It was not long before Grewgus’ prophecy that they were only at the
beginning of the mystery came true. What is now about to be narrated
is gleaned from the letters sent to his chief from Brussels by
Simmons. Later on he came to England, and amplified the various
details of the whole affair.
Monsieur Calliard went to Brussels in due course from Paris and took
up his quarters at one of the well-known hotels in that delightful
city. Simmons, obeying his chief’s telegraphed instructions, followed
him, and was always at his heels.
On this visit the gay old Frenchman was apparently devoting himself
whole-heartedly to his business, and not indulging in any little
flutters. His habits were exceedingly regular. He devoted his
mornings, and frequently his afternoons, to visits to his various
customers. The rest of his time he spent at the hotel. No ladies,
young or middle-aged, relieved the monotony of his leisure moments.
Needless to say that Simmons kept open a wary eye for the reappearance
of Zillah Mayhew and the man Edwards. To his surprise neither turned
up. In the meantime Grewgus was keeping a watch on the women at
Ashstead Mansions, and convinced himself, with the aid of the friendly
hall-porter, that she was in London during the whole of the time that
Léon Calliard was in Brussels. Therefore, a certain theory of his was
shattered, when he found she was staying on from day to day.
His idea was that, having discovered she was being shadowed in Paris,
her plans had been suddenly nipped in the bud by that fact, and she
had headed for the shelter of the flat. This did not mean that she had
given up her original designs against the wealthy jeweller, only
postponed them. After a brief interval, during which she judged the
scent would have become cold, she would follow him to Brussels, and
there add him to her no doubt very numerous list of victims. It
followed from this, then, that blackmail had not been her ultimate
object.
But it was obvious that she had some object in sticking so closely to
the Frenchman. And so far as it was possible to reason, the
instructions given by Stormont to Edwards were concerned with the
wealthy jeweller, as neither the man nor the woman had associated with
anybody else during their stay in Paris. Edwards had been seen about
with nobody except the girl who called herself Miss Glenthorne.
For three days Simmons kept a pretty close watch on Calliard. On the
fourth he relaxed his vigilance a little, having made up his mind by
now that nothing more was to be feared from the pair of confederates.
And on this day something unusual happened. Calliard did not return to
the hotel for lunch, and he did not return for dinner. Simmons did not
attach very great importance to this; he might have gone somewhere
else for the day on business. To-morrow he would see him pursuing his
ordinary routine, without a doubt. But when the morrow came, and no
Calliard appeared in his usual haunts, Simmons became alarmed.
That evening he went to the director of the _Palace Hotel_, with whom
he had a slight acquaintance, and who knew the nature of his
occupation, and inquired for news. He explained that, unknown to
Calliard himself, he was watching his movements in connection with a
certain couple who might have evil designs upon him.
The director, a most voluble person, was quite ready to talk to a man
whom he knew he could trust.
“I have known Monsieur Calliard for years, ever since I have been
connected with the _Palace Hotel_; his connection with us is a long
one and dates before the time I came here. I suppose you know that he
is a man of considerable wealth, a partner in a very flourishing firm
in Marseilles. He came here about every few months to do business with
the leading jewellers in Brussels, and he carried in that brown bag
his samples, worth some hundreds of thousands of francs. When he had
finished his rounds for the day, it was his invariable custom to
deposit that very valuable bag in our safe.”
Simmons noticed that the director had been speaking all along in the
past tense. He had a very sure premonition of what was coming.
“He went out as usual after breakfast to make his customary morning
calls, taking his bag with him. As I take it, you have been watching
him, probably you know that as well as I do?”
Simmons had to admit that on this particular morning his vigilance had
been relaxed. Having made up his mind that neither of the pair he
suspected was in the vicinity, he was prepared to take it easy till
Monsieur Calliard left Brussels, when he would follow him to his next
stopping place.
The director shrugged his shoulders: “That is most unfortunate, for
then we might know more than we do. He said especially that he would
return to luncheon--as a matter of fact he has lunched and dined here
every day during his visit--but he happened to make particular mention
of it. Luncheon time arrived, and he did not turn up. We didn’t attach
very great importance to the fact. He might have been detained, or
been invited by one of his customers. When dinner-time came and he was
again absent, I began to feel a bit uneasy. Remember he was carrying
in that bag a small fortune.”
“Monsieur Calliard is just a little bit--what shall we say--frisky for
a man of his age, is he not?” queried Simmons.
The director smiled: “A wee bit, perhaps. I fancy he is rather
susceptible where the other sex is concerned. On previous occasions he
has sometimes brought here to lunch and dinner some fascinating
members of it. But this time nothing of the sort happened. Not a soul
has been to see him since he first set foot in the hotel.”
Simmons thought there might be a good reason for this. No doubt the
volatile Frenchman had received a rude shock when Grewgus told him the
real character of the young woman to whom he was so hospitable in
Paris. He had resolved to walk more warily for a little time.
