MR. BEALE SUGGESTS MARRIAGE
"Held up by a gunman?" asked James Kitson incredulously, "why, what do
you mean?"
"It doesn't sound right, does it?" smiled Beale, "especially after
McNorton telling us the other day that there was no such thing as a
gunman in England. Do you remember his long dissertation on the
law-abiding criminals of this little old country?" he laughed.
"But a gunman," protested Mr. Kitson--"by the way, have you had
breakfast?"
"Hours ago," replied Beale, "but don't let me interrupt you."
Mr. James Kitson pulled his chair to the table and unfolded his napkin.
It was almost at this hour that Oliva Cresswell had performed a similar
act.
"You are not interrupting me," said Kitson, "go on."
Beale was frowning down at deserted Piccadilly which Mr. Kitson's
palatial suite at the Ritz-Carlton overlooked.
"Eh?" he said absently, "oh yes, the gunman--a sure enough gunman."
He related in a few words his experience of the previous night.
"This man Homo," said Kitson, "is he one of the gang?"
Beale shook his head.
"I don't think so. He may be one of van Heerden's ambassadors."
"Ambassadors?"
"I will explain van Heerden's game one of these days and you will
understand what I mean," said Beale. "No, I don't think that Parson Homo
is being any more than a gentle knight succouring a distressed lady,
whether for love of the lady, out of respect for the professor or from a
general sense of antagonism to all detectives, I can only speculate.
Anyway, he held me until the lady was out of hearing and presumably out
of sight. And then there was no need for me to go. I just sat down and
talked, and a more amiable and cultured gentleman it would be impossible
to meet."
Kitson looked at his companion through narrowed lids.
"Why, that's not like you, Beale," he said. "I thought you were too hot
on the scent to waste time."
"So I am," said the other, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets,
"that's just what I am." He turned suddenly to the older man. "Mr.
Kitson, I've got to know a little more about John Millinborn's will than
I know at present."
The lawyer looked up, fixed his glasses and regarded the younger man
with a troubled look.
"I'm sorry to jump in on you like this, but I'm rattled. I don't
understand much about the English law though I know that marriages
aren't as easy to make here in London as they are in our country. But
here as everywhere else it is fairly difficult to force a girl into
marriage against her will, and the marriage of course is not good in
law."
He sat down on the arm of a couch, dangling his hat between his legs,
and ran his fingers through his hair with a nervous little laugh.
"Here I'm telling you all that I came to ask you."
"Have a cup of tea," said Kitson, with a smile, "everybody in England
rushes to tea and I hope I shall get you in the habit."
Beale shook his head.
"You are right about the marriage," Kitson went on, "but I'll give you
the law on the subject. A marriage can only be solemnized if due notice
is given by the parties who must be resident in the district where it is
to take place--three weeks is the period of notice."
"Is there no other way?"
"Yes. By paying special fees and offering a good and sufficient reason a
faculty can be secured from the Archbishop of Canterbury, or rather from
his officials, authorizing a marriage without notice. It is called a
special licence, and the marriage may occur at any hour and at any
place."
"Is there a register of applications?" asked Beale quickly.
"I've thought of that," nodded the lawyer, "yes, I'm keeping that side
under observation. It is difficult because officialdom isn't as obliging
as it might be. My own view is that van Heerden will be married in the
ordinary way, that is to say by giving notice. To secure his special
licence he would be obliged to give his own name and be vouched for; he
can be married in the ordinary way even if he gives a false name, which
in all probability he will."
"Would the marriage be legal if it was in a false name?"
"Absolutely. In English law you may commit an offence by marrying in a
wrong name, but it would not invalidate the marriage."
Stanford Beale sat studying the pattern of the carpet.
"Is there any chance of two special licences being issued to marry the
same girl?" he asked.
"None--why do you ask?"
Beale did not reply immediately.
