I walked out into the roadway and picked up my weapon. Except for a
solitary cat, scratching herself under the opposite lamp, Park Lane
was absolutely deserted. As I stood for a moment, staring up and
down the long, brilliantly-lit thoroughfare, I heard a neighbouring
clock strike three.
I am not a person who gives up very easily, especially when I'm
annoyed, but, dressed as I was, any further pursuit was out of the
question. To dash down Piccadilly at this hour of the night, clad
only in pyjamas and a poker, was to court a publicity that I was only
too anxious to avoid. So, after a slight shiver, for my bare feet
were beginning to get unpleasantly cold, I retraced my steps into the
house.
As I closed the door, I heard a kind of stifled sob from the back of
the hall, and looking up, I saw in the dim light two women crouching
against the banisters. They were both in their night-dresses, and
one of them, whom I recognised as the parlour-maid, had her hair
streaming down over her shoulders. Very pretty hair it was, too.
"It's all right," I said comfortingly. "Nobody's hurt."
The elder of the two women--the cook, I suppose--burst into a torrent
of hysterical relief.
"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Northcote! Oh dear, oh dear! We thought you were
all killed!"
"Not a bit of it," I said. "Go and put something on, and find out
what's the matter with the electric light."
My brisk and cheerful manner had the desired effect. Both women
stopped sobbing, and letting go each other's hands, rose unsteadily
to their feet. The parlour-maid even found time to blush.
There were two candles flickering away on the hall table, and taking
one of them, I hastily mounted the stairs. As I came up, I heard the
sound of voices, and, reaching the landing, I found the faithful
Milford apparently engaged in a wrestling match with a woman dressed
as a nurse. When he saw me, he gave a sort of gulp, and sat down
abruptly on an oak chest behind him.
"Well, Milford," I said severely, "this is nice behaviour for an
invalid!"
He caught at the wall to steady himself, and I saw that the front of
his night-dress was stained with blood.
"Are you hurt?" I asked quickly.
He shook his head. "No, no, sir; I'm all right. It was the other
man--he was bleeding in the face."
I turned to the nurse, who, I felt, deserved an explanation. "It was
an attempt at robbery," I explained shamelessly. "I got a new man in
yesterday, and he must have come with a forged character. Anyway,
when I woke up, I found him in my room; so, naturally, I tackled him.
I suppose you heard the noise downstairs?"
The nurse, who seemed to be a singularly self-possessed lady, nodded
her head. "My patient did," she said, arranging a shawl that she was
carrying round Milford's shoulders. "I tried to keep him in bed, but
it was useless. He pushed me away and rushed upstairs just as he
was. All I could do was to follow him and light the candles."
"You couldn't have done anything better," I observed. "But for them
God knows where we should have been. The blackguard had evidently
been monkeying with the electric light."
"I was in the hall," she went on, "when you rushed past. After you'd
gone, I hurried upstairs, and found my patient trying to follow you.
I hope I did right in stopping him. You didn't seem to be in much
need of help."
"Of course you were right," I said. Then, turning to Milford, I laid
my hand on his shoulder: "You're a good friend, Milford," I added,
"but you're a mighty bad patient. You must go back to bed at once."
He smiled faintly, but made no answer. Lifting him to his feet, and
supporting him with my arm, I helped him slowly downstairs--the nurse
following. Just as we reached the basement, the electric light went
up, and the parlour-maid, this time with the addition of a
dressing-gown, appeared in the passage. She still seemed a trifle
embarrassed.
"We found out what was the matter with the light, sir," she said.
"It had been turned off at the main switch."
"Well, that's all right," I said. "You and Cook go to bed now.
There'll be no more trouble. It was only an attempt at burglary on
the part of that new man I got in yesterday. He's cleared out, and
we can't do anything more until the morning."
A few minutes later, having seen Milford safely tucked up and left
the nurse in attendance, I made my way back to the hall, where I
fastened the front door and put out both the candles and the electric
light.
My visitor had left traces of blood all across the carpet, and I
found spots of the same article decorating both the staircase and the
landing above. It was evident that his study of art had been as
intimate as it had been brief.
Somewhat cheered by this discovery, I entered my room, and, turning
up the light, shut the door. The place was in a cheerful state of
confusion, for, in addition to fire-irons, broken glass, and
fragments of picture-frame, the overturned table and its contents
were scattered generously round the room.
