We discussed the best mode of regaining possession of the book, but our
conclusions were not very clear.
My friend Walter set about giving old Thompson orders to prepare my
room, for he was one of the few bachelors who could afford to keep a
spare guest-chamber in his flat. It was a hobby of his that his
chambers should remain in just the same order during his absence as when
at home. He had been travelling sometimes for two years at a stretch,
and yet when I had called there I found old Thompson just as prim as
usual, merely replying to callers, "Captain Wyman is not at home, sir."
Thompson was a wonderful servant, and had been old Sir Henry's right
hand until his death. Indeed, he had been in the service of the Wymans
for a trifle over fifty years, and appeared to treat Walter more as a
son than as master.
My friend fully agreed with me that I had done right in engaging Enrico
as watcher. He would be useful, and could act as spy in places where we
could not afford to be seen. That there was some remarkable conspiracy
in progress Wyman was, like myself, convinced; but what it was he failed
to comprehend.
We carefully discussed the curious affair, and after an hour of anxious
discussion formed a plan of campaign which we promptly proceeded to
carry out.
While I remained there resting, he took a cab and called on the doctor
named Barton.
When he returned, he explained that he consulted the doctor, and
feigning the symptoms of poisoning which I had explained, the
unsuspecting medico had at once remarked that only a few hours before he
had been called to a similar case. He suggested to Wyman that perhaps
both had eaten something unsound purchased at a shop in the
neighbourhood.
Then, after receiving a dose, and being compelled to swallow it in order
to keep up the fiction, my friend had commenced to chat with the doctor,
and learned that the patient he had been called to was a clean-shaven,
middle-aged man who had apparently about nine months ago come to live in
Harpur Street. The name he gave was Selby, no profession--at least as
far as the doctor knew. He had been struck by his rather mysterious
bearing. The little old lady was probably a relation, but of that he
was not quite sure. The name I had found in the _Directory_ was that of
the present tenant. Wyman had also approached the subject of The Closed
Book; but it was apparent that neither Selby nor the doctor suspected
that its leaves were envenomed. The patient had made no remark to the
doctor about the book. Barton had found him suffering acutely, and
betraying all the symptoms of poisoning; but beyond that he knew
nothing.
Yet Wyman's visit had cleared up one or two points, and had given us the
name of the man into whose possession The Closed Book had passed.
Presently we went forth again in company, and at the corner of
Theobald's Road found the young Italian still vigilant, although
palpably worn out and very hungry. Nothing had transpired, we learned.
No one had come out of the house; but the little old lady had come to
the door and taken in the milk and bread from the baker. She apparently
acted as housekeeper.
We dismissed Enrico for four hours, and I took his place, while Walter
Wyman went down to the Naval and Military Club, where he declared he was
certain to meet a friend of his who was intimate with Lord Glenelg, and
from whom he might obtain some information.
"What connection they have with this affair is a profound mystery," he
remarked; "just as much of a mystery as the fact they are in London when
believed to be abroad. Colonel Brock, my friend, only told me the night
before last that they were with friends up at Mussooree, in the north of
India."
"Well, it seems they're back again now," I remarked.
"So it appears," was his reply, and he stepped into a hansom and drove
down to the club to gather information, leaving me to lounge in the
vicinity of that rather dark and cheerless London street.
The weather was damp and muggy, and the continuous traffic in Theobald's
Road jarred upon my nerves. Even in the broad daylight the exterior of
the house in Harpur Street was dingy, with an air of distinct mystery.
The shutters of the area window remained closed; but the stuffed bear
cub had now been removed from the upper window, having served its
purpose, whatever that might be.
Soon after noon Wyman met me again. He had been active every moment,
had seen his friend, and had moreover called at Grosvenor Street under
some pretext, only to discover that the Earl and his daughter, having
returned unexpectedly from abroad two days ago, had left again that very
morning.
Was it that inexplicable signal that had caused the pair to flee from
London again?
The reason why they had been both dressed shabbily was now obvious.
They were in London in secret, and feared recognition. Walter Wyman's
interest was now thoroughly aroused, and he declared his intention of
sifting the matter to the bottom.
The question now arose as to the means by which we should get back the
book stolen from me. In the bar of the public-house where I had taken
refreshment on the previous night we further discussed the matter. To
attempt to regain it by interviewing the man Selby would, we felt
assured, be in vain, for of such value was it and so widespread the
conspiracy that he would probably either deny that it was in his
possession or openly defy us. On the other hand, it would be a
dangerous matter to commit a burglary there, and more dangerous still to
enter forcibly and demand my property. Even Doctor Barton had confessed
that there was something puzzling and forbidding about the blustering
man's manner and antecedents.
Therefore, we found ourselves at a complete deadlock.
I wished heartily that I had ordered the old woman to be stopped on
landing at Dover pier.
Could the police assist us? Wyman thought not, at least not in their
official capacity. We should frighten this Mr Selby, and if so would
probably lose the precious volume altogether.
We both saw that it was a matter in which there must be no bungling. My
friend Wyman was as shrewd a man as any in London, and this fighting
with conspirators was work just to his liking. He was one of those men
who, in whatever tight corner they find themselves, either at home or
abroad, always managed to wriggle out of it.
In the first place, we had no knowledge of the character of the man with
whom we had to deal; while, in the second, we were utterly in the dark
as to the motive of the conspiracy against me from the moment when the
rare Arnoldus had passed into my hand.
That we should act promptly and with firm determination was imperative;
but what line to take we knew not.
