THE COMING OF DR. MILSOM
She rose to meet him, and he stood spellbound, still holding the handle
of the door. It seemed that she had taken on new qualities, a new and an
ethereal grace. At the very thought even of his technical possession of
this smiling girl who came forward to greet him, his heart thumped so
loudly that he felt she must hear it. She was pale, and there were dark
shadows under her eyes, but the hand that gripped his was firm and warm
and living.
"I have to thank you for much, Mr. Beale," she said. "Mr. Kitson has
told me that I owe my rescue to you."
"Did he?" he asked awkwardly, and wondered what else Kitson had told
her.
"I am trying to be very sensible, and I want you to help me, because you
are the most sensible man I know."
She went back to the lounge-chair where she had been sitting, and
pointed to another.
"It was horribly melodramatic, wasn't it? but I suppose the life of a
detective is full of melodrama."
"Oh, brimming over," he said. "If you keep very quiet I will give you a
resume of my most interesting cases," he said, making a pathetic attempt
to be flippant, and the girl detected something of his insincerity.
"You have had a trying day," she said, with quick sympathy, "have you
arrested Doctor van Heerden?"
He shook his head.
"I am glad," she said.
"Glad?"
She nodded.
"Before he is arrested," she spoke with some hesitation, "I want one
little matter cleared up. I asked Mr. Kitson, but he put me off and said
you would tell me everything."
"What is it?" he asked steadily.
She got up and went to her bag which stood upon a side-table, opened it
and took out something which she laid on the palm of her hand. She came
back with hand extended, and Beale looked at the glittering object on
her palm and was speechless.
"Do you see that?" she asked.
He nodded, having no words for the moment, for "that" was a thin gold
ring.
"It is a wedding ring," she said, "and I found it on my finger when I
recovered."
"Oh!" said Beale blankly.
"Was I married?" she asked.
He made two or three ineffectual attempts to speak and ended by nodding.
"I feared so," she said quietly, "you see I recollect nothing of what
happened. The last thing I remembered was Doctor van Heerden sitting
beside me and putting something into my arm. It hurt a little, but not
very much, and I remember I spoke to him. I think it was about you," a
little colour came to her face, "or perhaps he was speaking about you, I
am not sure," she said hurriedly; "I know that you came into it somehow,
and that is all I can recall."
"Nothing else?" he asked dismally.
"Nothing," she said.
"Try, try, try to remember," he urged her.
He realized he was being a pitiable coward and that he wanted to shift
the responsibility for the revelation upon her. She smiled, and shook
her head.
"I am sorry but I can't remember anything. Now you are going to tell
me."
He discovered that he was sitting on the edge of the chair and that he
was more nervous than he had ever been in his life.
"So I am going to tell you," he said, in a hollow voice, "of course I'll
tell you. It is rather difficult, you understand."
She looked at him kindly.
"I know it must be difficult for a man like you to speak of your own
achievements. But for once you are going to be immodest," she laughed.
"Well, you see," he began, "I knew van Heerden wanted to marry you. I
knew that all along. I guessed he wanted to marry you for your money,
because in the circumstances there was nothing else he could want to
marry you for," he added. "I mean," he corrected himself hastily, "that
money was the most attractive thing to him."
"This doesn't sound very flattering," she smiled.
"I know I am being crude, but you will forgive me when you learn what I
have to say," he said huskily. "Van Heerden wanted to marry you----"
"And he married me," she said, "and I am going to break that marriage as
soon as I possibly can."
"I know, I hope so," said Stanford Beale. "I believe it is difficult,
but I will do all I possibly can. Believe me, Miss Cresswell----"
"I am not Miss Cresswell any longer," she said with a wry little face,
"but please don't call me by my real name."
"I won't," he said fervently.
"You knew he wanted to marry me for my money and not for my beauty or my
accomplishments," she said, "and so you followed me down to Deans
Folly."
"Yes, yes, but I must explain. I know it will sound horrible to you and
you may have the lowest opinion of me, but I have got to tell you."
He saw the look of alarm gather in her eyes and plunged into his story.
"I thought that if you were already married van Heerden would be
satisfied and take no further steps against you."
"But I wasn't already married," she said, puzzled.
"Wait, wait, please," he begged, "keep that in your mind, that I was
satisfied van Heerden wanted you for your money, and that if you were
already married or even if you weren't and he thought you were I could
save you from dangers, the extent of which even I do not know. And there
was a man named Homo, a crook. He had been a parson and had all the
manner and style of his profession. So I got a special licence in my own
name."
"You?" she said breathlessly. "A marriage licence? To marry me?"
He nodded.
"And I took Homo with me in my search for you. I knew that I should have
a very small margin of time, and I thought if Homo performed the
ceremony and I could confront van Heerden with the accomplished
deed----"
She sprang to her feet with a laugh.
"Oh, I see, I see," she said. "Oh, how splendid! And you went through
this mock ceremony! Where was I?"
"You were at the window," he said miserably.