I tidied up things as well as I could, and then examined with some
interest the marks left by the two unavailing swipes which my
opponent had dealt at me in the duel. What his weapon was I could
not say for certain, but from the traces which it had left behind, it
appeared to have been something in the nature of an axe. My pillow
was practically cut in half, while the dent which he had made in the
wall left me with a certain sense of thankfulness that my head had
not been in the spot where it landed.
After removing such portions of Park Lane as still adhered to my bare
feet, I got into bed, turning my mangled pillow over on its other
side. I left the electric light full on, for sleeping in the dark
had, somehow or other, ceased to appeal to me. Then, with the
agreeable feeling of a day well spent, I curled myself up under the
clothes, and in five minutes I was fast asleep.
A little brisk exercise in the small hours of the night must, I
think, be an excellent thing for the health. At all events, I woke
up next morning feeling splendidly fit, and came down to breakfast
with an even better appetite than on the previous day. My
constitution requires an occasional stimulant, and with the job which
I had undertaken there appeared to be little chance of its being
denied this luxury.
I regret to say that the pretty parlour-maid seemed less fortunate.
I was too sleepy to pay much attention to her when I was called, but
later on, when she brought me in my eggs and bacon, I noticed that
she had dark shadows under her eyes, and a general air of having
spent a bad night.
"I am afraid you didn't sleep very well," I said.
She shook her head. "Neither me nor Cook closed our eyes the whole
night, sir," she replied reproachfully.
"Oh, I'm sorry for that," I said. "You must go to bed early this
evening, to make up for it. Have you heard how Milford is this
morning?"
"The nurse seemed to think he was doing well, sir. I believe the
doctor is coming round almost at once."
The words had scarcely left her lips when, through the window, I saw
Ritchie's car roll up to the door, and Ritchie himself step out.
"There he is," I exclaimed, getting up from the table. "Ask him to
come in here a moment, will you?"
She went out, and I heard the front door open. A minute later, the
doctor, carrying a glossy hat and dressed in an irreproachable grey
frock-coat, entered the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said, extending a hand, which I
shook heartily. "And how is the patient this morning?"
"Well, doctor," I said, "that's one reason why I wanted to see you.
We had rather an exciting time last night."
He raised his eyebrows interrogatively, and without further waste of
time I trotted out the same old lie which had already done duty for
the nurse.
"It was a burglary," I said, "or rather, an attempted burglary. I
had engaged another man, called Francis, in place of Milford and I
woke up in the middle of the night and found him in my room, trying
to break into my desk." (This last touch, I thought, was
particularly happy!)
"Dear me! Dear me!" interjected the doctor, in a shocked voice.
"Of course I tackled him," I continued; "but he made such a noise
that, unfortunately, he woke up Milford. In spite of his nurse, the
plucky fellow insisted on coming upstairs; and just as he reached the
landing, my man broke away and made a dash for the door. There was a
scuffle in the passage, and Milford got bowled over."
"Bless my soul!" said the doctor. "Was he hurt?"
"No," said I; "that's the funny thing about it. Knowing how seedy he
was, I expected to find him dead; but, on the contrary, he seemed to
be none the worse for it."
Ritchie nodded his head. "It's quite possible," he said
thoughtfully. "A shock of some kind may have been just what he
needed. Still, it must have been touch-and-go. What happened to the
man?"
"Unfortunately," I said, "he got away. It's an extraordinary case,
because I engaged him through Seagrave's, and his references were all
right, according to them. I'm going straight round there now."
"I should," said the doctor, "and, what's more, I should put the
matter in the hands of the police right away."
"Quite so," I assented cordially though it was the very last thing I
had any intention of doing; and with this extra fib I led the way
down to the basement.
Far from being any the worse for this night's adventure, we found the
gallant Milford sitting up in bed, shifting a large bowl of
bread-and-milk with evident enjoyment.
"Hullo, Milford!" I said. "That looks hopeful."
The good fellow positively grinned. "I feel much better to-day,
thank you, sir. I really think I can get up and do my work."
"I don't know about that," remarked the doctor, laughing, "but
there's no doubt that fighting burglars agrees with you. Let's feel
your pulse."
The nurse, who had taken the chance of removing the empty bowl, here
observed that her patient had slept soundly ever since we had put him
to bed.
