A MUSIC-HALL STAR
It would seem, then, from this fresh discovery, that a third person
was implicated in the matter, and that person a woman. Cass and Ellis
argued the matter at great length in the train, and continued their
argument as they drove from St. James's Station to Soho. The doctor
was convinced from old Ike's description that the woman could be no
other than Mrs. Moxton's sister, but Cass was more than doubtful.
"It might be a general resemblance," he said. "Besides, if Janet
Gordon came to see Mrs. Moxton on that night, why does not her sister
say so?"
"She is shielding her, I tell you," insisted Ellis. "That accounts for
the way in which she keeps silent even to me, whom she knows as her
friend."
"Why should Mrs. Moxton shield her sister, Bob? You don't suspect
Janet of the crime?"
"Oh, no. From the blood-signs it is plain that Zirknitz murdered him.
I don't know what to think. But it is plain that Janet was at the
house that night, and perhaps she fled in terror on seeing the crime
committed. However, I shall ask Mrs. Moxton about the matter."
"She will tell you nothing."
"Now that I have found out so much I think she will, if only to
exonerate her sister," retorted Ellis. "If she refuses, I shall go to
Geneva Square, in Pimlico, and interview Miss Gordon myself. She may
have seen Zirknitz kill the poor devil, and then have fled to avoid
being mixed up in the matter."
"Well," said Cass, as the cab drew up before a brilliantly-lighted
portal, "it seems to me that Zirknitz is the man to catch and
question. We may hear about him here, as it appears he was a companion
of the dead man. But the case gets more involved at every fresh
discovery. First we suspect Mrs. Moxton, then our suspicions rest on
the Austrian, finally an unknown sister seems to be implicated in the
matter. It will be a queer story when all things are brought to light.
I hope we shall find Zirknitz here."
"If he is a wise man you will not," replied Ellis, as they alighted.
"Remember, a _fac-simile_ of these blood-signs appeared in all the
papers. Zirknitz may know the cypher, and, having read his own
initials, has, no doubt, made himself scarce."
"H'm! There is something in that. We shall see."
The music-hall was vast and palatial, with a domed roof, two
galleries, and much ornate decoration. The seats were cushioned with
red velvet, the promenades were carpeted. In many corners tall mirrors
reflected back the moving crowd, and everywhere there was gilding,
light, crystal and colour. The whole place was filled with changing
hues like a king-opal, and glittered with overpowering splendour in
the floods of white radiance pouring from clusters of electric lamps.
A fine orchestra was playing a swinging waltz, the last movement of a
ballet, and the stage was filled with a multitude of gyrating,
pirouetting women, constantly moving and tossing in gorgeous costumes,
like a bed of tulips in a high wind. For a few moments the two men,
coming out of the dark night, were dazzled by the glare, and stunned
by the crash of the music and babel of voices. Cass drew his friend
aside to a marble-topped table and ordered drinks while he looked at
the programme. Suddenly he caught sight of a man he knew and jumped up
to shake hands.
"Hullo! Schwartz," he cried. "Here is a friend of mine I wish to
introduce. Captain Garret, I hope I see you well?"
The German was a fat, fair man, quiet in looks and dress, and with a
somewhat careworn face. His companion, a tall, dissipated, military
gentleman, in accurate evening dress, answered to the name of Garret,
and bowed distantly. This latter had a bad expression and a pair of
shifty eyes.
"Ah, mine goot Cass," said Schwartz, with a beaming smile, "you haf
not peen here for dis long time. And your frend?"
"Dr. Ellis," said Cass; "a well-known medical man, who has written a
standard work on 'Diseases of the Eye.'"
Ellis laughed, and was about to protest against having this greatness
thrust upon him, when Captain Garret turned his worn face towards him
with a look of keen interest.
"Dr. Ellis," said he, in an abrupt voice, "glad to see you, very glad.
Have read your book, so has Schwartz here."
"Dat is zo, mine frend. It is a goot book, and I am glad zat you gome
here, doctor. Why did you not zay you gome, Cass? I would haf given
tickets."
"Both of you have read my book?" said the doctor, considerably taken
aback by this unexpected fame. "In Heaven's name why? It is unusual
for laymen to read a treatise of that kind."
"Ah," replied Garret, with infinite sadness, "Schwartz and I are old
friends, and we have good reason to read your book." He paused for a
moment, then added abruptly: "My daughter is blind."