The more we discussed it the more determined I became to act fearlessly
and go straight to the point by going to the police-station and
demanding the little old woman's arrest. Such a course would bring
matters to a head, and yet I still hesitated to show our enemies our
hand. At present they were unaware of my presence in London, and surely
their ignorance of this would be to our advantage, inasmuch as the
looker-on sees most of the game.
I felt that I wanted an expert opinion, and suddenly recollected that in
the old days, when I had lived in London before, I had been on friendly
terms with a detective-sergeant of the Criminal Investigation Department
named Noyes, who had been attached to the Hunter Street Police Station.
I had several acquaintances in the Metropolitan police, as most literary
men have; but to Noyes I had been indebted more than once for showing me
certain phases of unknown London. Therefore I knew that if I sought his
advice he would willingly give it.
Leaving Wyman to watch, I therefore took a cab to Hunter Street, and
inquired of the inspector on duty for my friend, who, I was informed,
had been promoted to the rank of inspector, and was posted at the chief
station of the T Division at Hammersmith.
I returned in the cab to Wyman, and then lost no time in following out
my quest by going out to Hammersmith.
I found my friend, a loosely built, heavy-jawed man of middle-age,
sitting in his upstairs office; and when I entered he rose to welcome me
warmly. Then, on telling him that I had come to seek his advice, he
settled himself at his plain writing-table to listen.
The story I related interested him just as much as it had Wyman; but now
and then he pencilled a note upon the sheet of paper he had
instinctively placed before him. I related the whole facts from first
to last, concealing nothing. The secret poisoning appealed to him,
clever detective that he was, for every man attached to Scotland Yard
will tell you that a good many more people die in London of poison
annually than ever doctors or coroner's juries suspect.
"Now, what I want is to get my property back again without these people
knowing," I explained at last.
"I quite see," he said. "If they knew you had followed them up so
quickly it might put an end to their game without you ever knowing what
their motive has been. Yes, you want that book back at all costs, but
in a secret way. You can easily lay information before the magistrate;
and I could, on that, go and search for the stolen property. But that's
hardly your game, Mr Kennedy. We must use methods a trifle more--well,
artistic, shall we call it?" and his big face broadened into a grin.
"Well now, what do you suggest?" I asked.
But, instead of responding, he asked me for a detailed description of
the rare and interesting volume. Then, when I had given it to him, he
raised his eyes from the paper whereon he had made some memoranda, and
with a mysterious smile asked:
"Would you be willing to leave the affair entirely in my hands, Mr
Kennedy? I have an idea that I might, with the assistance of a friend,
be able to get hold of the book without this person Selby knowing that
it has gone back into your possession. If I attempt it, however, you
must not be seen anywhere in the vicinity. Any observation kept upon
the old lady or upon this fellow Selby must be done by your friend,
Captain Wyman. Would you be inclined to act under my directions and lie
low until I communicate with you?"
"Certainly," I answered, although not yet understanding his point.
"If there is a conspiracy, you'll very quickly be spotted if you remain
hanging about Harpur Street," he said. "I think, if you're prepared to
pay a sovereign or two, that I can get hold of the book for you. Only
it will have to be done secretly; and, in order that you should not be
suspected of regaining possession of it, you must go away into the
country and wait until you hear from me. We don't want them to suspect
anything, otherwise we may not be able to solve the mystery of it all."
"I'll leave the whole affair in your hands, Noyes, of course," I
responded. "When shall I go into the country?"
"Today. Go where you like, to some place within easy reach of town, and
stay there till you hear from me. Don't go back to Harpur Street,
because it's too dangerous. You must be recognised sooner or later.
I'll find Captain Wyman and explain matters to him. Why not run down to
somewhere on the Great Northern, to Peterborough, for instance. It's on
the main line, and the first stop of the expresses to the north--an hour
and a half from King's Cross. You see I could get down quickly if I
wanted to see you, or you could run up if necessary. There's a good
old-fashioned hotel--the `Angel.' I stopped there once when I was after
a German bank-note forger, and was very comfortable."
"Very well. I'll go there. That will be my address till I hear from
you. Tell it to Captain Wyman, as he may want to write to me."
After some discussion, in which he steadily refused to enlighten me
further upon his scheme for getting hold of The Closed Book, we returned
together by the underground railway to Charing Cross, where we parted,
he to seek my friend Wyman, and I to hide myself in the small provincial
town of Peterborough, where I arrived that afternoon about half-past
four.
As Noyes had declared, the "Angel" was replete with old-fashioned
comfort, a relic of the bygone posting-days and a centre of agricultural
commerce on market-days. Except the cathedral, there is very little of
interest in the town of Peterborough; for of late years it has been
modernised out of all recognition. In itself it is ugly, although
situated in the centre of the rich green pasturage of the Nene Valley, a
busy place, where the hand of the vandal has been at work everywhere
save perhaps in Narrow Street, the small, old-fashioned thoroughfare
wherein the "Angel" is situated.
I spent the evening examining the interior of the cathedral, afterwards
taking a stroll as far as the village of Longthorpe, and after dinner
retired early, for I had not yet recovered from my swift journey across
Europe.
The following day passed, and still the next, yet I could only idle
there, chafing and anxious regarding the success of Noyes's undertaking.
Letters from Wyman showed that, aided by Enrico, he was still keeping
observation upon the house, although he had seen nothing further of my
friend the detective after his announcement of my departure.
I began to wonder if Noyes had broken faith with me. Yet we had been
the best of friends in the old days when I had lived and worked in
London; and I thought I knew him well enough to be confident that he
would assist me in every way within his power.
Therefore I wandered the streets of Peterborough or lounged in the bar
of my hotel, in hourly expectation of some message from him.
His silence was ominous, and my uneasiness increased until, on the third
day, I determined to remain inactive no longer.