“A very terrible affair, Lord Wraysbury,” were his first remarks.
“Very terrible for all parties concerned. Zillah has been to me; she
is distracted. They had an awful scene after you went, and the same
evening Edwards left the house. He raved that he would not spend
another night under the same roof with her. Much as I deplore her
conduct, I could not help pitying her.”
Mr. Glenthorne seemed to make no secret of his belief in the guilt of
the parties. “Of course, she swore to me that her husband had no
ground for his suspicions, that unfortunately appearances were against
her, that she was perfectly innocent. Well, any woman in her position
would naturally say the same thing.”
“Mrs. Edwards has simply told the truth,” answered Wraysbury, speaking
with the warmth he felt. “She is innocent, and so am I.”
“Lord Wraysbury, you will understand that I should espouse my niece’s
cause if I felt I had a leg to stand upon,” said the usually taciturn
man. “In that case, I would go to her husband and force him to hear
reason. But how can I, in the face of such strong circumstantial
evidence? How would it appear to you, if I told you the same story of
somebody else? Her husband away, as she was quite sure, the servants
packed off to the theatre, she alone in the house! What would a jury
say?”
It was on the tip of the young man’s tongue to answer that he was
convinced that it was an elaborate plot, engineered by one or both and
carried out with scrupulous regard to detail. But he could not say
this very well to the woman’s uncle, at any rate till he had received
capable advice. He took refuge in silence, till suddenly what he
considered a bright idea struck him. It was his general rule to
destroy all correspondence that he considered of little importance,
and at the time he had certainly classed Mrs. Edwards’ letter under
that category. But by the merest accident he had preserved it, and he
showed it to his visitor with the observation, “If that doesn’t prove
to you my visit was an innocent one, nothing will.”
The grave-faced man read it with the closest attention, and in due
course handed it back. “This cuts both ways, my lord. You probably are
not possessed of what we call the legal mind. I am, being in the
profession of the law myself, I am a solicitor. If I were acting as
your counsel, I should urge this as an almost convincing proof of your
innocence. But how would the counsel on the other side argue? He would
say that letter was written with a purpose, as the result of an
agreement between both parties, the purpose being to avert suspicion
if, by an unforeseen accident, you were discovered together. He would
also say that if the visit were a perfectly innocent one, there would
be no necessity to get the servants out of the way. Mind you, I am
endeavouring to show you what would present itself to the legal mind.
It would give me the greatest pleasure to prove Edwards in the wrong,
but I fear that letter won’t help me.”
It might be a mere coincidence, but he was using just the same
argument that the husband had employed. Having once allowed the
suspicious side of his nature to develop itself, Wraysbury suspected
this grave-faced man.
“What is the object of this visit, Mr. Glenthorne?” he asked sharply.
“My deep concern for my niece’s welfare,” was the reply. “It is an
awful thing to contemplate a beautiful young woman’s career being
blasted almost before it has begun, as it must be if this affair comes
into court.”
“Had you not better show that letter to Edwards, and point out to him
the consequences of the step he is taking?”
Mr. Glenthorne spoke, Wraysbury thought, in a less assured tone.
“Unfortunately Edwards is a very obstinate man, a very vindictive one.
The only thing one could appeal to, perhaps, would be his cupidity. He
is very fond of money for its own sake, not because he hasn’t plenty
of his own.”
Wraysbury repressed a smile. Sharpened by his experience of recent
events, he divined that this solemn-faced, not very prepossessing
person had come as an emissary. Realizing the delicacy of his mission,
he experienced some embarrassment in coming to the point. He was now
evidently on the road to it.
“Will you speak a little more plainly, sir? I am not a very subtle
person myself. Will you tell me what is in your mind?”
And Glenthorne told him. “If this matter comes into court, Lord
Wraysbury, it will not only ruin my niece for life, it will be a very
serious thing for you, it will damage you greatly, and cause terrible
grief to your most worthy parents. I think it is worth a considerable
sacrifice, even from your own point of view, to prevent it reaching
that stage.”
The man was showing his hand very plainly now. Wraysbury, with a face
as grave as his own, led him on. “In plain English, you suggest this
injured husband, as he pretends to be, can be bought off?”
