The shrewd officer seated at the table with me, a pen in his hand, heard
my narrative to the end, now and then making brief memoranda.
Presently he exclaimed:
"Would you kindly excuse me? I'd like another gentleman to hear this
story." And he rose and left.
A few minutes later he returned with a rather taller, clean-shaven man,
slightly younger, who had on a dark overcoat and carried a silk hat in
his hand.
"This is Mr. Holford," said the first officer, introducing me. "He's
just told me a very remarkable story, which I'd like you to hear for a
moment."
Then, turning to me, he asked me to repeat briefly what I had alleged.
The new-comer, seating himself, listened attentively to every word which
fell from my lips. I noticed that he exchanged curious glances with his
brother officer.
"Your main reason, then, for telling us this story is in order to compel
those responsible for your wife's absence to reveal her whereabouts, I
take it?" asked the younger man.
"Exactly."
"The false telegram was dispatched from Turin, eh?"
"Yes. Cannot you communicate with the Italian police concerning it?"
"And pray what good would result?" he queried. "After long delay we
might perchance get the original of the telegram, but I don't see that
that would assist us very far. When people send bogus messages they
generally disguise their handwriting."
"Well, I leave it to you to take what steps you like to assist me," I
said. "My sole object is to find my lost wife."
"Naturally, my dear sir," observed the officer. "We'll first take down
your statement in writing." And then the man I had first seen wrote at
my dictation a brief summary of the mysterious death of Professor Greer
and its attendant complications and my suspicion of Kershaw Kirk.
"Well, we'll place this before the Commissioner to-day. Perhaps you'll
call to-morrow; say about this time. We will then let you know our
opinion and our intentions."
With that I was compelled to be satisfied, and I left the waiting-room
full of hope that by that bold move of mine I might gain knowledge of
the whereabouts of my well-beloved.
How I existed throughout that day I cannot tell. I tried to attend to
my business, but in vain. I was wondering what action was being taken
by my sinister-faced neighbour who lived in Whitehall Court under
another name, and who seemed to possess a dual personality.
At last the hour came when again I turned the car into Scotland Yard,
and once more was ushered upstairs into that bare waiting-room wherein
so many stories of crime are related.
Presently, after a lengthy wait, the two officers entered together and
greeted me.
"Well," commenced the elder of the pair with some slight hesitation,
"we've placed your statement before the Commissioner, Mr. Holford, and
he has very carefully considered it. He has, however, decided that it
is not a matter for our department."
"What?" I gasped. "A man can be foully done to death here in London,
and yet the police refuse to believe the story of an honest man--a man
who is a witness!"
"We do not doubt you in the least degree, Mr. Holford," the other
assured me, speaking very quietly.
"But you do!" I exclaimed in quick anger. "I've told you that a crime
has been perpetrated."
"My dear sir," said the officer, "we get many startling stories told
here almost hourly, and if we inquired into the truth of them all, why,
we'd require a department as big as the whole of Whitehall."
"What I told you yesterday is so strange and extraordinary that you
believe I'm a madman," I said. "I see it in your faces."
"Excuse me, but that is not the point," he protested. "We are only
officers, Mr. Holford. We are not the commander. The chief has given
his decision, and we are compelled to obey, however much we may regret
our inaction."
"So you refuse your aid in assisting me to find my wife?"
"No. If we can help you to discover Mrs. Holford, we willingly will.
Perhaps you'll kindly give us her description, and we'll at once
circulate it through all our channels, both here and abroad. But,"
added the man, "I must first tell you that we can hold out very little
hope. The number of missing wives reported to us, both here at
headquarters and at the various local stations in the metropolitan area,
is sometimes dozens in a day. Most of the ladies have, we find on
inquiry, gone away of their own accord."
"But this case is different. My wife has not!" I asserted. "She has
been enticed away by a telegram purporting to come from me."
"And that's really nothing unusual. We have heard of ladies arranging
with other people to send urgent messages in the names of their
husbands. It is an easy way of escape sometimes." And he smiled rather
grimly.
"Then, to put it plainly, I've nothing to hope for from you?" I
snapped.
"Very little, I fear, sir."
"And this is our police system which was only recently so highly
commended by the Royal Commission of Inquiry!" I blurted forth. "It's
a scandal!"
"It is not for us to make any comment, my dear Mr. Holford," said the
elder of the two officers. "The Commissioner himself decides what
action we take upon information we may receive. I dare say," he added,
"our decision in this case does appear to you somewhat strange, but--
well, I may as well point out that there is a special feature in it
which does not appear to you--an outsider."
"What special feature can there be, pray? A well-known man has been
assassinated. Surely, therefore, it is the duty of the police to stir
themselves and make every inquiry!"
"We have only your statement for that. As far as we or the public are
aware, Professor Greer is travelling somewhere on the Continent."