"Ach! Zat liddle Hilda She has gatterack of the eyes, poor anchel."
"My daughter has cataract of the eyes, doctor," translated Garret,
"and we have tried every surgeon in Europe to cure them, but without
success. Your book impressed us greatly, and now that we have met you
I hope you will come and see my poor girl."
"Come and zee her effry tay, doctor. I vill pay money. If
zat--" Schwartz never finished his speech. At that moment a tumult,
created by some drunken man, called him away, and with a nod to Ellis
he hurried off. The Captain waited only long enough to thrust his card
into the doctor's hand, and also departed, while the two friends
resumed their seats at the table.
"Captain W. E. Garret, Goethe Cottage, Alma Road, Parkmere," read
Ellis from the card. "Why, that is the next suburb to Dukesfield."
"Oh, Schwartz lives in that quarter, does he?"
"No! not Schwartz--Garret."
"That is the same thing," replied Cass, sipping his brandy and soda;
"they live together--have done so for years. Garret has the
gentlemanly looks, and Schwartz the money."
"A strange pair. Who are they?"
"A couple of adventurers. Schwartz is the better of the two, though,
for, from what I hear, Garret was kicked out of the army for cheating
at cards. The German started this show two years ago, and took Garret
to live with him; why, I don't know, unless it is that he is so fond
of the daughter."
"Hilda Garret," said Ellis, recalling the name; "is she blind?"
"I believe so. Schwartz is an old bachelor, and has given all his
heart to the poor girl. She is sixteen years old, I believe, and he
takes care both of her and her father."
"Garret seems to be fond of his child."
"Oh, that is a pose for the benefit of Schwartz. If he didn't love
Hilda the German would kick him out. Garret killed his wife with
ill-treatment, and was on the fair way to exterminate Hilda when
Schwartz interposed and became her good angel. Now the old scoundrel,
Garret, behaves well to her, knowing that in such way he can manage
Schwartz."
"You seem to know all about it, Cass!"
"I hear all the gossip, Bob. It may be true or it may not, but I am
certain that Schwartz and Garret have been together these ten years
carrying on their rascalities."
"Are they rascals?"
Cass laughed and nodded. "Rumour says very much so, but Schwartz is
the more lovable scoundrel of the two. There is something pathetic in
the way in which he clings to that blind girl."
"'There lives some soul of good in all things evil,'" quoted Ellis.
"Well, I shall call at Goethe Cottage and see what I can do for the
girl. If I can cure her after all the European surgeons have failed it
will be a feather in my cap. Business is rolling in at last, old
fellow."
"About time," said Cass, in satisfied tones. "You'll ride in your
carriage yet, Bob."
The doctor laughed at this prophecy. It did not seem so impossible of
realisation now as it had once been. Then he turned his attention to
the stage, on which a stout lady in the shortest of skirts was
favouring the audience with a song and interpolated dance of the
orthodox pattern:--
"For I 'ave a little feller on the string,
(Dance)
And on me 'and he's put a little ring,
(Dance)
To the little chorch this little gal he'll taike,
She'll kiss 'im for his own sweet saike,
And he'll love 'er as 'is little bit of caike."
(Dance)
"That is Polly Horley," said Cass, referring to the singer of this
gem. "She is a great favourite here."
"I don't wonder," replied Ellis, drearily; "the song is senseless
enough to please even this brainless audience. Why must a music-hall
ditty consist of bad English and worse grammar, delivered with a
Cockney accent? Polly Horley! I know her! When I was house surgeon at
St. Jude's Hospital she was brought in with a broken leg. We were
excellent friends."
"Or great pals, as Miss Horley would put it. Let us send round your
card and ask for an interview.'
"For what reason? I don't want to see that stout female."
"My dear fellow, Polly has been a star here since Schwartz opened the
hall, and she, if anyone, will know about Moxton and Zirknitz."
"By Jove! that is true, Harry. You are a better detective than I am.
Get that waiter there to take round our cards."
