ENGLAND'S GREAT SENSATION
In the course of a week or so London, and shortly afterwards the whole
of England, realized that a new and absorbing sensation was dawning.
Perhaps there is nothing which more excites the popular mind than the
sudden disappearance of anybody from whatever class of society.
It began to be realized, whispered and hinted at in the newspapers that
a young and rising barrister of good family, named Mr. Guy Rathbone, of
the Inner Temple, had suddenly vanished. It was but a year or two before
that the whole of the country had been thrilled by the sad case of Miss
Hickman. The event and the excitement it had raised at the time were
still fresh in the public mind; and when it began to be rumoured that
something even more sensational than that had taken place, the Press
began to be on the alert. In ten days' time such as were known of the
facts of Mr. Guy Rathbone's apparent departure from ordinary life had
become the topic of the hour. The newspapers were filled with columns of
surmises. Hour by hour, as the evening papers of London and the
provinces appeared, new theories, clues, explanations filled the leader
pages and the contents' bills. The "Rathbone Mystery," as it was called,
absorbed the whole interest of the country. An announcement of war would
have been momentarily disregarded by the man in the street, while he yet
remained unsatisfied as to the truth about the young gentleman who
seemed to have been utterly wiped out from the world of men and women,
to have vanished into thin air without a trace of his movements or a
single clue as to his whereabouts.
All that was accurately known was summed up again and again in the Press
and in general conversation, and it amounted to just this and no more.
Mr. Guy Rathbone was in fairly prosperous circumstances; he had an
income of his own, was slowly but steadily climbing the laborious ladder
of the Bar, was popular in society, and, as far as could be ascertained,
had no troubles of any sort whatever.
It was shown that Rathbone was not in debt, and practically owed nothing
whatever, except the ordinary current accounts, which he was accustomed
to settle every quarter. He had a fair balance at the bank, and his
securities, which provided him with his income, were intact. His life
had been a singularly open one. His movements had never suggested
anything secret or disreputable. His friends were all people in good
circumstances, and no one had ever alleged any shady acquaintances
against him. He was in perfect health, was constantly in the habit of
taking exercise at the German Gymnasium, still played football
occasionally, and held a commission in the Inns of Court Volunteers. He
had never been observed to be downcast or despondent in any way. In
short, there was no earthly reason, at any rate upon the surface, for a
voluntary withdrawal on his part from the usual routine of his life.
The idea of suicide was frankly scouted by both friends, acquaintances
and business connections. People do not destroy themselves without a
real or imaginary reason, and this young man had always been regarded as
so eminently healthy-minded and sane, that no one was prepared to
believe even that he had made away with himself in a sudden fit of
morbidity or madness. It was shown that there had been no taint of
insanity in his family for several generations. The theory of suicide
was clearly untenable. This was the conclusion to which journalists,
police, and the new class of scientific mystery experts which has sprung
up during the last few years unanimously came. Moreover, in the London
of to-day, or even in the country, it is a most difficult thing for a
man to commit suicide without the more or less immediate discovery of
his remains.
There was not wanting the class of people who hinted at foul play. But
that theory was immensely narrowed by the fact that no one could have
had any motive for murdering this young man, save only a member of the
criminal classes, who did so for personal gain. It was quite true that
he might have been robbed and his body cunningly disposed of. Such
things have happened, such things do, though very rarely, happen in the
London of to-day. But the class of criminal who makes a practice and
livelihood of robbery with violence, of attempted or actual murder, is a
small class. Every member of it is intimately known to the police, and
Scotland Yard was able to discover no single suspicious movement of this
or that criminal who might reasonably be concerned in such an affair.
Moreover, it was pointed out that such criminals were either invariably
brought to justice or that, at any rate, the _fact_ that some one or
other unknown has committed a murder is invariably discovered within a
week or so of the occurrence.
For fourteen days the hundreds of people engaged in trying to solve this
mystery had found no single indication of foul play.
Where, then, was Guy Rathbone? Was he alive? was he dead? Nobody was
prepared to say.
The one strange circumstance which seemed to throw a tiny light upon the
mystery was this. For a fortnight or so before his disappearance, Mr.
Rathbone, usually in the habit of going a good deal to dinner-parties,
dances, and so on, had declined all invitations. Many people who had
invited him to this or that function now came forward and announced that
their invitations had been declined, as Mr. Rathbone had said he was
going out of town for a short time. Inquiries in the Temple showed that
Mr. Rathbone had not been out of town at all. He had remained almost
entirely in his chambers, and even his appearances in the Law Courts,
where he had only done three days' actual work for the last week or two,
had been less frequent than usual.
Rathbone was in the habit of being attended to by a woman who came early
in the morning, lit the fires, prepared his bath and breakfast, and then
swept the chambers. The woman generally arrived at seven and left about
twelve, returning again for an hour about six in the evening, to make up
the fires and do anything else that might be required. Rathbone either
lunched in the Inner Temple or in one of the Fleet Street restaurants.
If not dining out, he generally took this meal at the Oxford and
Cambridge Club, of which he was a member.
The waiters in the Temple Hall said that his attendance had not been
quite as regular as usual in the fortnight or so before his
disappearance, but they certainly thought that they had seen him every
other day or so.
The woman who looked after the chambers stated that Mr. Rathbone had
remained indoors a good deal more than usual, seeming to be engrossed in
law books. On several occasions when she had arrived at six in the
evening, she had found that he did not require his dress clothes put
out, and had asked her to bring him in some sandwiches or some light
food of that description, as he intended to work alone far into the
night.
