VANISHED!
It was not to be supposed that this had happened without attracting
the Argus eye of the Press. The nightbirds of journalism had been
hovering about, seeking their prey of sensational copy. They haunted
the police station with a hope that something might turn up--the hope
that every reporter has that sooner or later he may happen on a good
thing that has in it the making of some columns of red-hot descriptive
matter.
One of them, hungry and lynx-eyed, had seen the body of Nostalgo
carried to Shannon Street station. There might have been a paragraph
then; there might have been a column. At any rate, the chance was too
good to be lost. The reporter was on the best of terms with the police
for a square mile or so; indeed, his living more or less depended on
the good fellowship of the local authorities. The sergeant had first
of all set the ball rolling; the reporter had seen the body; he had no
difficulty in recognizing the striking likeness between the dead man
and the poster. Younger men would have rushed off at once and made a
long paragraph of this, manifolded it, and sent it broadcast along
Fleet Street.
But not so the old and cunning hand at the game; his instinct told him
that there was more to come. There was more to come, probably in the
shape of the shaken Gregory, who presently told the reporter his part
of the story. This was a case when a cab was justified. Half-an-hour
later the reporter was closeted with the chief sub-editor of the
_Daily Planet_, a halfpenny morning paper dealing largely in
sensations. The sub-editor's eye gleamed as he listened to the
reporter's story. This was something after his own heart.
"Write two columns of it," he said. "You can use Daly's room. Serve it
up as hot as you can with plenty of scare heads. We'll give it the
first place on page five. You had better have a stenographer, as time
is pressing." Therefore it came about that the half million or so of
readers of the _Planet_ had the shock at breakfast the following day.
With its tally of many dazzling sensations, the _Planet_ had never
been more successful than in this. The thing was admirably done. The
mystery was puzzling to a degree. Before ten o'clock the following
morning London was talking of little else. It was discussed in the
train, on the top of the omnibus, in City offices. The name of
Nostalgo was on every lip.
The editor-in-chief and the chief shareholder in the _Planet_ Company
came down to the office very early in the forenoon, an action quite
unusual with him. But his keen instinct scented a good thing for the
_Planet_ here. The thing was exclusively his own, and he meant
to work it to the last ounce. The little man with the bald head and
gold-rimmed monocle had created a pretty scheme by the time he had
reached his office. Without loss of time he sent for Mr. Richard
Rigby. Rigby came in response to the summons. He found journalism more
remunerative than the Bar.
"This is the best thing we have ever had," Mr. Van Jens said in his
staccato way. "I'm just going to show the British public what an
American journalist can do with the thing. It's pretty clear to me
that the police have blundered, as they always do, and that they
have got right off the track of the truth. We're going to solve the
mystery, Rigby, and you're the man I have picked out to do it. In the
first place, you are a clever actor, and you have pluck. Go about it
in your own way, and take your own time. Never mind the expense; spend
£1,000 if necessary. Only get to the bottom of the thing, if it's
merely to prove to the police that they can't do without the Press. By
the way, isn't Masefield a friend of yours?"
Rigby admitted that such was the case. He did not pretend to follow
the quick working of his chief's brain; few men were competent to do
that. Van Jens was leaning over the _Planet_ in order to read the
report of the Nostalgo affair.
"I saw Masefield last night," Rigby said. He did not tell Van Jens
that Jack had met him at Carrington's, for that was a matter
concerning Masefield alone. "Do you think he is likely to be of any
assistance to me?"
"It is just possible. You see it was Masefield who actually found the
body of the man who we call Nostalgo. It is possible also that
Masefield knows more than our reporter got to find out. You had better
hint to Masefield that there is a chance of getting a commission from
us to write a serial for one of our weekly journals--he is in the way
of doing that kind of thing. Anyway, get him to regard it in a
favorable light. If you handle the man properly, I feel quite sure
that he will offer you valuable information."
Rigby nodded. He did not tell Van Jens that Jack Masefield was a close
friend of his, for that point had nothing to do with Van Jens, who
regarded Rigby as the typical smart unit of the smart paper, and none
too scrupulous where men were concerned. As a matter of fact Rigby had
his code of honor; possibly his chief would not have considered it.
Come what might, Rigby was not likely to take any advantage of
Masefield.
"All right," he said; "you may rely upon me to do all that I can. By
the way, if I am to take this case in hand, I must not be tied as to
time. I mean, that somebody else must be drafted out to do my regular
work and--and to say nothing if I don't show up here regularly. I
think that only fair."
"Only fair, it is," Van Jens replied. "I'll see to all that. And I'll
leave instructions with the counting house that you are to draw on me
to the extent of £1,000 if necessary. And now you had better go off to
Masefield without delay."
It was not yet eleven o'clock, and Rigby felt pretty certain of
finding Masefield at home. He was perfectly correct in his
conclusions, for Jack was busy just putting the finishing touches to a
short magazine story. The morning papers lay in a pile on the table,
but as yet he had not had time to open them. Rigby helped himself to a
cigarette.
"Hope I don't intrude," he said. "If I am in the way, kick me out at
once."
"You are never in the way here, Dick," Masefield smiled. "As a matter
of fact, I have just passed the last page of this story for the
_Grasshopper_. It's always a pleasure to sit down and write a story
when you have a fair commission for it."
