Sir Angus Kinross, Chief Commissioner of Police, stood gazing down, with
a look of frowning perplexity, at the sheet of typewritten paper he held
in his hand.
For what seemed a very long time to the other three people now present
in the big light room overlooking the Embankment, he remained silent.
But at last he exclaimed, "I think it very probable that this is a
hoax--a stupid, cruel hoax!" And, as no one spoke, he added slowly,
"Whether it be so or not can soon be ascertained."
He saw a look of almost convulsive relief flash over Laura Pavely's
face. It was Laura who attracted Sir Angus in the little group of people
which now stood before him. He knew that it was this beautiful,
tragic-looking young woman who had insisted, against his strongly
expressed wish and judgment, on offering the reward which had already
brought a swarm of semi-lunatics and adventurers into the case. As for
the other woman there, he only looked upon her as a friend of Mrs.
Pavely.
Ladies in the painful position of Mrs. Pavely generally bring a sister,
or a close female friend, with them to Scotland Yard.
Sir Angus was keenly interested in this business of the country banker's
disappearance, more interested than he had been in any other matter of
the kind for a long time. He had all the threads of the affair very
clearly set out in his shrewd, powerful mind, and only that morning he
had learnt something which he believed none of the three people now
standing before him--Mrs. Pavely, Mrs. Winslow, and Lord St.
Amant--knew, or were likely ever to know, except, of course, if certain
eventualities made the fact important.
Sir Angus had just learnt that Godfrey Pavely had spent some hours of a
day he had passed at York in the company of a woman, and both he and the
very able man he had put in charge of the case, had made up their minds
that here, at last, was the real clue to the banker's disappearance.
Godfrey Pavely, so they argued at "The Yard," was certainly alive, and
either on the Continent, or hidden snugly in some English or Scottish
country town--not alone.
As so often happens, the fact that Mr. Pavely had been in York with a
lady had come to light in a very simple way. When the fact of the
well-known country banker's disappearance had been announced in the
Press, the manager of the Yorkshire branch of a London bank had written
to Scotland Yard, and stated that on a certain afternoon about a
fortnight ago--he could not remember the exact day, unfortunately--he
had seen Mr. Godfrey Pavely, of Pewsbury, in the company of a lady whom
he, the bank manager, had naturally supposed to be Mrs. Pavely. He had
looked at the banker with a good deal of interest, owing to the fact
that he and Mr. Pavely had for a while worked in the same bank in Paris
about fifteen years ago.
He had not met the couple face to face, he had seen them pass by from
the window of his private room at the bank. He could swear to Mr.
Pavely, but he had not paid any special attention to the lady--for one
thing, she had had her veil down, and he, feeling sure that she was Mrs.
Pavely, had not troubled to observe her very particularly.
Sir Angus had sent some one down to York to see this gentleman, but
nothing of further value had been elicited, excepting, yes, that the
lady had struck him as being young and attractive.
So it was that the extraordinary typewritten letter received by Mrs.
Pavely that morning very much upset the calculations and the theories of
Sir Angus and of his staff.
With frowning brow he sat down at his table and touched the electric
bell which lay concealed close to his hand.
"Ask Mr. Dowden to come to me," and a minute later Mr. Dowden came in.
"I want to know anything you can tell me about Duke House, if indeed
there is such a place as Duke House in Piccadilly. I can't remember the
name."
But at once the other answered: "It's that big new building they've
erected on the site of St. Andrews House. It fell in to the Crown on the
death of the Duke of St. Andrews, and an American syndicate bought the
site. Duke House, as they call it, was only opened last October. The
lower storeys are big bachelor flats, and the top half of the building
contains offices. Mr. Biddle, the American millionaire, has taken the
first floor, but he hasn't settled in yet, and I don't think any of the
offices have been let at all. They are asking very big rents, and they
are justified, as it's one of the finest sites in the West End."
"I want you to get through to the porter of Duke House. Find out for me
whether they have got an office let to a man--a Portuguese merchant I
take him to be, of the name of Fernando Apra." He spelt out the name.
"If you have any difficulty in getting the information, just go up there
yourself in a taxi, and find out. But I'd like you to go back into your
own rooms and try by telephone first."
There followed a long, painful ten minutes, during which Sir Angus,
though as a rule he was a man of few words, tried to while away the time
by explaining to the three people who were there why he thought it
unlikely that the letter was genuine.
