THE INQUIRY-AGENT
Arnold Calvert occupied rooms in Bloomsbury; pleasant old rooms in a
house which had been fashioned in Georgian times. It stood in a quiet
street undisturbed by the noise of traffic or the shrieking of
children at play. Even organ-grinders rarely came that way, as the
neighbourhood was not remunerative. Consequently the house was mostly
occupied by people of delicate health who disliked noise. Mrs. Varney,
the landlady, was a motherly old person with rather a hard eye. At one
time she had been on the stage, and traces of that period appeared in
her deliberate movements and slow voice. She always seemed as though
she were reciting Shakespeare with appropriate gestures, although she
had played but minor parts in the dramas of the bard.
Arnold was Mrs. Varney's pet lodger. As he was on the stage she
frequently gave him the benefit of her advice, and Calvert always
received her stale instruction with good humour and attention. This
obedience made her love him, and he benefited by having his rooms
better looked after and his food better cooked than any of the other
lodgers. Calvert had two rooms on the second floor, a bedroom and a
pleasant sitting-room, the window of which afforded a view round the
corner of the square out of which the street led. It was an
oak-panelled room with a painted ceiling, and furnished in very good
taste. Arnold detested the frippery with which many young men of the
present day cram their rooms, and his apartment was essentially
masculine. The carpet and hangings were of dull red, the chairs and
sofa were upholstered in leather, and on two sides of the room were
dwarf book-cases containing a well-selected library. Calvert was fond
of reading--a taste he had contracted at college, and kept well
abreast of the literature of the day. In one corner of the room
stood a small piano. Over the mantel-piece was a collection of
boxing-gloves, foils, masks, and suchlike things. Portraits of
Magdalen College--which had been Calvert's _Alma Mater_--and of those
men who had been his contemporaries, adorned the walls. Then there
were many portraits of Calvert in cricketing costume, in boating
dress, in cap and gown, and in some of his stage characters.
Altogether a manly, pleasant room, quite the place for a studious man
to dream and work in. And as Arnold lived a quiet life, he indulged in
literary pursuits, as the loose papers on his desk and the presence of
a typewriter demonstrated.
He was fair and handsome, with a lean clean-shaven face of the classic
type. His hair was curly, and well brushed back from a high white
forehead, and his eyes were blue and deep. Most people have shallow
eyes like those of a bird, but there was a depth in those of Calvert
which betokened a man who thought. A handsome intellectual face on the
whole, and usually bright with good health, good humour, and
contentment. At present, however, it was rather clouded.
The cause of this dismal expression was to be found in the presence of
two men who were seated near the window. Arnold himself, in
riding-dress, stood on the hearth-rug with his hands in his pockets.
He had come back from a ride that morning to find two gentlemen
waiting for him. "Professor Bocaros," said Mrs. Varney in the hall,
when she admitted him; "he's a gentleman though shabby. But the other,
called Jasher, is as vulgar as his vulgar name."
"This was rather hard on Mr. Jasher, who was not so vulgar as the
landlady made out. He was as stout as Bocaros was lean--a fair,
complacent, well-fed, elderly man of the Falstaff tribe. Mr. Jasher
looked as though he knew a good dinner when he sat down to one, and
was quite able to appreciate delicate cookery and good wines. His
round fat face was red and freckled, with rather full lips, twinkling
grey eyes, humorous in expression, and his hair was plentiful if
rather grey. With his fat hands folded sleepily on his rotund stomach,
Mr. Jasher looked anything but an inquiry-agent. Yet that was his
profession, as announced by Professor Bocaros. Arnold had received the
intimation calmly, though with some astonishment.
"Why do you bring this man to me?" he asked curtly.
"Do you know who I am?" asked Bocaros in his turn.
Arnold nodded. "I do. There was a certain relative of ours who
sometimes spoke of you."
"Flora Brand?"
Arnold nodded again. "Mrs. Brand," said he; "she was Flora Calvert,
the daughter of my uncle. Your aunt, professor, was, I understand, her
mother. But you doubtless know of the relationship, since she told me
that you had seen her."
"Twice," interposed Bocaros quickly, and then wiped his mouth. "I saw
her five or six years ago, and then shortly before her murder."
Jasher looked directly at Calvert as the professor made this
statement, hoping to discern some emotion. But Arnold's face,
doubtless owing to his stage training, betrayed nothing of his
feelings. It looked as cold as the face of a Greek god, which he
rather resembled in his looks. "I am aware that Mrs. Brand was
murdered," he said; "my lawyers, Messrs. Laing and Merry, told me so
the other day."
"Did they tell you about the money?" asked Bocaros, his big black eyes
fastened eagerly on the face of his cousin.
This time Calvert coloured a trifle, and shifted his rather direct
gaze. "Yes," he answered; "though I do not know by what right you ask
me such a question."
"I am your cousin----"
"Even that does not entitle you to take such a liberty."