"Something Homo said last night when I told him frankly that I was
searching for Miss Cresswell. 'Oh,' said he, 'that's the lady that's
marrying the doctor.' He wouldn't tell me more. But he gave me an idea
to make sure that no special licence is issued to van Heerden. I shall
apply for one myself."
The lawyer stared at him.
"To marry the girl?" he gasped. "But----"
Stanford Beale laughed a little bitterly.
"Say, don't get up in the air, Mr. Kitson--I'm only thinking of Miss
Cresswell. A special licence in my name would stop one of van Heerden's
paths to easy money. Tell me, and this is what I came to ask you, under
Millinborn's will, does the husband benefit directly by the marriage, or
is he dependent upon what his wife gives him?'
"He benefits directly," said Kitson after a pause, "on his marriage he
receives exactly one-half of the girl's fortune. That was Millinborn's
idea. 'Make the husband independent,' he said, 'do not put him in the
humiliating position of dependence on his wife's generosity, and there
will be a chance of happiness for them both.'"
"I see--of course, van Heerden knows that. He has only to produce a
marriage certificate to scoop in two and a half million dollars--that is
half a million in English money. This is the secret of it all. He wants
money immediately, and under the terms of the will----?"
"He gets it," said Kitson. "If he came to me to-morrow with proof of his
marriage, even if I knew that he had coerced the girl into marriage, I
must give him his share--van Heerden was pretty thorough when he put my
dying friend through his examination." His face hardened. "Heavens, I'd
give every penny I had in the world to bring that fiend to the gallows,
Beale!"
His voice shook, and rising abruptly he walked to the window. Presently
he turned. "I think there is something in your idea. Get the licence."
"I will--and marry her," said Beale quickly.
"Marry her--I don't quite understand you?"
For the first time there was suspicion in his voice.
"Mr. Kitson, I'm going to put all my cards on the table," said Beale
quietly, "will you sit down a moment? There are certain facts which we
cannot ignore. Fact one is that Oliva Cresswell is in the hands of a man
who is absolutely unscrupulous, but has no other object in view than
marriage. Her beauty, her charm, all the attractive qualities which
appeal to most men and to all brutes have no appeal for him--to him she
is just a money proposition. If he can't marry her, she has no further
interest for him."
"I see that," agreed the lawyer, "but----"
"Wait, please. If we knew where she was we could stop the marriage and
indict van Heerden--but I've an idea that we shan't locate her until it
is too late or nearly too late. I can't go hunting with a pack of
policemen. I must play a lone hand, or nearly a lone hand. When I find
her I must be in a position to marry her without losing a moment."
"You mean to marry her to foil van Heerden, and after--to dissolve the
marriage?" asked the lawyer, shaking his head. "I don't like that
solution, Beale--I tell you frankly, I don't like it. You're a good man
and I have every faith in you, but if I consented, even though I were
confident that you would play fair, which I am, I should feel that I had
betrayed John Millinborn's trust. It isn't because it is you, my son,"
he said kindly enough, "but if you were the Archangel Gabriel I'd kick
at that plan. Marriage is a difficult business to get out of once you
are in it, especially in this country."
Beale did not interrupt the older man.
"Right, and now if you've finished I'll tell you my scheme," he said,
"as I see it there's only a ghost of a chance of our saving this girl
from marriage. I've done my best and we--McNorton and I--have taken all
the facts before a judge this morning. We got a special interview with
the idea of securing a warrant for van Heerden's arrest. But there is no
evidence to convict him on any single charge. We cannot connect him with
the disappearance of Miss Cresswell, and although I pointed out that van
Heerden admits that he knows where the girl is, the judge said, fairly I
thought, that there was no law which compelled a man to divulge the
address of his fiancee to one who was a possible rival. The girl is of
an age when she can do as she wishes, and as I understand the matter you
have no legal status as a guardian."
"None," said James Kitson, "that is our weak point. I am merely the
custodian of her money. Officially I am supposed to be ignorant of the
fact that Oliva Cresswell is Oliva Predeaux, the heiress."