"Oh, he's much better," said the doctor--"there can be no question
about that. Indeed, I don't think it would do him any harm to get
up. Of course he mustn't think of work for another day or two, but
otherwise we can consider the cure complete. In future, I shall
recommend one burglar to be taken nightly for any case that I feel
doubtful about."
Chuckling heartily at his own jest, he accompanied me upstairs. "It
really is a most remarkable recovery," he said. "The man is
practically all right again--pulse a little weak, but otherwise
nothing the matter with him. It just illustrates the value of a
sudden mental shock in cases of collapse. By the way, I received the
analyst's report this morning.
"Oh!" I observed. "What did he say?"
The doctor frowned. "Well, it's curious, but he admits that at
present he's baffled. There are distinct traces of a vegetable
poison of some kind, but it responds to none of the usual tests.
However, he's going to make some further researches, so I suppose I
shall hear from him again."
"You must let me know," I said brazenly, handing him his hat. "I
mean to get to the bottom of this."
Promising he would, and congratulating me again on my frustration of
the burglar, the worthy man went off. What his private opinion of my
household must have been I hardly liked to contemplate; but since he
showed no signs of communicating it to the police, I was well content
to let matters rest as they were.
Before starting out to have a little chat with my friend Mr.
Seagrave, I summoned the parlour-maid and gave her instructions that
if Billy Logan rang up or called while I was out, she was to tell him
that he would find me at home any time that afternoon. Then,
equipping myself with my trusty sword-stick, I set forth for Hanover
Square.
It was my intention, as you may imagine, to speak some very plain
words to the portly gentleman who had sent "Francis" round on the
previous day; but, as some forgotten philosopher once observed, "it
takes two to make a quarrel." One can't be brutal to a worm, and Mr.
Seagrave more nearly represented that creature than anybody I have
ever met.
The moment I entered his office he fell upon me with apologies so
abject that my pretty talent for remonstrance had no chance of
asserting itself.
"You have received my note, Mr. Northcote. I can't tell you how
distressed I am that such a thing should have occurred in this
office. On behalf of the firm I tender you our deepest, our most
sincere apologies. I only trust that there have been no regrettable
consequences. What the scoundrel's object was, Heaven knows. I--"
"Look here, Mr. Seagrave," I interrupted, "what the dickens are you
talking about? I've had no note from you yet."
He goggled at me, rubbing his hands together and cringing like a
frightened spaniel I suppose he must have had some unpleasant
experiences with my spirited double.
"You must just have missed it, Mr. Northcote," he said. "I sent it
around by one of our young men a quarter of an hour ago. The fact is
that we have heard from Sir Henry Tregattock this morning completely
repudiating any knowledge of Francis. I had written to him
overnight, asking him to confirm the character, and in reply he
stated that he had no idea what I was alluding to. He had never had
a servant of that name, and had not communicated with me in any shape
or form. It's unparalleled, amazing, incredible, but there can be no
doubt that someone else answered the telephone in Sir Henry's name.
Still if there have been no unfortunate developments--"
I laughed in rather a nasty fashion. "Unfortunate developments!" I
repeated. "Are you aware, Mr. Seagrave, that the man you sent me
yesterday not only attempted to rob the house in the night, but did
his best to murder me?"
To say that Mr. Seagrave collapsed would be an altogether inadequate
expression.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" he moaned. "This is terrible, sir, terrible!
Such a thing has never occurred in the whole history of the firm. It
will ruin us when it comes out--absolutely ruin us!"
His frank egotism rather pleased me.
"I don't suppose it would do you much good," I replied: "but is there
any reason why it would come out?"
I saw a ray of hope leap into his distressed face.
"The fact is," I went on, "that I object to publicity in a case like
this. In the first place, I'm much too busy to be bothered about it.
The man's gone, and, as it happens, there's no harm done. I don't
want a lot of infernal policemen tramping all over my house." (This
was true enough.) "But you ought to be more careful," I added
severely.
"We ought, sir; indeed we ought. I will never accept a telephone
reference again. I should be more grateful than I can say if you can
see your way to overlook the matter. The scoundrel must evidently
have had an accomplice in Sir Henry's house."
"Well, you must square things with Sir Henry as best you can," I
said. "All I want is not to be troubled any more in the matter."
I turned to leave the office, and he bowed me out, fervently
protesting that my peace should not be disturbed, and that he would
for ever consider himself my most humble debtor.
