THE PIMLICO HOUSE
Having seen Busham commit a felony by burning the will, Ellis left the
office. He did not even protest against the destruction of the
document, since it was none of his business to do so. Mrs. Moxton, who
benefited under the will, had not only handed it over to her enemy,
but had advised him to destroy it. She had exchanged it, so to speak,
for the knife with which Moxton had been killed, and, in addition, had
secured the lawyer's silence by yielding up her property. Silence
about what? That was the question Ellis asked himself, and which he
put to Cass when reporting the extraordinary scene which had taken
place in the Esher Lane office.
"I think I can guess what Busham hinted at," said the reporter. "He
accuses Janet Gordon of the crime?"
"Why should he? She had no motive to kill Moxton, so far as I can
see."
"Precisely, so far as you can see, Bob. Depend upon it, Busham is
certain that Janet Gordon is guilty, and Mrs. Moxton knows that such
is the case, else she would not give up her property so freely."
"You mean that she allowed the will to be destroyed so that Busham
should not accuse her sister?"
"Yes. All along I said that Mrs. Moxton was shielding some person; now
we know who the person is."
"It might be so," said Ellis, reflectively. "Janet Gordon may have
rushed out of the house with that knife and have killed Moxton, and
afterwards she may have ran weeping to take a cab from so perilous a
place. But why did she stab the man? Why? Why?" and Ellis, according
to custom, began to pace the room.
"Ah," said Cass, who was resting on the sofa, "you must ask Mrs.
Moxton for a reply to that question."
"She won't reply to it. For some reason which I cannot fathom she
persistently keeps me in the dark."
"H'm!" mused the journalist. "A dangerous, secretive woman! Don't get
your back up, Bob, I am not calling her names. But you must admit that
she is secretive, and secretive people are always very dangerous to
those of a more open disposition. But how did Mrs. Moxton excuse
herself for letting Busham burn the will?"
"I don't know, Harry. I have not seen her since she left the office
with that knife concealed in her pocket."
"What! Did she not wait for you outside?"
"No," replied Ellis, gloomily, "there was not a sign of her, although
I searched all round. What is queerer still, she has not been home
since. I have called twice at Myrtle Villa this afternoon, but no one
is there."
"Queer. I wonder what she is up to. After all, Bob, the burning of the
will does not amount to much. Mrs. Moxton, as the dead man's widow,
retains half the money. Busham has not got the whole."
"No, but he will get it," said the doctor, vehemently. "He'll not keep
silence in spite of her giving up half. He will blackmail her into
giving up the whole by threatening to betray her sister."
"You forget. By burning the will he has committed a felony. If Mrs.
Moxton is clever she can checkmate him with that."
Ellis shook his head doubtfully. "I think not, Harry. She might get
him put in prison; but then, in revenge, he could hang her sister. No,
Busham is all right on that point; he would not have burnt the will
had he not known how to protect himself."
Cass stared at the ceiling and mused for a few moments. "From what you
tell me of Zirknitz," he said at length, "I am not inclined to trust
that man. He is too thick with Busham, and, moreover, he is a venal
creature who would sell any information for money."
"Do you think he is in league with Busham?"
"I would not put him on so high a plane. I think he is the tool of
Busham, though. I should not be at all surprised to find the whole of
this mystery traced to that Esher Lane office."
"What! Do you think that Busham is guilty?"
"No; he is too clever to risk his neck."
"Zirknitz?"
"No; the Austrian is a coward."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I hardly know how to explain," said Cass. "I fancy old Moxton's money
is at the bottom of all this business, and that Busham is the moving
spirit. Watch him, Bob, he is the clue to the mystery."
"H'm! I don't know. He is too crafty for me to tackle directly, but I
might get at his secret through other people. The person to question,
Harry, is Janet Gordon. Mrs. Moxton evidently thinks her guilty, and
to save her surrendered the property. Now, I wish to see the girl
personally and judge for myself."
"Mrs. Moxton won't speak out."
"Hitherto she has refused, but in the face of the destroyed will she
may do so. I shall question her closely when I next see her."
"You are still firm in your belief about her honesty?"
"Yes; and I still love her," said Ellis, firmly. "Depend upon it,
Harry, when the truth comes to light, Mrs. Moxton will not be to
blame."
"Humph!" said Cass. "I hope so, for your sake, since you are so bent
upon making her your wife. But I tell you one thing, Ellis, the widow
won't show herself again to you in a hurry."
"Why not?"
"Because, like Zirknitz, she will not risk your indiscreet questions.
She has gone away to avoid answering them. My opinion is that she will
remain away."
For the next few days the arrest of events in connection with the case
seemed to point to a realisation of this prophecy. Mrs. Moxton did not
return to Myrtle Villa, and it remained shut up and empty. Dr. Ellis
called at least once a day, but on no occasion did he find the widow
within. From the time she vanished so suddenly from Busham's office,
he never set eyes on her. Firm as was his belief in her innocence,
Ellis began to have his doubts about her absolute rectitude. Why had
she vanished? Why did she remain away from her best friend, as she
considered him to be? Whither had she gone? Ellis wondered if he could
trace her, but, after consideration, decided in the negative. There
was no clue to her hiding-place. She had disappeared as a drop of
water in a mighty ocean. Failing in his attempt to trace the widow,
Ellis made up his mind to follow another clue. For this purpose, four
or five days after Mrs. Moxton's disappearance, he sought out number
thirty-two in Geneva Square, Pimlico. Here, according to Busham's
statement, he expected to find Janet Gordon.