Glenthorne lowered his voice. “Between ourselves, my lord, I believe
it might be possible. As I have told you, he is a very greedy man; I
believe greed to be the predominant feature in his character. He will,
of course, go for heavy damages, and, with your well-known wealth, he
is likely to obtain them. I think it possible that, if you anticipated
those damages, as it were, made him a firm offer, he might withdraw
from the action. Of course, I cannot speak positively, but I think it
would be worth trying.”
“I could say nothing on that point until I had consulted with my own
solicitors, Shelford & Taylor. You will understand that.”
“Quite,” agreed Glenthorne. “Shelford & Taylor, a most respectable
firm, their reputation is second to none. But, although I have the
highest respect for my profession, may I suggest that, in certain
cases, lawyers are not always the best judges? I think in the present
instance the advice of a man of the world would be more helpful to
you. Of course, for all I know to the contrary, this firm may be men
of the world as well as solicitors. In that case I have very little
doubt as to how they would advise you.”
“You think they would advise me to pay hush-money to this person. And
do you happen to know at what price he values his fancied wrongs?”
asked Wraysbury in a sarcastic tone. The reply confirmed his
conviction that Glenthorne was in the plot as well, and had come for
the purpose of sounding him.
“I can give you some indication, I think. When my niece told me the
painful story, I felt it incumbent on me to do something, to use my
best endeavours to avert the impending catastrophe. Edwards is staying
at the _Cecil_, that was the address he sent to me the day after he
had left Curzon Street. I did not call upon him at once; I thought it
wiser to give him time for his anger to cool down. I used all the
arguments I could think of to dissuade him from the drastic course he
had resolved upon. I met with a very stubborn resistance, as I
expected. But my impression when I left was that he would abandon the
idea of a divorce, if a sufficient sum were offered him. In that case
he would never live with his wife again, but settle upon her a quite
decent income.”
“And what is his idea of a sufficient sum?” queried Wraysbury.
“I am sorry to say a very high one. For my own part, I thought an
amount round about fifty thousand would meet the case. He laughed at
me, and said he wouldn’t move for twice that. If two hundred thousand
were offered, he would probably consider it, nothing less.”
At this point in the interview, Wraysbury rose, controlling his
indignation with a great effort. “In an hour I am going to see
Shelford, and shall tell him what has passed between us.”
Mr. Glenthorne took the hint and prepared to depart. “If the suit goes
on, I shall act for my niece, and all communications as regards
Edwards and yourself will be conducted by your own firms. But if you
entertain the idea of the course I have suggested, it might be as well
to deal through me. Edwards is a touchy fellow, and requires a good
deal of handling. Here is my card.”
Wraysbury afterwards saw Shelford. When the whole details were
explained to him, including the tentative suggestion of Glenthorne,
whose name as a practising solicitor was unknown to him, he at once
agreed that it was a put-up job, out of which this shady practitioner
was to have his bit. They talked for a long time, and then the idea of
Grewgus occurred to Shelford. These people most probably belonged to
the underworld of which the detective had a considerable knowledge. He
advised him to see Grewgus at once, and fixed up the appointment.
“So now you have the whole story,” said the unfortunate young nobleman
when he came to the end of it. “Two alternatives face me, and only
two; either I must pay this big sum to this infamous set of swindlers,
or suffer my name to be dragged through the mire.”
“Which course does Shelford advise?” asked the detective.
“He is almost as undecided as myself. I don’t pretend that the two
hundred thousand would break me; they know that as well as I do. But
it is unspeakably humiliating to pay such a big sum for what was not
even an act of folly, rather an absence of discretion. On the other
hand, if the action goes on----”
The young man paused a moment to conquer his emotion. “You see, Mr.
Grewgus, I have a very vulnerable place and these thieves know it. I
am the only child of my parents, God-fearing, devout souls who have
lived lives unspotted from the world. If I alone were concerned,
conscious of my innocence, I would brave the shame and scandal of it.
But it would break their hearts. They would believe me, because they
know my good points as well as my bad ones, but they would know half
our world wouldn’t share their belief, and they would never hold up
their heads again.”