Quite pleased with the success of my interview, I made my way back to
Park Lane, only stopping at a shop in Bond Street to purchase one of
those linen belts which are made to wear next the skin. In view of
my somewhat uncertain circumstances, it seemed to be tempting
Providence to wander about London with ten thousand pounds in my
pocket.
During my walk home, my adventure of the previous night served to
occupy my thoughts in a not unpleasant fashion. It was agreeable to
reflect that at least one of my unknown friends was bearing my
handiwork in fairly legible type. Whether "Francis" was the
mysterious Guarez, or another gentleman with similar aims, it was at
least certain that for a few days I should be able to recognise him
under any disguise. I registered a grim vow that no stranger with a
dismantled bridge to his nose should have the opportunity of
approaching within striking distance of me.
All the afternoon I waited in, in the hopes of hearing from Billy.
By six o'clock, however, no message had arrived; and, feeling rather
worried, I strolled downstairs to see how Milford was getting on. I
found him fully dressed, sitting in an easy-chair in the pantry, and
reading the _Daily Telegraph_. The nurse had gone.
He seemed quite touchingly pleased to see me, but it was all I could
do to persuade him to retain his comfortable seat. He appeared to
think a kitchen chair altogether beneath my dignity.
"What I can't make out, Milford," I said, "is how you managed to
upset yourself."
He was silent a minute. "I can't help thinking, sir," he replied
slowly, "that it must have been that glass of beer I had at the
Granville."
"But surely," I objected, "if the beer poisoned you, it would have
poisoned everyone else."
"I don't think the beer would have poisoned me, sir, if it had been
left alone," he said pointedly.
"What do you mean, Milford?" I asked.
He shifted a little uneasily in his chair. "Well, sir, it may be
fancy, and you may think I'm speaking foolishly, but I can't help
having an idea that the man I was speaking to may have put something
in it when I wasn't looking."
"The man?" I said. "What man?"
"It was a chap in the bar, sir. A big, foreign-looking fellow he
was. He started talking to me when I came in, though, as far as I
know, I'd never set eyes on him before. It's my belief that for some
reason of his own he put something in my drink."
This theory of Milford's fitted in so exactly with my own suspicions
that for a moment I felt as if I were partly guilty.
"Would you know him again?" I asked.
"Oh yes, sir. He was a big, black-haired fellow, with one shoulder a
little higher than the other. I didn't fancy him when he came up and
spoke to me."
I was just going to observe that the landlord of the premises might
possibly be able to tell us something about the gentleman, when there
came a tap at the door, and the parlour-maid entered.
"If you please, sir," she said, "Mr. Simpson is here."
It was an embarrassing moment, as of course I hadn't the faintest
notion who Mr. Simpson might be; but once more Milford came to my
rescue.
"I sent him a message to come round, sir. You said you might be
motoring down to Woodford to-morrow if it was fine, so I told him
he'd better look in and see whether you wanted the car."
This was news indeed. Up till that moment I had no idea that I
belonged to the noble army of car owners.
"Quite right, Milford," I said, getting up. "I think I shall motor
if it's anything like a decent day."
I went upstairs and found Mr. Simpson in the hall. He proved to be a
small, dark, clean-shaven man dressed in the conventional garb of a
chauffeur.
"Good evening, sir," he said, touching his forehead. "I just looked
in about the car. Mr. Milford said you might be wanting it to-morrow
to go down to Suffolk."
"Yes," I said, "I shall if it's fine."
I had quite decided by this time that I would motor down to Woodford
instead of going by train.
"Will you be wanting me, sir?" asked Mr. Simpson.
I reflected rapidly. I am not much of a hand at steering a car, but
still I had tackled the task with average success on several
occasions in Buenos Ayres. What was worrying me was the question of
Billy. If he turned up in time, I intended taking him down to
Woodford with me, and putting him up at the nearest inn; and there
was just the chance that if Simpson came the latter might give the
show away to one of Maurice's servants. On the whole, I decided to
drive myself.
"No," I said, "I shan't want you, Simpson. Have the car around here
at 10.30, and put some cans of petrol in. I shall only be away for
two or three days."
He touched his forehead again respectfully, and withdrew.
My latest discovery had put me into a very cheerful frame of mind.