A small fee soon accomplished this, and the venal waiter vanished,
shortly to reappear with the message that Miss Horley would be pleased
to see Dr. Ellis and friend in her dressing-room after the singing of
her great patriotic song. Almost immediately afterwards she marched to
the footlights in the costume of Britannia, and carrying the Union
Jack. Then followed the usual piece of Jingoism about "never shall be
slaves, while the banner waves, earth is thick with British graves,"
etc., etc. The flag was duly waved at the end of each verse, and the
audience, as in duty bound, joined in with imperial ardour. While Miss
Horley treated the listeners to an extra verse bearing on the local
situation, Ellis and Harry Cass were guided into the back regions of
the stage by a smart page-boy. He led them through a wilderness of
scenes, along dark passages, and past rooms thronged with ballet
girls, ultimately ushering them into a small apartment, barely
furnished and flooded with unshaded electric light. Here the visitors
were accommodated with two chairs, and shortly Britannia, flag and
all, made her noisy appearance. She literally threw herself on the
doctor.
"I'm that glad to see you again, doc," cried Britannia, effusively.
"Where have you been hiding all this time?" Then, without waiting for
an answer, she turned to Harry: "You're a stranger, too, Mr. Cass, but
better late than never. I am glad to see you. You'll both have drinks,
I s'pose?"
"No, thank you, Miss Horley. We just wish to congratulate you on your
new song."
"Ah, it knocks 'em, don't it?" said the fair Polly. "They never let me
off without a triple encore. You are looking ill, doctor. It's that
'orrid murder, eh?"
"What murder?"
"Why, the Dukesfield murder, silly! I saw all about it in the papers;
your name was there, too, and I said: 'Here's my dear old pal Ellis,
who mended my spar.'"
"Oh, you said that, did you?"
"Rather. It was queer that you should be the doctor to see after that
poor chap. I call him poor chap because he is dead," explained Miss
Horley, "but I never did like that Moxton. A miserly, insulting
crab-stick."
"Oh, so you knew Moxton?"
"Of course I did. He came here nearly every night. What is more, he
took his wife from here."
Ellis was painfully excited. "Mrs. Moxton? Was she a music-hall
singer?"
"Not she," replied Polly, disdainfully. "She hadn't the brains to
sing. She typed for a living, I believe, but her sister was a
programme-seller here."
"Janet Gordon?"
"Oh, you know her, Mr. Cass, do you?"
"No, I don't, but I have heard of her."
"Then I'll bet you heard nothing but good of her," cried Miss Horley,
warmly. "That girl is as square a woman as ever lived. If it hadn't
been for her, goodness knows what would have become of that silly
little Laura."
"I don't call Mrs. Moxton silly," said the doctor, annoyed by this
description.
"Oh, don't you, doctor, then I do. She was silly to marry that beast
of a Moxton, the horrid little cad. It was against Janet's wish that
she did so, and Janet was right. A nice mess she made of her life. He
neglected her, and came here to make love to me--me, a married woman
with five of a family. But I slapped his face for him," said Polly,
complacently, "that I did."
"Mrs. Moxton met her husband here?"
"Yes. Janet let her come to the hall sometimes, and she met Moxton.
Both girls are decent, doc, so don't say that I run 'em down. Janet is
a girl in a thousand. She left us a week or two ago. I expect she has
gone to live with her sister now. They will have old Moxton's money, I
daresay."
"Who do you think killed Moxton?" asked Cass.
"My dear boy, ask me something easier," said Polly, applying the
powder-puff to her nose. "I haven't the slightest idea. He was nasty
enough to have any quantity of enemies."
"Do you know a man called Zirknitz, Miss Horley?"
Polly turned round with a smile. "Do I know the nose on my face?" she
said lightly. "Of course I do. It is funny you should talk of him, for
he is coming to see me in a few minutes. If you'll wait, I'll
introduce him to you."
Ellis and Cass exchanged looks of congratulation at this good fortune,
and the unsuspicious Polly, little thinking she was weaving a halter
for a man's neck, babbled on. "He might have found out the truth if
he'd only gone to Dukesfield on that night as he intended."
"Did he go there?" asked Ellis, eagerly.
"No. Janet was there on that night. She got leave from Schwartz to see
her sister. Zirknitz, who is a friend of Janet's, intended calling for
her to take her home, but Moxton got drunk here, and Zirknitz didn't
go lest there should be a row. So--come in." She broke off as there
was a sharp knock.
The door opened, and a handsome, light-haired young man appeared.
"Oh! here you are," cried Polly, jovially. "Doc, this is Mr. Rudolph
Zirknitz."