"Bocaros looked annoyed. I am the last man to take a liberty with any
one," said he coldly, while Jasher's twinkling eyes watched his face
and the face of Calvert alternately; "but Flora, when I saw her a week
before she was murdered, told me that she had made a will in my
favour. When I went to see Merry I was informed that she had changed
her mind and had constituted you her heir."
"Quite so," assented the young man. "Mr. Merry told me all this, and
of your visit. I rather expected a visit from you, professor. You want
me to help you with money----"
"I want you to offer a reward in order to learn who killed your--our
cousin," burst out Bocaros swiftly.
Calvert bit his lip, and the blood rushed to his fair face. "You may be
sure that I will leave no stone unturned to learn the truth," he said,
and walked in a rather agitated manner up and down the room. At length
he came to a halt opposite Jasher. "You are a private inquiry-agent,"
said he. "Mr. Merry informed me that the professor, under the
impression that he had inherited the money, employed you to hunt for
the assassin of poor Mrs. Brand."
"Yes--yes," cried Bocaros, shifting his chair in great excitement. "And
I bring him to you that you may employ him. I am poor--yes, I am very
poor, but I do not want money. Spend what you would give me in paying
Jasher to discover the assassin."
"Is this why you bring Mr. Jasher to me?" asked Arnold.
"What else?" said Bocaros. "I only saw Flora twice, but I liked
her--she was good to me. I want to know who killed her."
"All the world wants to know that, professor."
"Pardon me," said Jasher, in his unctuous voice. "I do not think the
world in general cares very much, Mr. Calvert. The world has grown
tired of its nine days' wonder, and now is occupying itself in other
matters. I pointed this out to the professor, and proposed that you
should remunerate me for what I have done, seeing that he cannot pay
me, and let sleeping dogs lie."
"Arnold looked up sharply. What do you mean by that expression?" he
asked quickly. "Have you discovered anything?"
"Jasher produced a small note-book. I have set down one or two things.
At present I am collecting evidence. When I have sufficient I will
know how to move. But"--he closed the book--"if you would like me to
destroy these pages----"
"Why the devil should I, man?" demanded Calvert, frowning. "As the
cousin and the legatee of Mrs. Brand, I am doubly concerned in
learning the truth. I agree to what the professor suggests. You shall
search out this matter, and find out who killed the poor woman. I will
bear all the expense. And if you bring the guilty person to justice, I
will pay you five hundred pounds."
"Consider it done," said Jasher, nodding. "I'll engage to get at the
truth. Five hundred pounds is worth earning."
"Are you satisfied?" asked Calvert, turning to Bocaros.
The professor, strangely enough, seeing that his errand had not been
in vain, looked rather disappointed. "Yes," he replied hesitatingly;
"it is good of you. I am very pleased." He rose. "Now we will go."
"No," said Arnold, touching him on the breast, sit down. "As I pay the
piper, I call the tune. Mr. Jasher has passed from your employment
into mine. I should like to know"--he turned to Jasher--"what you have
discovered so far."
"Nothing easier," said Jasher, again opening his little book. "I have
learned details from the papers, from observation, from Professor
Bocaros, and from Mr. Tracey."
"Tracey!" said Calvert, starting. "I remember. He was the American
whose car was stolen."
"You know him better than that, Mr. Calvert," burst in the professor.
"He is engaged to Miss Baldwin, the great friend of the young lady whom
you are to marry."
Arnold turned on the Greek sharply. "How do you know that?"
"I live in a house near Mrs. Baldwin. She is my landlady. I know
Tracey and Miss Baldwin. I have met Miss Mason, and----"
"And Miss Mason told you," interposed Arnold.
"No. Mr. Tracey, informed by Miss Baldwin, told me. And it struck me
as strange," added Bocaros, in rather a venomous tone, "that you should
be engaged to the girl in whose house Flora was murdered."
"It belongs to her brother-in-law," said Calvert coldly. "Do you mean
to hint, professor, that I know anything about this crime?"
"No," interposed Jasher, making a sign to Bocaros to hold his tongue,
"he doesn't mean anything of the sort. Merely a coincidence, Mr.
Calvert, such as will occur in real life."
"Of course." Bocaros nodded and spoke with less significance. "I mean
that it is merely a coincidence."
Calvert looked from one to the other suspiciously, but set a mask on
his face so that they should not guess what was passing in his mind.
"We may as well understand one another," he said coolly. "If you,
professor, or you, Mr. Jasher, are under the impression that I have
anything to do with this crime--and you may think so from the fact
that being notoriously hard up and notoriously anxious to marry Miss
Mason I wanted this money--you are quite mistaken. I am engaged at the
Frivolity Theatre from seven till close on midnight every night. I can
prove what the law calls an _alibi_, and if you will apply to the
stage manager of the theatre, you may convince yourself of the fact."
"My dear sir," said Jasher deprecatingly, since Calvert was now his
employer, "no one suspects you."
"I thought from what Bocaros hinted----"
"No! no! I said it was merely a coincidence," said the professor
quickly. "The very fact that you are willing to employ Jasher, and
offer so large a reward, proclaims your innocence."
