PHILIP WALTER AUGUSTUS PARKER
The four of them went together to the bank, which was within a
minute's walk. There, the necessary forms being quickly gone through,
a sum of two thousand pounds was credited to Miss Patterson, power
being given to Rodney Elmore to draw on her account for such sums as
were needed for the proper conduct of the business, it being tacitly
understood that he would draw only such sums as were needed for the
business. That matter being settled, they separated; Mr. Andrews and
Mr. Parmiter going their own ways, Miss Patterson and Mr. Elmore
departing together in a cab to lunch. The cab had not gone very far
before the young gentleman made a discovery.
"I've left my letter-case on the table in the bank?"
"Your letter-case? Did you? What a nuisance; I never noticed it. Are
you sure it was on the table?"
"Quite; I remember distinctly; it was under a blotting-pad. What an
idiot I am! I'm frightfully sorry, but I'm afraid I shall have to go
back and get it."
"Of course, we will go back."
The cab returned to the bank. The lady remained inside; the gentleman
passed through the great swing doors--through first one pair, then a
second--it was impossible to see from the street what was taking place
beyond. Once in the bank, the young gentleman said nothing about his
letter-case--it had apparently passed from his memory altogether; but
he presented at the counter a cheque for a thousand pounds, with his
own signature attached. He took it in tens and fives, and a hundred
pounds in gold. If the paying clerk thought it was rather an odd way
of taking so large a sum, he made no comment. He came back through the
swing doors with a letter-case held in his hand.
"I've got it," he explained.
He emphatically had, though she understood one thing and he meant
another. When they had gone some little distance in the direction of
lunch she observed:
"I wish I were not in mourning. I've half a mind to go back and
change."
He observed her critically--he was holding one of her hands under
cover of the apron.
"My dear Gladys, I can't admit that you do look your best in
mourning."
"Do you think that I don't know that?"
"But you look charming, all the same."
"No, I don't; I look a perfect fright."
"I doubt if you could look a fright even if you tried; I'm certain you
don't look one now. In fact, the more I look at you the harder I find
it to keep from kissing you."
"I dare say! You'd better not."
"That's a truth of which I'm unpleasantly aware. Still, if you did
look like anything distantly resembling a fright, I shouldn't have
that feeling so strong upon me, should I?"
"You're not to talk like that in a hansom!"
"I'm merely explaining. I suggest that if you do feel like changing,
you should lunch first, and change afterwards."
"You're coming back with me to Russell Square?"
"Rather!"
"I won't wear mourning--people may say and think what they choose--I
declare I won't. Did you ever see anything like that letter?"
"It was by way of being a curiosity."
"But, Rodney, he said you were--he said you were all sorts of things!
What did he mean?"
"Your father was one of those not uncommon men who always use much
stronger language than the occasion requires--it was a habit of his.
For instance, when, in spite of his very positive commands, I showed
an inclination to continue your acquaintance, he as good as told me I
was a murderer--he said that it was his positive conviction that for
the sake of a five-pound note I'd murder you."
"Did he really?"
"He did. And I dare say that when you showed no desire to cut me dead,
he said one or two nice things to you."
"Oh, he did--several. He made out that I was everything that was bad."
"There you are--that's the kind of man he was."
"But didn't he say something about a policeman--and giving you in
charge?"
"I am sure that he would have given me in charge to twenty policemen
if he could, and that nothing would have pleased him better than to
have had me sent to penal servitude for life."
"What I can't make out is--why did he dislike you so?"
"My dear, I'm afraid the explanation is simple--too simple. I don't
want to hurt your feelings, but I've a notion--a very strong one--that
he didn't like you. He regarded you as a nuisance; you know how he
kept you in the background as long as he could; you interfered with
the sort of life he liked to live; you were in his way."
"He certainly never at any period of his life or mine, showed himself
over-anxious for my company."
"When you did become installed in town, he had formed his own plans
for your future. What precisely was the arrangement between them I
don't pretend to know; but I dare say I shall find out before long--it
won't need much to induce Wilkes to give himself away; but I am
persuaded that it was his intention that you should become Mrs.
Stephen Wilkes."
"But what makes you think so? It seems to me so monstrous. Fancy me as
Mrs. Stephen Wilkes!"
"Thank you, I'd rather not. It's only a case of intuition, I admit,
but I'm convinced I'm right, and one day I may be able to give you
chapter and verse. He was not over-fond of me to begin with, but when
you appeared on the scene, and he saw that his best laid plans bade
fair to gang agley, he suddenly began to develop a feeling towards me
which ended as it has done. It's not a pretty one, but there's my
explanation. But, sweetheart, that page is ended; let's turn it over
and never look back at it; and all the rest of the volume--let's try
our best to make it happy reading."