These slight divergencies from his ordinary habits were, every one
agreed, significant of something. But what that something was nobody
knew, and the wild suggestions made on all sides seemed to provide no
real solution.
The last occasion upon which Mr. Rathbone had been seen by any one able
to report the occurrence was in the early morning at breakfast. Mrs.
Baker, the bed-maker, had cooked the breakfast as usual, and had asked
her master if he would excuse her attendance in the evening, as she had
a couple of orders for the Adelphi, in return for displaying the bills
of the theatre in a little shop she kept with her daughter in a street
off Holborn.
"My master seemed in his usual spirits," the good woman had said in an
interview with a member of the staff of the _Westminster Gazette_. "He
gave me permission at once to go to the theatre, and said that he
himself would be out that evening. There was no trace of anything
unusual in his manner. When I arrived in the morning and opened the
outer doors of the chambers with my pass key, I went into the study and
the sitting-room as usual, lit two fires, turned on the bath, made a cup
of tea and took it to Mr. Rathbone's bedroom. There was no answer to my
knock, and when I opened the door and went in, thinking he was
over-sleeping himself, I found the bed had not been slept in. This was
very unusual in a gentleman of Mr. Rathbone's regular habits. It would
not have attracted my notice in the case of some gentlemen I have been
in the habit of doing for, who were accustomed to stay out without any
intimation of the fact. But I did think it strange in the case of Mr.
Guy, always a very steady gentleman. I waited about till nearly one
o'clock, and he did not return. I then went home, and did not go to the
chambers again till six o'clock, when I found things in the same state
as before, the fires burnt out, and no trace of anybody having entered.
As I left the Inn I asked the porter if he had seen Mr. Rathbone, and he
replied that he had not returned. The same thing happened for the next
two days, when the porter communicated with the authorities of the Inn,
and an inspector of police was called in."
The interview disclosed few more facts of importance, save only one.
This was that Mr. Rathbone had dressed for dinner on the night of his
disappearance. His evening clothes were not in the wardrobe, and the
morning suit he had been wearing at breakfast was neatly folded and
placed upon a chest of drawers ready for Mrs. Baker to brush it.
This seemed to show indubitably that the barrister had no thought of
being absent from home that night.
There the matter had rested at first. Meanwhile, as no new discovery was
made, and not the slightest ray of light seemed to be forthcoming, the
public interest was worked up to fever heat. Rathbone had few relations,
though many friends. His only surviving relative appeared to be his
uncle, a brother of his mother, who was the Dean of Bexeter. The
clergyman was interviewed, and stated that he generally received a
letter from his nephew every three weeks or so, but nothing in the most
recent letter had been unusual, and that he was as much in the dark as
any ordinary member of the public.
This much was known to the man in the street. But in society, while the
comment and amazement was no less in intensity, much more was known than
the outside world suspected.
For some time past every one had remarked the apparent and growing
intimacy between the lost man and Miss Marjorie Poole, who was engaged
to the famous scientist, Sir William Gouldesbrough, F.R.S. How far
matters had gone between the young couple was only conjectured, but at
the moment of Rathbone's disappearance it was generally believed that
Miss Poole was about to throw over Sir William for his young rival--this
was the elegant way in which men talked in the clubs and women in their
drawing-rooms.
Nothing is hidden now-a-days, and the fierce light of publicity beats
upon the doings of the countess and the coster-monger alike. The
countess may, perhaps, preserve a secret a little longer than the
coster-monger, and that is the only difference between them in this
regard.
Accordingly, on the fifteenth or sixteenth day of the mystery, a
sensational morning paper published a special article detailing what
professed to be an entirely new light upon the situation. If statements
affecting the private and intimate life of anybody can be called in good
taste, the article was certainly written with a due regard to
proprieties, and with an obvious attempt to avoid hurting the feelings
of any one. But, as it was pointed out in a prefatory note, the whole
affair had passed from the regions of private life into the sphere of
national interest, and therefore it was the duty of a journal to give to
the world all and every fact which had any bearing upon the affair,
without fear or favour.
This last article, which created a tremendous sensation, was in
substance as follows:--
It hinted that a young lady of great charm, and moving in the highest
circles, a young lady who had been engaged for some little time to one
of the most distinguished Englishmen of the day, had lately been much
seen with the vanished man. The gossip of society had hinted that this
could mean nothing more or less than the young lady had been mistaken in
the first disposal of her affections, and was about to make a change.
How did this bear upon the situation?
During the next day or two, though no names were actually printed, it
became generally known who the principal characters in the supposed
little drama of love really were. Everybody spoke freely of old Sir
Frederick Poole's distinguished daughter, of Lady Poole of Curzon
Street, and of Sir William Gouldesbrough.
When the article first appeared everybody began to say, "Ah, now we
shall have the whole thing cleared up." But as the days went on people
began to realize that the new facts threw little new light upon the
mystery, and only provided a possible motive for Mr. Guy Rathbone's
suicide. And then once more people were compelled to ask themselves if
Mr. Rathbone really was in love with Miss Poole, and had found that
either she would have nothing to say to him, or that she was inevitably
bound to Sir William Gouldesbrough in honour. Then when, how and where
did he make away with himself?
And to that question there was absolutely no answer.