With a car at my disposal I felt much better equipped for my visit to
Woodford. I was a long way from trusting Master Maurice, and a motor
is a devilish handy thing if you happen to want to leave a place
without ceremony or delay.
The only fly in my ointment was the non-arrival of Billy. I was
beginning to fear that he must have fixed up his job with Seatons,
and that I should have to get through as best I could without him.
However, I have made it a rule in life never to hunt for trouble
before it arrives, so, still hoping for the best, I went upstairs,
and began in a leisurely manner to array myself for Lord Sangatte's
party.
I had ordered a little dinner for eight o'clock, and while I was
discussing the excellent sole and cutlets which the cook sent me up,
I further impressed upon the parlour-maid that if Billy arrived
during my absence he was to be detained at all costs.
"Tell him," I said, "that I shall be back before long, and that I can
put him up for the night. I suppose there is a room ready?"
"Oh yes, sir," replied the parlour-maid; "it's only a question of
airing the bed."
"Air it, then," said I; "and, whatever you do, don't let Mr. Logan go
till I come back."
I waited on till half-past ten, amusing myself by smoking a couple of
cigars, and routing out such of Northcote's clothes as seemed to me
suitable for the country. Then, as there was still no sign of Billy,
I put on my hat and coat, and, sallying forth from the front door,
summoned a taxi, and ordered the man to drive me to Belgrave Square.
Sangatte's house proved to be a big detached mansion, standing in its
own grounds, and occupying the whole of one corner. It had a
pillared entrance--a sort of Greek portico, from which a red awning
stretched down to the main gate.
There were a number of carriages and motor broughams arriving and
departing, with a policeman at the gate signalling to the next as
soon as the one in front had deposited its cargo. Whatever his
morals might be, Sangatte evidently entertained in style.
My modest taxi rolled up in its turn, and I got out, and mounted the
carpeted steps that led into the house. To the left of the hall,
which was full of immaculately dressed men and women, the latter
blazing with diamonds and displaying a lavish amount of white arms
and backs, stood a large anteroom, where a couple of liveried footmen
were waiting to relieve us of our coats and hats.
Having got rid of these impediments, I returned to the hall, and
slowly made my way towards the staircase, at the top of which
Sangatte was presumably receiving his guests. Several people greeted
me by name, and one or two beautiful ladies smiled at me across the
hall in the most encouraging fashion. It struck me for the first
time that Northcote might possibly have left me legacies of a more
agreeable nature than those which I had at present encountered!
At last I reached the landing, where a solemn-looking butler who was
posted there evidently recognised me.
"Mr. Stuart Northcote," he announced in a magnificent voice.
Lord Sangatte, who, with the assistance of an elderly, grey-haired
lady, was welcoming each guest in turn, stepped forward on hearing my
name. He was a tall, well-built man of about forty-five, with a
heavy, clean-shaven face and hard blue eyes. I took a vigorous
dislike to him immediately.
"I'm glad you've turned up, Northcote," he whispered, shaking my
hand. "You got my note--eh? I want to have a chat with you as soon
as I've got through with this tomfoolery."
"Right you are," I returned. "Where shall I find you?"
"Oh, come to my study," he said hurriedly. "I'll slip away about
eleven, and you'll find me there." Then, raising his voice, he
added: "I don't think you've ever met my aunt--let me introduce you.
Aunt Susan, this is Mr. Northcote."
The smile which the elderly lady gave me could not have been
described as effusive even by an optimist, but such as it was I
accepted it with a good grace. Indeed, knowing what I did of
Northcote, I rather sympathised with the old girl. Sangatte
evidently noticed her lack of enthusiasm, for an angry light danced
in his eyes. However, he said nothing, and I passed on into the
ballroom beyond, discreetly concealing the amusement that I felt.
To the strains of a band, which I could just hear above the loud hum
of conversation, a crowded roomful of people were moving
spasmodically about in what I believe is technically known as "a
Boston." I stood for an instant in the doorway, momentarily dazzled
by the blaze of light, the gleam of diamonds, and the wonderfully
coloured frocks that kept flashing past me with a provocative swirl
of silken petticoats.
Suddenly I realised that there was someone behind me waiting to go
in. I stepped aside, looking up as I did so, and my heart seemed to
perform the absurd and inconvenient feat of jumping into my mouth.
For, just in front of me, her hand resting lightly on the arm of an
elderly man, whose features seemed curiously familiar, was Mercia
Solano.