"You'd be amazed," he said, "to know the number of letters we receive
purporting to contain important information which turn out to be false
in every particular. There must be a whole breed of individuals who
spend their time in writing annoying, futile letters, which, even if
signed, are very seldom signed by the writer's real name. Some of those
people are actuated by vulgar, stupid spite; others are hypnotised by
the thought of a reward. And then, again, such letters are often written
by people who have a grudge against the police, or, even more often, by
some one who has a grudge against some ordinary person who has, maybe,
done them a bad turn, or to whom they have done a bad turn! In the last
few days we've had innumerable letters, from all over the kingdom,
concerning Mr. Pavely's disappearance. It is just possible that this
man"--he looked down again at the sheet of typewritten paper--"has an
office in Duke House, but I think it very unlikely that Mr. Godfrey
Pavely was even acquainted with him----"
The door opened.
"Yes, sir, the party in question has got an office there right enough,
but he hasn't been at Duke House for some time--some three weeks, the
porter said. He took the office late in October, and for a time he was
there, on and off, a good deal. The porter don't quite know what his
business is, but as far as he knows he gives him a good character. His
office is right at the very top of the house, the only one let on that
floor."
An unpleasant little trickle of doubt came over Sir Angus's mind. When
he had first read the typewritten letter, he had doubted very much if
there was such a building in existence as Duke House, Piccadilly. Then,
after he had heard that the place was there, after, as a matter of fact,
it had been recalled to his memory by his subordinate, he had fallen
back on the belief that there would be no person of the name of Fernando
Apra to be found in Duke House.
He now fell back on a third position. Doubtless this extraordinary
letter had been written by some enemy of the man Apra who wished to
cause him the unpleasantness of a visit from the police.
After a few moments' thought Sir Angus Kinross proposed something which
none of the three people there knew to be a most surprising departure
from his usual rule.
"What would you say, Lord St. Amant, if you and I were to go up there
now, to Duke House--accompanied, of course, by two of my men? That, at
any rate, would put an end to Mrs. Pavely's suspense. If she doesn't
mind doing so, Mrs. Pavely and her friend can wait here, in my private
room."
To Lord St. Amant the proposal seemed a most natural one. "I think
that's a very good idea!" he exclaimed, and then he saw Katty's eyes
fixed imploringly on his face.
Why, of course----!
He beckoned to Sir Angus, and the two men walked over to the big window
overlooking the Embankment. "If it would not be greatly out of order,"
he muttered, "I think it might be a good thing if Mrs. Winslow--that is
Mrs. Pavely's friend--were to go with us to Duke House. She might be
useful--she has known Mr. Godfrey Pavely all her life."
Sir Angus looked very much surprised. "Of course she could come," he
said hesitatingly. "Mrs. Winslow? I didn't realise that this lady is
Mrs. Winslow. Didn't I see a letter written to her by Mr. Godfrey
Pavely? She has some odd Christian name--if it's the person I have in my
mind."
"Her Christian name is Katty," said Lord St. Amant quickly.
"Yes, that was it--'My dear Katty.' I remember now. It was a letter
about an investment, written on the 30th of December, if I'm not
mistaken. Certainly she can come with us. I have my car downstairs--she
could drive in my car, and wait in it while we make the investigation."
The two came back to where the ladies were sitting, silently waiting.
"I have suggested to Sir Angus that it might be useful if Mrs. Winslow
came with us--and you too, my dear Laura, if you desire to do so, of
course."
But Laura shook her head, and an expression of horror came into her
face. "Oh no," she exclaimed. "I would much rather stay here!"
Katty had already got up, and was drawing on the gloves she had taken
off. She felt strung up, fearfully excited--and very, very grateful to
Lord St. Amant.
She was quite unaware that for the first time the Commissioner of Police
was looking at her with attention.
* * * * *
There were two entrances to Duke House, the one giving access to the
four spacious flats, of which so far only one had been let, while the
other simply consisted of a porter's lodge and a lift shooting straight
up to the offices which were above the flats.
And now, within ten minutes of their leaving Scotland Yard, they were
all standing just within the second door, filling up the small space in
front of the lift, for Mrs. Winslow at the last moment had begged to be
allowed to get out of the car. "I don't feel as if I _could_ sit
there--waiting," she had exclaimed, and after a moment's hesitation Sir
Angus allowed the plea.
Lord St. Amant noticed with interest that the Police Commissioner took
no part in the preliminary proceedings. He left everything to the elder
of the two men he had brought with him. Still, he lent a very attentive
ear to what his subordinate was saying to the porter, and to the
porter's answers.