"I have no need to resort to such things," said Calvert angrily. "I
only learned that the dead woman was my cousin from the fact of the
White Room----"
"But how did that lead to your identification of Flora with the dead
woman?" asked Bocaros shrewdly.
Arnold seemed confused. "I saw in the paper that the White Room had
been remarked by a man called Webb, who had communicated with the
police. It was then found by Inspector Derrick that Mrs. Brand had
been missing. I fancied that she might be the unknown woman. I was
informed that this was the truth by Merry, who has communicated with
the police. I did not see the body or I would have been able to
identify it. But Derrick found a portrait of my cousin, and says it is
that of the dead woman."
This was rather a roundabout explanation, and Bocaros curled his lip.
In spite of his denial he seemed to suspect Arnold. But that Jasher
touched his arm he would have asked a question. As it was he allowed
the agent to speak. "You knew that your cousin had such a room?" asked
Jasher.
"Yes. Certainly I knew."
"Then you have sometimes visited her?"
"I have. My cousin and I were good friends. I did not see much of her
certainly, but I have been in her house."
"Did you know that Mr. Fane had a similar white room?"
"Yes. He told me it was his own idea. I said that some one else had
been beforehand. That I had a cousin who had such a room."
"Did you mention your cousin's name?"
"Not at the time. Flora said that the White Room was her own idea, and
Fane insisted that the idea was original, emanating from his brain. I
thought it was a coincidence."
"There appear to be a great many coincidences about this case in
connection with you," murmured Bocaros, but of this remark Calvert for
his own reasons took no notice.
"Seeing that your cousin was killed in the White Room in Ajax Villa,
Mr. Calvert," pursued Jasher, "did it not strike you that it would be
wise to draw the attention of the police to the other White Room?"
"Certainly not. Why should I have connected Flora with the dead woman?
I never knew she was missing until the man Webb of Hampstead drew
attention to her disappearance, and by that time the White Room at
Hampstead had become known to the police. In fact, the room there,
taken in connection with Mrs. Brand's disappearance, made Webb write
to the police. I don't see how you can blame me."
"I do not," said the agent patiently. "I am only trying to get at the
truth."
"I don't know it."
"You know Miss Mason, and she is the sister-in-law of Fane----"
"What of that? Do you mean to hint that she----"
"No! no!" said Jasher hastily; "but it was stated at the inquest that
Fane alone had the latch-key, that it was never out of his possession,
that the man who made it--invented that particular latch-key I may
say--never made another. How then did Mrs. Brand enter the house, and
how did she know that the family were at the seaside?"
"I cannot tell you. Why do you ask me?"
"I thought Miss Mason--seeing that you are engaged to her--might have
spoken out."
Arnold's face grew red. "I forbid you to bring Miss Mason's name into
the matter," he cried imperiously; "she has nothing to do with this
affair. She was stopping with Mrs. Baldwin on that night, and never
went near Ajax Villa when her sister was absent. Fane and his wife
were at the seaside--so were the servants. How can you implicate any
of these people?"
"I don't say that I can," retorted Jasher. "I am simply groping in the
dark. But the fact remains that Mr. Fane alone had the latch-key. It
must have been out of his possession so that some one could take an
impression and have a duplicate made, or----"
"Well, or what?"
"I'll tell you," said Bocaros coming away from the window, "or Mr. Fane
must have been the young man who spoke to the officer and who killed
the woman--poor Flora."
"You forget," said Arnold coolly, "it was proved that the woman was
alive when the young man in question was talking to the policeman."
"On the contrary," said the professor smoothly, "it was proved that the
woman--poor Flora--was dead three hours when the woman was singing and
the young man luring the policeman away."
"How dare you say that the man lured the policeman away!" cried Arnold
furiously; "your ignorance of English law, professor, excuses your
loose talk. But you are accusing every one without any basis of fact.
What is your opinion, Jasher?"
"I haven't got one as yet," said Jasher, putting his book away and
rising; "so far I can't see light. But I will go away and search, and
then come back to tell you if I have discovered anything."
"In what direction will you search?" asked Calvert uneasily.
"I shall search in the direction of the latch-key. Fane alone had it,
so I want to learn Fane's doings on that night."
"He was at the seaside."
"So he says," said Jasher significantly.
"And so Mrs. Fane says," said Bocaros quickly. "Better look for the
young man with the pointed beard."
"The police have looked everywhere and he has not been found," said
Arnold calmly, "and I don't think he will be found."
The professor was about to speak when Jasher pulled him to the door.
When there he spoke. "By the way, Mr. Calvert, did you ever see Mr.
Brand?" he asked.
"No. I never did."
"Did you ever see his portrait?"
"No"--but this time Calvert's denial was not so emphatic--"I didn't."
Jasher nodded. "That's all right," said he. "I'll come back in a few
days and tell you about the latch-key."
When the two withdrew, Calvert sat down in an armchair and buried his
face in his hands. His head was whirling, and his mind was much
troubled. So buried was he in his reflections that he did not hear the
door open. He was not conscious that any one was in the room till a
hand was laid on his shoulders. With a start he sprang to his feet. He
looked and saw Laura Mason.