And then Grewgus spoke. He had great sympathy with this manly young
fellow; he had heard his voice tremble when he spoke of his mother and
father. Thoughtless and careless perhaps, like many young men of his
age, but a loyal and affectionate son.
“I don’t want to send you away from this office in a too optimistic
frame of mind; I cannot absolutely promise to get you out of the
clutch of these cunning blackmailers, but I’m going to have a devilish
good try. It is a most fortunate thing that Shelford has sent you to
me, instead of to one of my confrères, for it happens that through my
investigations on behalf of another client I know a great deal about
all these people which they would be very sorry to have come to light.
I think--mind you, I cannot be sure--that what I know will be
sufficient to deter them from going any further. Leave it to me. I
will arrange with Shelford to allow me to act upon your behalf. When I
have got that formal permission, I will see this man Edwards, and
throw my bombshell into his camp.”
Lord Wraysbury was delighted with the turn of events. “But this is
simply wonderful,” he cried. “Do you know something of every one of
them?”
Grewgus was delighted too, to such an extent that he relaxed his
habitual reticence. “Not so much about Edwards, except one very
damaging thing, but a good deal about Stormont, Mrs. Edwards, even the
smooth-tongued Glenthorne, who, of course, paid you that visit in the
interests of his pals. Well, good day, Lord Wraysbury. I shall lose no
time, I assure you. I expect to fire my bombshell to-morrow, and after
the interview I shall at once let you know what I expect the result
will be.”
The young nobleman departed in much better spirits than he had
entered. Being a very generous fellow, he resolved that if Grewgus did
extricate him from his unpleasant position, he should receive a fee
that would astonish him.
Having conferred with Mr. Shelford over the ’phone, the detective sent
a note to the _Hotel Cecil_ addressed to Edwards, in which he told
that person he was acting on behalf of Lord Wraysbury in a certain
matter and begged the favour of an appointment.
The boy who took the letter was to wait for an answer, if Edwards was
in. He returned with it.
“Dear Sir,” wrote the _débonnaire_ person who belonged to so many
respectable clubs,--“In reply to yours, I beg to say that I shall be
at your disposal any time between eleven and twelve to-morrow. Yours
faithfully, Bertram Edwards.”
The detective smiled grimly as he wondered if this elegant crook had
any idea of what was in store for him. Hardly. He probably conjectured
that the detective was paying him a visit for the purpose of beating
him down.
Before he went to the _Cecil_, he paid a flying visit to Lydon at his
office and told him what had passed between himself and Wraysbury on
the previous day. He had no hesitation in doing this, as it had been
agreed that he should watch what was going on at Curzon Street on
Lydon’s behalf.
It was, of course, what they had expected from the day when the young
nobleman had attended Mrs. Edwards’ reception.
“I’m glad we have got confirmation,” remarked the detective. “But I do
wish we could have directly implicated Stormont in it, that he had,
for instance, taken the rôle in it played by Glenthorne, alias
Whitehouse.”
“We can guess he was at the back of it anyhow,” continued Grewgus.
“Rather amusing his being at that first dinner. I expect he couldn’t
resist the pleasure of hobnobbing with such a distinguished person as
Wraysbury. But I think we have got enough against Stormont now, with
the help of our venal friend Newcombe. He has kept himself pretty well
in the background in this affair, but we have sufficient proof that he
is the friend of blackmailers. And a man is known by the company he
keeps.”
“Quite true. Well, now that I know this, I shall tell Jasper Stormont
at the earliest opportunity. I am staying with him at Brighton. I
haven’t told you before, but I may as well tell you now, I am engaged
to Jasper’s daughter. He is a bank official in China and she has been
living with her uncle since she was a child. She is now with her
parents at Brighton, and she must never return to the criminal
atmosphere of Effington.”
Grewgus had learned the fact of the engagement from Newcombe, but he
affected to hear it for the first time. He fully concurred in the
young man’s determination that she should not return to Effington.
Later on, he was shown into a private sitting-room where he found Mr.
Bertram Edwards, looking as smart and gentlemanly as ever. He could
not help thinking that this elegant young crook, with his charming
manners, must be a great asset to the gang. If he did not move in the
most select circles like Wraysbury, it was evident, from what Lydon
had told him of the Curzon Street party, that he had a foothold in
quite respectable society.