"I expect that it was you who answered the telephone message I sent half
an hour ago, eh?"
"Yes, of course I did--you mean about Mr. Apra here? Well, I told you
then everything there is to say about him. He's a foreigner, of
course--but a very pleasant-mannered gentleman. He took an office on the
second day we was open. For a while he was here a good bit most days,
and quite a number of people came to see him on business. Then he went
abroad, I fancy I heard him say, and his office was shut up. He wouldn't
let any one go in, not even to clean it, unless he was there. He
explained as how his business was very secret--something to do with a
Concession. He was nervous lest other folk should get hold of the idea."
"When was he here last?"
"Well, it's difficult for me to remember such a thing as that--I can't
be sure that I could say he was here within the last fortnight, or
perhaps ten days ago. Two or three people have called to see him. One
gentleman came by appointment--I do remember that, because he'd been
several times, and mostly this Mr. Apra was in to see him. But I don't
see what call you have to ask me all these questions?"
The Scotland Yard man bent forward and said something in a low voice,
and the porter exclaimed, with an air of astonishment, "What? You don't
mean to say the gentleman's 'wanted'?"
Then the detective said something else in a joking way, and the porter
shook his head. "I haven't got a key! He had another lock put on. Lots
of business gentlemen do that." And then he asked anxiously, "D'you see
any objection to my telephoning to Messrs. Drew & Co.--they're the
agents, you know? 'Twould make me more comfortable in my own mind,
because then I shouldn't get blamed--whatever happened. They'd send
some one along in about five minutes--they've got a West End office."
The Scotland Yard official looked round for instructions from Sir Angus,
and the latter imperceptibly nodded.
"All right--we'll wait five minutes. I've brought some tools along."
"Tools?" The porter stared at him.
"Sometimes, you know, we do find it necessary to burst open a door!"
The five minutes--it was barely more--seemed the longest time Katty had
ever spent in waiting.
Lord St. Amant took pity on her obvious unease and anxiety. He walked
out with her to the street, and they paced quickly up and down in the
cold, wintry air.
"Do you think we shall find anything?" she murmured at last.
He answered gravely, "I confess that the whole thing looks very queer to
me. I haven't lived to my time of life without becoming aware that
amazing, astounding things _do_ happen. Perhaps I am over-influenced by
the fact that years and years ago, when I was a boy, a school-fellow of
mine, of whom I was very fond, did shoot himself accidentally with a
pistol. He was staying with us, and he had gone on in front of me into
the gun-room--and I--I went in and found him lying on the ground--dead."
"How horrible!" murmured Katty. "How very horrible!" and her face
blanched.
As they turned yet once more, a taxi drove quickly up to the door of
Duke Mansion, and a young, clean-shaven man jumped out.
Instinctively he addressed himself to Sir Angus Kinross: "About this
tenant of ours--Mr. Fernando Apra? To the best of my belief he is a
perfectly respectable man. He gave a very good reference, that of a big
Paris banker, and with us, at any rate, he was quite frank about his
business. He has obtained a gambling concession from this new Portuguese
Government, and he came to London to try and raise money for the
building of a Casino, and so on. He's an optimistic chap, and his notion
is to create a kind of Portuguese Monte Carlo. He told us quite frankly
that he didn't intend to keep the office going here for more than six
months, or possibly a year, and we arranged that he should be able to
surrender his three years' lease--we don't let these rooms under a three
years' agreement--on the payment of a rather substantial fine. I think
the porter is sure to have a key which will admit you into his room--I
understand you want to get into his office?"
And then, at last, Sir Angus answered, rather drily, "The porter cannot
admit us to the office, for this Mr. Fernando Apra has had a second lock
fitted. It seems he never allowed any one access to the room--unless he
happened to be there himself."
"Well, he had plans there--plans of this Concession, and he was very
secretive, as are so many foreigners. Still, he impressed both me and my
father more favourably than do most foreigners we come across. As a
matter of fact, we twice lunched with him at the Berkeley. He is a man
with a tremendous flow of good spirits--speaking English very well,
though of course with a foreign accent. Has he got into any trouble?" he
looked curiously at the gentleman standing before him. He was not aware
of Sir Angus Kinross's identity, but he knew that he was from Scotland
Yard.
"We shall know more about that when we have forced open the door of his
office. I presume you would like to be present?"
And the young man nodded. A grave, uneasy expression came over his face;
he wondered if he had said too much of his pleasant client, and that
client's private affairs."