THE MAN WITH THE FAIR MOUSTACHE.
Claire sat there, her mind half on her music and half on the
extraordinary conduct of her lover. Not that she did not trust him
implicitly; but, still, it seemed strange that he should have gone off
without explaining the cause of his agitation.
Some one next to her touched her on the elbow and asked a question as
to an item on the programme. The question was repeated twice before
Claire realized that she would have to pull herself together. She
replied quite at random; then she looked about her, and became
cognizant of the fact that Padini was still on the stage, bowing his
acknowledgments of the thunderous applause which had greeted his
magnificent efforts.
Yet a closer glance did not serve to show Claire anything sinister in
the artist's personality. He was pale and clean-shaven, palpably very
nervous, and yet pleased with the warmth of his reception. Surely
there could have been no mystery connected with a man like this.
On the other hand, the marvelous likeness between his playing and the
execution in the same piece displayed by Anstruther two nights ago
could not possibly be overlooked by any one professing to any musical
knowledge at all. Claire hoped that the inevitable encore would
produce a repetition of the same piece.
Surely enough, Padini came forward and struck the opening bars of the
same rhapsodie. With eyes closed and mind eagerly concentrated on the
music, Claire followed every passage with rapt attention. There was no
longer any possibility of mistake. The Padini interpretation of the
piece was exactly that of Anstruther. Was Anstruther, therefore, a
consummate master of his art or a showy humbug or charlatan? Could it
have been possible that this new artist had been concealed in the
Panton Square library two nights before? But, on the face of it, this
was absolutely impossible. Padini had only been in England a little
over eight and forty hours, and his first appearance in London had
been at a musical "at home" on the same night that Anstruther had
played the Nocturne in Panton Square.
Claire was still debating this problem in her mind when Jack returned
to his seat. He looked a little pale and shaky, but the grim smile on
his face was determined enough. "My dearest girl, I am going to ask
you a little favor," Jack whispered. "I hope you won't think it the
least rude of me, but I want you to excuse me going back with you.
Can't you guess that there is something more than meets the eye here?"
"I should be very blind indeed if I did not," Claire replied. "Jack,
what is the meaning of this strange mystery? Either Signor Padini was
at our house the other night, or my guardian learned to play that
rhapsodie after having had lessons from the man on the platform before
us."
"I may be wrong, of course," Jack said, "but I feel pretty sure that I
have guessed the problem. That is why I want you to go off by
yourself, and leave me to play the detective so far as Padini is
concerned. It is not altogether a pleasant job, but I am going to
follow that fellow when he leaves the Hall."
So saying, Jack rose from his seat, and Claire obediently followed his
example. Once outside, Jack called a cab, and gave the driver his
instructions.
"I think that will be all right," he said. "You may expect me to come
round after dinner, my darling girl. I hope you are not in the least
annoyed with me; but there is danger ahead for you and me, and it is
my duty to prevent it at all hazards. I declare if I had not almost
forgotten one of the most important things I had to say to you. On no
account are you to breathe a word of this afternoon's visit to your
guardian. He is not to know that you have been with me or anybody else
to the Albert Hall to-day."
Claire glanced at the pale, anxious face of her lover and gave the
desired assurance. She felt perfectly safe in his hands; he would tell
her all there was to be told in due course; and now for the first time
she congratulated herself on the fact that her engagement had been
kept a secret from Anstruther.
Meanwhile Jack had returned to the back of the Hall. So far as he
could recollect, Padini was down on the programme for no further item
that afternoon, therefore it was only a matter of waiting till the
violinist emerged, and following him to his destination. But Jack had
succeeded in consuming three cigarettes without any sign of the artist
rewarding his patience. Taking half-a-crown from his pocket, he
crossed the road and proceeded to interview the stage-door keeper.
"Oh, that foreign-looking chap, is it?" the stage-door guardian said.
"Signor Somebody or other who plays the fiddle. Why, he's been gone
the last ten minutes."
"Gone!" Jack exclaimed, with palpable dismay. "Why, I have been
watching most carefully for him the last half-hour. Was he wrapped up
or shawled in any way?"
Whilst Jack still stood arguing there a slim young man, with fair
moustache turned upwards _à la_ German Emperor, passed and repassed
him hurriedly. The stranger passed into a smartly appointed hansom and
vanished.
"Well, there's your man," the doorkeeper exclaimed. "He must have
forgotten something and returned for it."
Jack muttered his thanks, parted with his half-crown, and went into
the roadway thoroughly puzzled. He could not for a moment doubt the
word of the doorkeeper, who was naturally an expert in a recognition
of faces. As a matter of fact, the man with the turned-up moustache
was the same individual who had been so mysteriously concealed in
Panton Square, and who had afterwards accompanied the deaf-mute girl
to Mr. Carrington's. On the stage Padini had appeared as a slight,
slim man, whose face was absolutely devoid of hair.
Jack stood thoughtfully in the middle of the road, wondering what to
do next. His first idea was to go at once and look up Rigby. He must
have been standing there a great deal longer than he had imagined, for
presently he saw the smart hansom return and take its place on the
rank. Here was a slice of luck indeed. Jack crossed over and hailed
the hansom.
"Here, I want you to drive me to the office of the _Planet_," he said.
"I suppose you know where that is. Do you want to earn an extra
half-sovereign?"