“You have come about this wretched Wraysbury matter, I understand?” he
said in his pleasant, urbane tones.
The detective intimated that this was the object of his visit.
“And have you anything to propose, Mr. Grewgus?”
“My client, Lord Wraysbury, has received a sort of unofficial
intimation from a man named Glenthorne, who claims to be the lady’s
uncle, that if the sum of two hundred thousand pounds is paid to you,
you will abandon proceedings. I beg to tell you, Mr. Edwards, I shall
advise his lordship not to pay you a single farthing.”
Edwards tried to assume an expression of indifference, but it was easy
to see he was taken aback by this blunt declaration.
“In that case, sir, the action will proceed, and I shall go for heavy
damages. I am not going to permit a young sprig of the nobility to
violate the sanctity of my home, without making him smart for it in
the only place where he can feel it--in his pocket.”
Grewgus bent upon the dandified man his very penetrating and
expressive glance. “This is a business interview, Mr. Edwards, and
there is no necessity for heroics. You know as well as I do that Lord
Wraysbury is quite innocent of any desire to violate the sanctity of
your home, or, for the matter of that, the home of anybody. He’s not
that sort of man. Let me warn you that if you do proceed with this
action, it is at your own peril and that of the lady who bears your
name.”
“My own peril! What the devil do you mean?” blustered Edwards. But, in
spite of his assumed bravado, Grewgus saw an unhealthy pallor creeping
over his usually high-coloured cheek.
Again that penetrating gaze, that distinct and deliberate utterance:
“I don’t know very much about you at present, Mr. Edwards; I have no
doubt I shall add something more to my knowledge shortly. One little
thing I do know, that you were in Paris a short time before the
discovery of the dead body of Léon Calliard in the river Meuse. And
that every day you were meeting the woman who is now Mrs. Edwards in
the outskirts of the city.”
He paused, expecting a bold-faced disclaimer. But it did not come. For
the moment, the man was stricken dumb.
“Of the woman now calling herself your wife, I know a great deal more,
under her different names of Elise Makris, Zillah Mayhew, Miss
Glenthorne. I also know a fair amount about your friend Stormont. And
the same applies to another friend of yours, Glenthorne, otherwise
John Whitehouse. Have I said enough?”
Still there was no reply; the man could not find speech, and he had
aged in those few seconds.
“Please understand me once and for all. If, in a reckless moment, you
persist in this baseless charge against my client and your wife, who
is your accomplice in the matter, I go to Scotland Yard and give my
information, which, as I have told you, is rather extensive.”
Edwards rose to his feet and pointed with a shaking hand to the door.
“Leave the room, you wretched spy. Tell your client the action will
proceed,” he shouted with a last attempt at bravado.
Grewgus laughed derisively, and flung at him a Parthian shot as he
left.
“Don’t forget when you reckon up the pros and cons that the Paris
police are still investigating the case of Léon Calliard, the
murdered jeweller.”
As he walked along the Strand, Grewgus felt very satisfied with
himself. In spite of Edwards’ bluff, he felt sure that he had won the
day.
And presently a man brushed past him as he was within a few yards of
Charing Cross Station, walking at a rapid pace; it was the man he had
just left.
As he hastily crossed the road at Villiers Street, Grewgus had a
sudden idea that he was going to the telegraph office to dispatch a
wire. He could have sent it from the _Cecil_, of course, but no doubt
he had good reasons for not doing so.
Grewgus was a past-master in the art of shadowing. Behind the hurrying
man came the tall, thin form of the detective. And over his shoulder,
as he wrote the message, Grewgus read the words: “Stormont, Effington,
Surrey. It must be dropped. See me to-morrow without fail--Edwards.”
After reading it, Grewgus crept stealthily away, and was in the street
again, while Edwards, unconscious that he had been watched, was
presenting the telegram at the counter.
Circumstantial evidence, it is true, but of the very strongest
character. What did that wire mean? One thing, and one thing only.
Edwards had been so thoroughly frightened that he was afraid to go on
with the Wraysbury affair, had advised his friend Stormont of the
necessity of dropping it, and urged him to see him to-morrow to tell
him what had happened. It was convincing proof that Stormont was in
the plot.