Everybody in London knows Geneva Square. It obtained an unpleasant
celebrity in connection with the tragedy of the Silent House, and was
given as a sketch in many weekly papers at the time of the murder. The
Silent House is pulled down now, and its position occupied by a
brand-new mansion of red brick, which, amongst the sober grey houses
of the square, looks like a purple patch on a ragged cloak. Number
thirty-two was in the corner of the square, and from the notice
in the window Ellis saw that it was a boarding-house. On inquiring
for its mistress, a sluttish servant introduced him into a tawdry
drawing-room, where he found himself in the presence of a lean,
yellow-faced woman, overdressed and effusive in manner. At one time of
her life Mrs. Amber--such she informed him was her name--must have
been very pretty, but the years had turned her into a lean and
withered hag on the wrong side of forty. She wore a gaudy pink
tea-gown, trimmed with cheap black lace, and carried on wrists and
neck a considerable number of jingling ornaments, inexpensive and
showy. For the sake of her faded beauty the window-blinds were drawn
down, and Ellis found himself in a kind of subdued twilight. Mrs.
Amber was affected and garrulous, but, on the whole, did not appear to
be an ill-natured woman. She seemed to have a high opinion of Janet
Gordon.
"Dr. Ellis!" said she, disposing herself in a graceful attitude in a
basket-chair. "Do you wish to see me with a view to becoming a
lodger?"
"No, madam. I have come to inquire for Miss Gordon."
Mrs. Amber raised her painted eye-brows--they were painted, although
the obscurity of the room prevented that fact becoming too apparent.
"You are a day after the fair, doctor," said Mrs. Amber, with an
artificial laugh. "I regret to say that Miss Gordon has left us."
"Left this house?" said Ellis, astonished at this information.
"Three days ago she left us. Her sister came for her and took her
away. I am very sorry Miss Gordon is gone; I always had, and always
shall have, the highest opinion of Miss Gordon. Of course, she was not
the kind of person with whom I have been accustomed to associate,"
added Mrs. Amber, arranging the bracelets on her lean wrists, "being
only an attendant at a low music-hall. Still, she was thoroughly
respectable, and a thorough lady, I will say that. You wonder,
perhaps, Dr. Ellis, that I should have a lodger of that occupation.
But I am liberal in my views I was on the boards myself many years
ago. You must have heard of the beautiful Miss Tracey, who appeared in
the burlesque of 'Cupid,' at the Piccadilly Theatre--I was Miss
Tracey. I was Cupid, and I retired only when I married Mr. Amber. Ah!"
sighed the ex-actress, "he is dead now, and I keep a boarding-house.
Such is life!"
As soon as Ellis could cut short these biographical reminiscences he
did so. "I am sure that Miss Gordon is all you say, madam," he
observed politely. "But can you tell me where she now is?"
"No," replied Mrs. Amber, promptly, "I can not. Her sister came for
her. She packed her box and they left the house. She gave no address
to the driver of the cab. Mrs. Moxton simply told him to go to the
Marble Arch. I was out at the time Mrs. Moxton arrived, and she went
straight up to her sister's bedroom. I was glad that I returned before
Miss Gordon went away."
"Why do you say that?" asked Ellis. "Did you not see her daily?"
Mrs. Amber glanced round apprehensively. "I wouldn't say it to
everybody," said Mrs. Amber, giving a queer reason for her confidence,
"but as you are a stranger it does not matter. Since that horrid
murder of poor young Moxton, Miss Gordon has been very strange. She
came back from seeing her sister on the night of the crime, and from
that time until she left, remained shut up in her room."
"Shut up in her room?"
"Yes. Was it not strange? In vain I wished to see her. She refused to
let me into the room. Sarah, my servant, took up her meals and told me
that Miss Gordon was in bed the whole time. Through the door, and by
sending a message with Sarah, I implored her to have a doctor, but she
refused constantly. Yet when she went away she did not look so ill as
Mrs. Moxton. Ah!" said Mrs. Amber, expressively, "she looked ill if
you like."
"Strange!" murmured Ellis. "I suppose you knew the Moxtons
intimately?"
"Very intimately. Laura Gordon lived here before her marriage, and she
was married to Edgar Moxton from this house. It was terrible that he
should have been killed in so savage a manner, Dr. Ellis. I never
liked Mr. Moxton; but I must say I was horrified when I heard of his
doom. I wonder who killed him?"
"That is what I and many other people would like to know," said Ellis,
drily. "I suppose you guess from my name, Mrs. Amber, that I am the
doctor who examined the body?"
"Yes. I guessed that when I received your card, and was certain of it
when you asked for Miss Gordon. You know Miss Gordon, of course?"
"No, I never set eyes on her."
"Really! Then why do you wish to see her?" asked Mrs. Amber,
anxiously.
"To see if she knows anything about this murder."
Mrs. Amber did not reply immediately, but trembled so violently that
her ornaments jingled like so many little bells. "Dr. Ellis," said she
at length, in a shaking voice, "you speak the doubts that are in my
own mind."
"What! Do you think she knows of the murder?"
"I am unwilling to harm Miss Gordon," said Mrs. Amber, in a scared
tone, "as I have a great respect for her. But I fancy she must have
seen something on that night or she would not have shut herself up in
her bedroom all these weeks. And, Dr. Ellis, do you know I have
sometimes suspected her myself."
"Of the murder?"
Mrs. Amber nodded. "I was afraid of getting into trouble if I spoke,"
she said nervously, "and I really can't bring myself to believe that,
Miss Gordon killed her brother-in-law. But Sarah brought down a pair
of cuffs to be washed--Miss Gordon's cuffs--and they were spotted with
blood!"