“When I came down this morning and found he was still absent, I came
to the conclusion it was time to act. I notified the police at once. I
despatched a long wire to his firm in Marseilles, acquainting them
with the suspicious circumstances. I have had one in reply.”
“And they are, of course, very alarmed?” said Simmons.
“Not so much as you would imagine. It is a very long wire, and in it
they suggest he may have gone to Ostend to see a certain client, and
will return in due course. But I am very doubtful of this. Monsieur
Calliard was a very methodical man, not likely to do anything on the
spur of the moment. If he had intended to pay this visit to Ostend, he
would have had it in his mind for some little time, and notified us of
his intention. Well, the affair is now in the hands of the police.”
It was not till five days later that the dénouement came. It was
evening, and Simmons sat on the terrace of the _Café Metropole_,
sipping his _apéritif_. While doing so, he opened the _Petit Bleu_
and read a long account of the recovery of the body of an elderly,
well-dressed man from the river Meuse, at a bend about a mile behind
the little village of Godime. The doctors declared that it had been in
the river since about the date corresponding with the disappearance of
the wealthy jeweller.
Upon him was found a sum of about three thousand francs, and papers
which conclusively proved that he was a Monsieur Léon Calliard,
member of a well-known firm, and residing in the Rue Lenon at
Marseilles. In his pocket was found a half-obliterated letter written
in indelible pencil, stating his intention of committing suicide in
consequence of an unfortunate love affair.
Simmons hastened round to his friend the director of the hotel, whom
he found acquainted with the news. This gentleman threw scorn upon the
suggestion of suicide.
“Bah, my friend,” he cried excitedly, “Calliard was not that sort of
man; he was a most devout Catholic. A love affair that would drive him
off his head at his age. The idea is preposterous. He was fond of the
society of attractive women, granted, but his was not the sort of
nature capable of a great passion. I should like to see that letter,
Monsieur Simmons. I will wager it is a forgery, put there by the
assassin who killed him in order to get hold of that bag with its
valuable contents.”
And so, later on, it was proved to be the case. When the letter was
shown to some of his intimate friends they unanimously declared it was
a clumsy imitation of Calliard’s handwriting.
“So all along it was robbery and murder, not simply blackmail that was
intended,” said Grewgus, as he and his client sat discussing the whole
facts of the case. “Simmons, of course, committed a blunder in not
following Calliard that particular morning. He might have averted a
tragedy. On the other hand, he might not. This is the work of a very
cunning gang, and so long as Calliard had that bag in his possession,
they were determined to have it. They would not have been satisfied
with a first rebuff or a second. They would have followed him till
they got it. Depend upon it, they had their plans laid with devilish
precision. I don’t suppose we shall ever know how they got him into
their clutches.”
“It is strange that Edwards and the woman should have so suddenly
effaced themselves,” commented Lydon. “If they had a hand in it, you
would think they would have been in at the closing act. Is it
possible, do you think, that this tragedy is simply a coincidence?
That he was done to death by people who had no connection with them?”
Grewgus shook his head. “There is no evidence against them, certainly.
Miss Mayhew has been at Ashstead Mansions every day since she came
back from Paris, that I have ascertained. In her case she has a
perfect alibi. Of Edwards I can speak with no positiveness. Simmons
took a snapshot of him in Paris, and I have had two men scouring
London for him with no success, as we are unacquainted with his
haunts. Of course, for all we know to the contrary, he might have been
lurking in the neighbourhood of that little village of Godime. But,
all the same, I believe Miss Mayhew played a big part in this affair.”
Lydon looked at the detective inquiringly. “I should like to know in
what way you connect her with the case,” he said. “Of course, in a
thing of this sort, I feel myself utterly helpless, so far as my
reasoning faculties are concerned.”
Grewgus smiled. “One would hardly expect otherwise, Mr. Lydon. Up to
the present, you can have had no experience of criminal methods, which
I can assure you are very subtle. Robbery was intended from the
beginning, supplemented by murder, if that was absolutely necessary.
In this case I assume the existence of a cleverly organized gang of
international crooks, with spies everywhere. They find out that the
unfortunate Calliard, member of a wealthy firm, is accustomed to make
periodical visits to the various important capitals, carrying with him
in that small bag an immense amount of valuable property.
“They already know a good deal, but they want to know more, be better
versed in details. They set Miss Mayhew on him, one of their cleverest
decoys. No doubt, the beginnings of the plot were hatched at
Trouville, where he first made her acquaintance and, unfortunately for
himself, was attracted by her. Their meeting was not accidental. They
knew he would be there and dispatched her to the same hotel, to find
out all she could, to make herself acquainted with his movements, to
insinuate herself into his confidence.
