down. "It seems as though he was afraid of being
killed," he said musingly; "and he was killed, and the wooden hand
was stolen."
"Not only that," said Mask, "but it was brought to me."
"What!" Allen started to his feet, "here! Why didn't you have the
man who brought it arrested?"
"Because I could not," said Mask drily; "this is why I told you
of my habits. It was after four when Johnstone and every one in
the place was away. In fact, it was nearly six, and when I was
getting ready to go, that this man came."
"What kind of a man was he?"
"A venerable old man, who looked like the Wandering Jew, with a
long white beard, and a benevolent face. He asked if he could
speak to me, and we talked. I must remind you that every one in
this building is away at the hour of six."
"I understand. But what was the old man's name?"
"He gave none. He simply asked if I had a sum of money in my
possession belonging to Mr. Strode. I said I had not; so he asked
if Mr. Strode had left a packet of diamonds with me."
"Then there _are_ diamonds!" cried Allen; "and you knew?"
"Now you mention it, I did know," said Mask coolly; "all in good
time, Allen. I wished to learn how much you knew before I spoke
out. I am a man who keeps secrets, mind you, and I don't say more
than is needful. Well, this old man, when I said that I had no
diamonds, told me in so many words that I was a liar, and
insisted that I should give them up. To test him, I jokingly
asked him if he had the wooden hand, which was to be the token to
deliver the money or diamonds. He then produced the article."
"Why didn't you arrest him?"
"Let me remind you that I was alone with the Wandering Jew, and that
he brought two men of whom I caught a glimpse. They remained in the
outer room during our conversation. I asked the old man how he
became possessed of the wooden hand. He refused to tell me, but
insisted that I should hand over the diamonds. I protested that I
had none, and told him what I tell you, as to what Strode said about
giving me money later."
"What did the old man say then?"
"He began to believe me, and muttered something about the diamonds
being in Strode's possession. Then he sang out, 'No go, Jerry,' to a
red-headed ruffian outside. After that, he left."
"You should have followed, Mr. Mask, and have had him arrested."
"I could scarcely do that," said the lawyer drily, "the old
gentleman was too clever. He went with one man, and left the
red-headed Jerry to keep watch. I had to remain in this room till
seven, or else Jerry threatened to shoot me."
"He would never have dared."
"Oh yes, he would, and in this lonely building no one could have
stopped him. Well I agreed, and remained in here doing some work. At
seven I opened the outer door. Jerry had decamped, but where he and
his friends went I can't say?"
"Have you told the police?"
"No. I think it is wiser to remain quiet. These men will try again
to get the money through the wooden hand; but they must first learn
who killed Strode, and stole the diamonds--for I now agree with you,
Allen, that the forty thousand pounds are locked up in diamonds. But
now we have talked on this point and it seems clear, let us talk on
another in the presence of a third person."
"Who?" asked Allen anxiously.
"Your father," said Mask. "Johnstone!"
The red-bearded clerk entered, and when within, removed a false beard
and a wig.
"Father," cried Allen, rising. It was indeed Mr. Hill, pale and
trembling.