"But, if you disbelieve me, go to Kershaw Kirk, in Whitehall Court, or
to the Professor's daughter down at Broadstairs, or to Pietro Merli, who
keeps a newsagent's in the Euston Road. Each of these persons knows the
truth, and would speak--if compelled."
"The Commissioner has had all those names before him, but in face of
that he has decided not to enter into this matter. His decision," said
the officer, "is irrevocable."
"Then our police system is a perfect farce!" I cried. "No wonder,
indeed, we have in London a host of undiscovered crimes! The man Kirk
laughed at you here as blunderers!" I added.
But the pair only exchanged glances and grinned, causing me increased
anger.
"In any other city but London the police would, upon my information, at
once institute inquiry!" I declared. "I'm a tax-payer, and am entitled
to assistance and protection."
"We have already offered to assist you to discover the whereabouts of
Mrs. Holford," the elder man pointed out politely.
"Then inquire of this man Kirk, or Seymour, as he calls himself, in
Whitehall Court," I said. "He can tell you where she is--if he
chooses."
"You suspect him of having a hand in her disappearance? Why?" inquired
the other detective officer.
I related clearly and succinctly the facts upon which my belief was
based and of the description given of my wife's companion by the
hotel-manager in Florence.
The officer slowly shook his head.
"That's scarcely conclusive, is it? The description is but a vague one,
after all."
"Well," I said bitterly as I rose, "if you refuse to assist me, I must,
I suppose, seek redress elsewhere. May I see the Commissioner myself?"
"You can make formal application, if you like. But I don't expect he
will see you. He has already fully considered the matter." And that
was all the satisfaction accorded me.
"Then I'll do something!" I cried. "I'll get a question asked in the
House. It's a scandal that, with Professor Greer killed in his own
home, you refuse to bestir yourselves. After all, it seems quite true,
as has been recently alleged, that the police are nowadays so fully
occupied in regulating the speed of motor-cars that they have no time
for the investigation of crime."
I noticed that at my threat to have a question asked in the House, one
of the officers pulled a rather wry face. The Metropolitan Police were
not fond, I knew, of questions being put about them. I chanced to know
rather intimately a member for a country division, though to get the
question put would necessitate my explaining the whole affair.
Yet was not Mabel's liberty--nay, perhaps her very life--at stake?
"You've told us very little regarding this friend of yours, Mr. Kershaw
Kirk, whom you appear to suspect so strongly," the younger of the two
men remarked at last. "Who is he?"
"An adventurer," I replied quickly. "I have no doubt whatever upon that
point."
The man pursed his lips dubiously.
"May it not be that you are somewhat prejudiced against him?" he
ventured to suggest.
"No. He was in the house at the time when the Professor's body was
cremated in his own furnace. If you went to Sussex Place you would
probably discover some remains among the ashes."
"Do you allege, then, that you were an actual witness of the cremation?"
asked the officer.
"No; I found him in the house."
"And, later on, you discovered the furnace alight, eh?"
"Yes."
"Then it is only a surmise on your part, after all, my dear sir,"
remarked the detective, twisting a pen between his fingers as his dark
eyes were fixed upon mine. "The actual evidence is really _nil_. That
is just the view taken by the Commissioner."
"But my wife is in the hands of the assassins," I cried. "You can't
deny that!"
"Is there any actual, evidence of it? None, as far as we can see," he
declared. "Would it not be natural for your wife, on failing to find
you in Florence, either to wire to her sister at home or to return home
at once? She did neither, which only goes far to prove that she did not
desire to return to London."
"You suggest that she has purposely left me?" I cried, staring at the
man in a frenzy of angry resentment.
"I suggest nothing, Mr. Holford. Pray don't misunderstand me. I merely
put before you the facts in order to obtain a logical conclusion. Only
one can be arrived at--she had some motive for not returning to her
home. If she had, then how are we to find her? She would, no doubt,
purposely cover her tracks."
"But she was with that man, the man who--"
"And that just bears out my argument," interrupted the detective.
"But may she not have been prevented from sending any message home?" I
suggested, though that very point he had made had, I confess, been the
one which had continually obsessed me.
Both the detectives shook their heads.
"No," replied the elder of the two. "We are both agreed, as the
Commissioner also believes, that your wife would not be held a prisoner.
Criminals do not hold women prisoners nowadays, except in works of
fiction. No," he added, "depend upon it, Mr. Holford, when you discover
the truth, you will find that your wife was acquainted with one or other
of these friends of yours, and that her disappearance was part of a
plan."
The story of the message received by Mabel while I was in Scotland
flashed across my mind. I recollected all that Gwen had so guardedly
related to me.
But I stirred myself quickly. No, a thousand times no! I would never
believe evil of Mabel before I had absolute proof in black and white.
The mystery of her disappearance was as great and inexplicable as the
problem of who killed Professor Greer?