“She found him very easy to deal with. Calliard no doubt was a good
business man in many ways, or he would not have been entrusted with
such important missions, but for one of his age he struck me as
singularly simple. And he was garrulous and communicative in the
extreme. He blurted out a lot of things to me which he would have
shown wisdom in keeping to himself. He took me on trust, as it were,
on my production of a card stating my name and profession. That card
might easily have been prepared for the purpose. I give this as an
illustration of his simplicity, of his tendency to take things at
their face value. A clever woman would twist him round her little
finger, easily get out of him what she wanted to know. Neither in Rome
nor Trouville did they find things fall out quite in accordance with
their plans. It was not till they got him to Paris that they were able
to set to work in grim earnest, with the result we know.”
“None of the jewellery has been traced, I suppose?”
“Not that I have heard of,” was the detective’s answer. “They had
their plans cut and dried, you may depend. A few hours after they had
got hold of the stuff you can be sure the valuable stones were out of
their settings and on the way to a safe market.”
After a little while, Lydon spoke. “You have reconstructed the whole
thing very cleverly, and in my own mind I feel you are right. But we
have really no tangible evidence against Stormont, have we?”
Grewgus shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing that would convince a jury, I
fear. It is all intensely circumstantial. Still, that letter of his to
Zillah which you intercepted is a very important link. Would you like
me to go to Scotland Yard and put them in possession of all we know,
so that they could join forces with the Paris police?”
But Leonard could not bring himself to consent to this step. The
thought of his beloved Gloria, of her father, a man of the highest
probity and honour, forbade it. Much as he would have rejoiced, for
his dead friend’s sake, that Elise Makris should be punished, he
shrank from bringing disgrace upon Howard Stormont’s innocent
relatives.
It was finally arranged between the two men that Grewgus should still
keep a watch upon the flat in Ashstead Mansions, and note the further
movements of Whitehouse and his supposed niece. It was evident that
this taciturn individual had taken no active part in the Calliard
affair, was not even so much implicated in it as Stormont appeared to
be by that letter to his “clever Zillah.” But Grewgus had a very
strong suspicion that the couple worked very closely together.
They did find something out about Whitehouse a little later on which
added to the general mystery. Hornby Court did not absorb the whole of
his activities. He had a small set of offices near Bedford Row, where
he attended three days a week. His staff consisted of a senior and
junior clerk, and he practised as a solicitor under the name of
Glenthorne. So far they had not been able to discover what sort of a
business it was, or what class of clients patronized him. It certainly
had not the air of a particularly flourishing concern.
From the _Cecil Hotel_, the Jasper Stormonts, accompanied by Gloria,
soon moved further afield. It had been cordially acquiesced in by
Howard Stormont that during their stay in England they should have
their daughter to themselves. For his own part, Jasper would have
liked to make a tour in Scotland, but he was a very unselfish man, and
he could not bear the idea of parting the two young people. He felt
that he had come too little into the girl’s life to permit him to
think only of himself. He therefore chose Brighton; it was so easy for
Lydon to run down and return by a fast train.
Although a man rather inclined to frugality than extravagance, Leonard
was surprised to find that he had elected to stay at one of the most
expensive hotels in the place. And not content with the public
apartments, he had taken a private sitting-room. He explained matters
to his future son-in-law with his usual kindly smile.
“You must not think, my dear boy, I am trying to rival my spendthrift
brother. The simple truth is this. At home I conduct my affairs in a
very steady and prudent manner. But when I take a holiday, I like to
do things well and have every comfort. A thoroughly economical holiday
is worse than none.”
They intended to stay at Brighton till it was time to return to China,
and Lydon was very pleased with the arrangement. All that he had
learned recently had made Effington exceedingly distasteful to him. As
for Howard Stormont, he could hardly bear to shake hands with him, in
view of his grave suspicions.
It was about three weeks after the interview between himself and
Grewgus that he received an important message from the detective to
come round to his office at the earliest moment, as he had the most
surprising news to communicate. He did not want to blurt them out over
the telephone.
Lydon was round as soon as possible, and found the detective looking
quite excited for a man of his usually calm temperament.
“You will be as surprised as I was, I expect,” he said as soon as his
client was seated. “Our friend Miss Makris, alias Mayhew, alias
Glenthorne, has left Ashstead Mansions. She has taken one of the
smaller houses in Curzon Street, has furnished it splendidly in a few
days, and is living there under the name of Mrs. Edwards with her
husband, the good-looking fellow who was over in Paris when she was
playing her game with poor old Calliard. The mother is not with them.
I should say they are after something very big this time.”
And as Grewgus spoke, there flashed across the young man’s mind what
Jasper Stormont had told him a little while ago. His brother was
looking forward to a great _coup_ which might enable him to give up
business altogether. Was the owner of Effington at the back of this
sudden metamorphosis of the “clever Zillah” into Mrs. Edwards, the
tenant of the house in Curzon Street?