"That's the way I was educated." said the cabman, with a grin. "Oh, my
last fare, is it? Well, I can easily answer that question. Gent with
the cocked-up moustache. I have just driven him to 5, Panton Square."
Jack stepped into the hansom, feeling that luck was entirely on his
side. He knew now that he was on the track of something more than mere
coincidence. For 5, Panton Square was no less a place than the
residence of Spencer Anstruther, Claire's guardian. Here was proof
positive that Padini, the violinist, a perfect stranger to London, was
at any rate on terms of friendship with Anstruther. There was nothing
for it now but to seek out Rigby and tell him all that had happened
without delay. Rigby was found in his room at the _Planet_ office,
mournfully drawing skeletons on a sheet of blotting-paper. He nodded
thoughtfully as Jack came in; then, catching sight of the latter's
eager face, asked what was in the wind.
"I have been making discoveries galore," Jack responded. "You would
hardly expect me to do that through the medium of an afternoon
concert; but there it is. You have heard of this new violinist, Signor
Padini, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes," Rigby said indifferently. "Well, a typical class of foreign
boomster, I suppose."
"That is not the point," Jack proceeded to explain. "You will
recollect what I told you about the empty study in Anstruther's house
from which the music proceeded in that strange, unaccountable manner.
Naturally, I thought the player was Anstruther himself--Anstruther
wonderfully improved or inspired beyond all recognition; but now I
know that such was not the case. Dick, there is something devilish in
this strange business--the empty room, the unearthly music, the
strange appearance of that young man with his deaf-mute companion,
followed so closely by the death of Nostalgo. What does it all mean?"
"I will give a thousand pounds to know," Rigby responded.
"Well, I think I can tell you," Jack went on. "You will recollect the
night before last, during our chance meeting at Carrington's, that I
asked you to keep an eye on a young man with moustache turned up _à
la_ German Emperor. Would you be surprised to hear that this young man
was no less a person than Signor Padini?"
"Impossible!" Rigby exclaimed. "How could you prove such a statement?"
"Well, I am going to prove it, anyway. Together with Miss Helmsley I
went to hear Padini this afternoon. By some strange freak of fate he
had chosen Chopin's Rhapsodie in F as his item on the programme.
Directly he began to play my mind went back to that strange, weird
music in Anstruther's study. It was not I alone who noticed this
subtle resemblance; in fact, Claire recognized it as soon as I did.
Mind you, every musician of note has his little tricks and fancies
which are absolutely peculiar to himself. When I shut my eyes, I could
literally hear Padini playing in Anstruther's house.
"I sent Claire home in a cab, and proceeded to wait till Padini
left the Albert Hall. I missed him, of course, for Padini was a
clean-shaven man on the stage. As a matter of fact, he must be a very
conceited creature, seeing that in private life he wears a fair
moustache. I got that from the doorkeeper; but, what is more to the
point, the cabman who drove me here is the same man who half-an-hour
ago dropped Padini at Anstruther's house. Now, I would like to know
what you make of that."
Rigby listened thoughtfully to all that Jack had had to say. The
significance of the revelations was not lost upon him.
"And yet, I dare say, Anstruther would deny any knowledge of Padini if
you asked him," he said. "Still, we know a great deal, and, clever as
Anstruther is, he cannot possibly conceive the fact that we are so
closely acquainted with his movements. Let's go and call upon the
beggar, shall we? Pretend that we want to consult him on some matter
of business. Anything will do. Did you keep your cab?"
"Well, yes; it occurred to me that we might want him again, and,
besides, the driver can prove that he left Padini at 5, Panton
Square."
Panton Square was reached at length; the cabman had been discreetly
dropped at the corner of the street. Jack rang the bell, which was
answered by Serena. In the full light of the afternoon sunshine her
strange, inscrutable face looked more haggard and strange than usual.
There was the same furtive droop of her eyelids, the same pitiable
shake of her hands, that suggested the beaten hound, that Jack had so
often noticed before. He would have given much, as a writer of stories
himself, to have known the secret history of this woman. Docile and
tame as she appeared to be, she was still capable of passionate
emotion, or the dilatation of her black pupils spoke falsely. Though
she was meek and friendly enough, there was ever a suggestion that she
was on her guard.
"Your master in?" Rigby asked breezily. "But we know that he is. Don't
you trouble about us; we will go to the study ourselves."
Serena stood there as if something gripped her throat and choked her
utterance.
"But my master is not at home." she protested. "He has not been at
home all day; neither do I know what time to expect him to-night. I
fancy he is out of town altogether."
"That's rather awkward," Rigby said. "We came here on business,
expecting to meet a friend of ours. I suppose you have seen nothing of
him--a tall, slim young man, with rather a fierce type of moustache?"
"There has been no visitor calling here to-day," Serena replied, with
the air of one who repeats a well-learned lesson. "I am the only
servant in the house at present, and should have known if anybody had
called."
Jack did not dare to glance at his companion, feeling that those dark,
interrogating eyes were fixed upon his face. A sudden impulse moved
Jack; he decided upon trying the effect of a swift surprise. He tapped
the woman familiarly on the shoulder.
"Come, come," he said, with a jocular ring in his voice. "Do you mean
to tell me that you have not had a visit to-day from Signor Padini?"
A stifled cry broke from the woman; she clenched her hands in an
attitude of pain.