"Therefore our hands are tied," concluded Beale quietly. "Don't you see
that my plan is the only one--but I haven't told you what it is. There's
a man, a criminal, this Parson Homo who can help; I am satisfied that he
does not know where the girl is--but he'll help for a consideration. As
a matter of fact, he was pulled again. I am seeing him this afternoon."
Mr. Kitson frowned.
"The gunman--how can he help you?"
"I will tell you. This man, as I say, is known to the police as Parson
Homo. Apparently he is an unfrocked priest, one who has gone under. He
still preserves the resemblance to a gentleman"--he spoke slowly and
deliberately; "in decent clothes he would look like a parson. I propose
that he shall marry me to Miss Cresswell. The marriage will be a fake,
but neither the girl nor van Heerden will know this. If my surmise is
right, when van Heerden finds she is married he will take no further
steps--except, perhaps," he smiled, "to make her a widow. Sooner or
later we are bound to get him under lock and key, and then we can tell
Miss Cresswell the truth."
"In other words, you intend breaking the law and committing a serious
offence," said Kitson, shaking his head. "I can't be a party to
that--besides, she may not marry you."
"I see that danger--van Heerden is a mighty clever fellow. He may be
married before I trace them."
"You say that Homo doesn't know about the girl, what does he know?"
"He has heard of van Heerden. He has heard probably from the girl Hilda
Glaum that van Heerden is getting married--the underworld do not get
their news out of special editions--he probably knows too that van
Heerden is engaged in some swindle which is outside the parson's line of
business."
"Will he help you?"
"Sure," Beale said with quiet confidence, "the man is broke and
desperate. The police watch him like a cat, and would get him sooner or
later. McNorton told me that much. I have offered him passage to
Australia and L500, and he is ready to jump at it."
"You have explained the scheme?"
"I had to," confessed Beale, "there was no time to be lost. To my
surprise he didn't like it. It appears that even a double-dyed crook has
scruples, and even when I told him the whole of my plan he still didn't
like it, but eventually agreed. He has gone to Whitechapel to get the
necessary kit. I am putting him up in my flat. Of course, it may not be
necessary," he went on, "but somehow I think it will be."
Kitson spread out his hands in despair.
"I shall have to consent," he said, "the whole thing was a mistake from
the beginning. I trust you, Stanford," he went on, looking the other in
the eye, "you have no feeling beyond an ordinary professional interest
in this young lady?"
Beale dropped his eyes.
"If I said that, Mr. Kitson, I should be telling a lie," he said
quietly. "I have a very deep interest in Miss Cresswell, but that is not
going to make any difference to me and she will never know."
He left soon after this and went back to his rooms. At four o'clock he
received a visitor. Parson Homo, cleanly shaved and attired in a
well-fitting black coat and white choker, seemed more real to the
detective than the Parson Homo he had met on the previous night.
"You look the part all right," said Beale.
"I suppose I do," said the other shortly; "what am I to do next?"
"You stay here. I have made up a bed for you in my study," said Beale.
"I would like to know a little more of this before I go any further,"
Homo said, "there are many reasons why I want information."
"I have told you the story," said Beale patiently, "and I am going to
say right here that I do not intend telling you any more. You carry this
thing through and I'll pay you what I agreed. Nobody will be injured by
your deception, that I promise you."
"That doesn't worry me so much," said the other coolly, "as----"
There came a knock at the door, an agitated hurried knock, and Beale
immediately answered it. It was McNorton, and from force of habit Parson
Homo drew back into the shadows.
"All right, Parson," said McNorton, "I knew you were here. What do you
make of this?"
He turned to Beale and laid on the table a piece of paper which had been
badly crumpled and which he now smoothed out. It was the top half of a
telegraph form, the lower half had been torn away.
"'To Belocity, London,'" Beale read aloud.
"That's you," interrupted McNorton, and the other nodded.
"'To Belocity, London,'" he read slowly. "'Am imprisoned at Deans----'"
At this point the remainder of the message had been torn off.