"You will soon have plenty of them, my boy," Rigby said cheerfully,
"especially now that you've got your name in the papers. Seen the
_Planet_ to-day? You haven't? Well, you are pretty prominent on page
five, let me tell you. One of our men got hold of that sensational
Nostalgo business, and then made a picture of it. Just run your eye
along the report, and tell me what you think of it. Pretty hot, isn't
it? Now can you tell me anything?"
"Anything fresh in regard to the affair you mean?"
"You've got it first time. As a matter of fact, Van Jens has placed
the thing in my hands, and I'm to get to the bottom of it if it costs
the paper £1,000. Van Jens suggested that I should come and see you
and pump you. The bait to you is a commission for a big serial in one
of our weeklies. But apart from all that, Jack, I'm quite sure that
you will be ready to help me for old sake's sake."
"Of course I will," Masefield said heartily. "Really, there is very
little to tell; your man seems to have got it down very fine. But I
can tell you all about the shot marks and the missing poster, only you
must not publish that."
"My dear fellow, you don't quite understand my position. I'm not sent
as a mere scare writer in this business; I'm more of an amateur
detective, with a pocket full of money. My task is to beat the police
at their own game, and prove the superior intellectual force of the
Press. Then I shall write the whole story, and the _Planet_
circulation will go up to a million."
"Then I'll tell you all that there is to know," Jack replied. "When I
have finished my story, I shall have a few questions to ask you. Get
your note-book out."
Rigby had no cause for complaint on the score of Masefield's
narrative. In the description of the shot marks and the subsequently
missing poster he felt that he had conquered a fine point of the
situation. He took another cigarette, and Jack did the same. "Now I'm
going to ask you a few questions," the latter said, "and I should not
be surprised that in replying to my queries we throw some fresh light
on the object of your search. You will recollect meeting me at
Carrington's last night?"
"Of course I do. I took you for a fellow quite above that kind of
thing--playing the amateur detective."
"Notably, as I was in evening dress. As a matter of fact I had been
dining with Spencer Anstruther, and it was in leaving his house that I
found the body of the man we had better call Nostalgo. Of course I
recognized him by the likeness to the poster. Subsequently Inspector
Bates and myself discovered the name of the firm who posted the
creation. We went off to see the head of the firm, and he could tell
us very little, except that the placards came from some John Smith,
who had an account with the City and Provincial Bank. The latter fact
accounts for my being at Carrington's last night."
"Exactly. And you asked me to keep my eye on a pretty girl, who was
deaf, and who had for attendant cavalier a chap with a moustache like
that of the German Emperor."
"I am coming to that," Masefield went on. "I told you that I had been
dining with Anstruther. Now these two people left Anstruther's house,
for I followed them. I will tell you a more striking thing about them
later on, but I want to have my side of the affair cleared up first.
Tell me what happened after I left Carrington's with Inspector Bates.
"Well, I kept my eye on these people, as you asked me. I tried to get
some information about the fair one from Carrington himself, but he
didn't seem to like the subject. He seemed depressed and a little bit
uneasy, I thought; said it was a sad case, sort of relation of his,
and that the man with the moustache was a foreign count or something
of that sort. I wouldn't press the matter, as it would have been in
bad taste, you see. But, all the same, I did keep an eye on these
people, as you asked me, and the end of it was that I followed them
when they left the house. I don't know what made me do it."
"At any rate I'm glad you acted in that manner," Jack said. "Did they
go back in the direction of Anstruther's house? Did they take a cab?
"Not in the ordinary acceptance of the word," Rigby explained. "They
walked as far as the top of Regent Circus, where a private growler was
waiting. The cab was all black, the driver had a black livery. I could
not see his face, as it was tied up with a silk handkerchief as if the
fellow had toothache or something of that kind. The four-wheeler was
evidently waiting for them, for they got in at once."
"Anybody else inside the cab?" Jack asked.
"By Jove, I was nearly forgetting that!" Rigby exclaimed. "I was just
flush with the cab as it passed a lamp. There was another figure in
the cab, a man, and as the light shone on his face I was about
staggered by his resemblance to the poster of Nostalgo. I only saw the
face just for an instant, but it is impressed upon my mind as if the
man were standing before me at this very minute. Singular, was it not?"
Jack nodded dumbly. This was another new departure in the strange
mystery. For the man seen by Rigby in the black four-wheeler could not
possibly have been the same Nostalgo that Jack had found, seeing that
the latter had been lying in Shannon Street some hour or two before
the time that Rigby was speaking about.
"You did not follow them further, I suppose?" Masefield asked.
"No; I didn't go as far as that. And at the moment I didn't think
anything as to that Nostalgo business No. 1, so to speak. If I had,
you may bet your bottom dollar that I should not have lost the
opportunity. The cab drifted away without any direction being given;
so I went along, without giving it more consideration, to my club. Eh,
what?"
Inspector Bates had hurried into the room without ceremony. His face
was pale and agitated.
"Something strange come out at the inquest?" Jack asked.
"No, sir," Bates gasped, "for the simple reason that there has been no
inquest. You can't hold an inquest without a body. What do I mean?
Why, that the body has vanished from the room, leaving not a hint of a
clue behind!"