They ate a fair lunch, considering, and enjoyed it, and afterwards
returned together in a taximeter cab to Russell Square, feeling more
tenderly disposed to each other, and at peace with all the world. When
Miss Patterson had ate and drunk well she was apt to discover a turn
for languorous sentiment which appealed to Mr. Elmore very forcibly
indeed. Since, therefore, it was probably their intention to spend an
amorous afternoon, the shock was all the greater when, on their
arrival at No. 90, they were greeted in the hall by a tall upstanding,
broad-shouldered, soldierly-looking man in whom Gladys recognised the
officer of police who had brought her the news of her father's tragic
fate.
"Inspector Harlow," she exclaimed. "What--what are you doing here?"
It was perhaps only natural that, drawing away from the policeman
towards her lover, she should slip her hands through his arm as if she
looked to him for protection from some suddenly threatening danger.
Rodney pressed his arm closer to his side, as if to assure her she
would find shelter there; though, as she uttered the visitor's name,
he glanced towards him with a look which, as it were, with difficulty
became an odd little smile. The visitor's manner, when he spoke,
suggested mystery.
"Can I say half a dozen words with you, Miss Patterson, in private?"
She led the way to the first room to which they came, which chanced to
be the dining-room, she entering first, then Rodney, the inspector
last. When he was in he shut the door and stood up against it.
"I said, Miss Patterson, in private."
The inspector had an eye on Rodney.
"We are in private; you can say anything you wish to say before this
gentleman. This is Mr. Elmore, to whom I am shortly to be married."
"Mr. Elmore?"
As the officer echoed the name the two men's glances met. In the
inspector's eyes there was an expression of eager curiosity, as if he
were taken by surprise; Rodney's quick perceptions told him that while
his name, and probably more than his name, was known to the other, for
some cause he was the last person he had expected to see; the man was
studying him with an interest which he did not attempt to conceal. The
young man, on his side, was regarding the inspector as if he found him
amusing.
"Well, inspector, when you have quite finished staring at Mr. Elmore,
perhaps you will tell me what it is you have to say."
The girl's candid allusion to the peculiarity which it seemed she had
noticed in his manner had the effect of bringing the officer back to a
consciousness of what he was doing.
"Was I staring? I beg Mr. Elmore's pardon--and yours, Miss Patterson.
I was only thinking that, under the circumstances, it is a fortunate
accident that Mr. Elmore should be present."
"You have omitted to state what are the circumstances to which you
allude."
"I will proceed to supply that omission at once, Miss Patterson. You
will probably think that they are strange ones; and, indeed, they are;
but you will, of course, understand that I am only here in pursuance
of my duty. I have come in consequence of a letter which I received
this morning. I will read it to you."
He took an envelope from a fat pocket-book.
"It bears no address, and is not dated; but the envelope shows that it
was posted last night at Beckenham.
"'To Inspector Harlow.
"'Sir,--Mr. Graham Patterson did not commit suicide; he was murdered.
"'If you can make it convenient to be at Mr. Graham Patterson's late
residence, No. 90, Russell Square, to-morrow, Wednesday, afternoon at
3.30, I will be there also, and will point out to you the murderer.
"'Your obedient servant,
"'Philip Walter Augustus Parker.'"
Silence followed when the inspector ceased to read. The officer was
engaged in folding the letter and returning it to its envelope; Gladys
looked as if she were too startled to give ready utterance to her
feelings in words. Rodney was possibly trying to associate someone of
whom he had heard with the name of Parker--and failing. His memory did
not often play him tricks; he was pretty sure that no one of that name
was known to him. The inspector was the first to speak.
"You will, of course, perceive, Miss Patterson, that the probabilities
are that this letter is a hoax; the signature, Philip Walter Augustus
Parker, in itself suggests a hoax. Then there is the absence of an
address. And, of course, we have the verdict of the coroner's jury,
and the evidence on which it was found. I am quite prepared to learn
that I have come to Russell Square, and troubled you with my presence,
for nothing. But at the same time, in my position, I did not feel
justified in not coming, on the very off-chance of making the
acquaintance of Philip Walter Augustus Parker. It is now on the stroke
of half-past three; we will give him a few minutes' grace, after
which--if, as I expect will be the case, there are still no signs of
him--I'll take myself off, with apologies, Miss Patterson. But should
he by any strange chance put in an appearance, I would ask you to have
him at once shown in here."
Hardly had the inspector done speaking than there was the sound of an
electric bell and a rat-tat-tat at the front door. The trio in the
dining-room could scarcely have seemed more startled had they been
suddenly confronted by a ghost. The inspector's voice sank to a
whisper.
"If the name's Parker, would you mind asking the servant--in here?"
A gesture supplied the words he had omitted in his sentence. He held
the door open so that Gladys could speak to the maid who was coming
along the hall. She did so, also in lowered tones.
"If that's a person of the name of Parker show him at once in here."
She withdrew; the inspector shut the door; there was a pause; no one
spoke; each of the three stood and listened. They could hear the front
door opened and steps coming along the hall. Then the dining-room door
was opened by a maid, who announced:
"Mr. Parker."
There entered the little man who had followed the example set by
Rodney of getting out of the train in Redhill Tunnel.