"But how lovely! And you were outside and your parson with the funny
name--but that's delicious! So I wasn't married at all and this is your
ring." She picked it up with a mocking light in her eyes, and held it
out to him, but he shook his head.
"You were married," he said, in a voice which was hardly audible.
"Married? How?"
"Homo was not a fake! He was a real clergyman! And the marriage was
legal!"
They looked at one another without speaking. On the girl's part there
was nothing but pure amazement; but Stanford Beale read horror,
loathing, consternation and unforgiving wrath, and waited, as the
criminal waits for his sentence, upon her next words.
"So I am really married--to you," she said wonderingly.
"You will never forgive me, I know." He did not look at her now. "My own
excuse is that I did what I did because I--wanted to save you. I might
have sailed in with a gun and shot them up. I might have waited my
chance and broken into the house. I might have taken a risk and
surrounded the place with police, but that would have meant delay. I
didn't do the normal things or take the normal view--I couldn't with
you."
He did not see the momentary tenderness in her eyes, because he was not
looking at her, and went on:
"That's the whole of the grisly story. Mr. Kitson will advise you as to
what steps you may take to free yourself. It was a most horrible
blunder, and it was all the more tragic because you were the victim,
you of all the persons in the world!"
She had put the ring down, and now she took it up again and examined it
curiously.
"It is rather--quaint, isn't it?" she asked.
"Oh, very."
He thought he heard a sob and looked up. She was laughing, at first
silently, then, as the humour of the thing seized her, her laugh rang
clear and he caught its infection.
"It's funny," she said at last, wiping her eyes, "there is a humorous
side to it. Poor Mr. Beale!"
"I deserve a little pity," he said ruefully.
"Why?" she asked quickly. "Have you committed bigamy?"
"Not noticeably so," he answered, with a smile.
"Well, what are you going to do about it? It's rather serious when one
thinks of it--seriously. So I am Mrs. Stanford Beale--poor Mr. Beale,
and poor Mrs. Beale-to-be. I do hope," she said, and this time her
seriousness was genuine, "that I have not upset any of your plans--too
much. Oh," she sat down suddenly, staring at him, "it would be awful,"
she said in a hushed voice, "and I would never forgive myself. Is
there--forgive my asking the question, but I suppose," with a flashing
smile, "as your wife I am entitled to your confidence--is there somebody
you are going to marry?"
"I have neither committed bigamy nor do I contemplate it," said Beale,
who was gradually recovering his grip of the situation, "if you mean am
I engaged to somebody--in fact, to a girl," he said recklessly, "the
answer is in the negative. There will be no broken hearts on my side of
the family. I have no desire to probe your wounded heart----"
"Don't be flippant," she stopped him sternly; "it is a very terrible
situation, Mr. Beale, and I hardly dare to think of it."
"I realize how terrible it is," he said, suddenly bold, "and as I tell
you, I will do everything I can to correct my blunder."
"Does Mr. Kitson know?" she asked.
He nodded.
"What did Mr. Kitson say? Surely he gave you some advice."
"He said----" began Stanford, and went red.
The girl did not pursue the subject.
"Come, let us talk about the matter like rational beings," she said
cheerfully. "I have got over my first inclination to swoon. You must
curb your very natural desire to be haughty."
"I cannot tell you what we can do yet. I don't want to discuss the
unpleasant details of a divorce," he said, "and perhaps you will let me
have a few days before we decide on any line of action. Van Heerden is
still at large, and until he is under lock and key and this immense
danger which threatens the world is removed, I can hardly think
straight."
"Mr. Kitson has told me about van Heerden," she said quietly. "Isn't it
rather a matter for the English police to deal with? As I have reason to
know," she shivered slightly, "Doctor van Heerden is a man without any
fear or scruple."
"My scruples hardly keep me awake at night," he said, "and I guess I'm
not going to let up on van Heerden. I look upon it as my particular
job."
"Isn't it"--she hesitated--"isn't it rather dangerous?"
"For me?" he laughed, "no, I don't think so. And even if it were in the
most tragic sense of the word dangerous, why, that would save you a
great deal of unpleasantness."
"I think you are being horrid," she said.
"I am sorry," he responded quickly, "I was fishing for a little pity,
and it was rather cheap and theatrical. No, I do not think there is very
much danger. Van Heerden is going to keep under cover, and he is after
something bigger than my young life."
"Is Milsom with him?"
"He is the weak link in van Heerden's scheme," Beale said. "Somehow van
Heerden doesn't strike me as a good team leader, and what little I have
seen of Milsom leads me to the belief that he is hardly the man to
follow the doctor's lead blindly. Besides, it is always easier to catch
two men than one," he laughed. "That is an old detective's axiom and it
works out."
She put out her hand.
"It's a tangled business, isn't it?" she said. "I mean us. Don't let it
add to your other worries. Forget our unfortunate relationship until we
can smooth things out."
He shook her hand in silence.
"And now I am coming out to hear all that you clever people suggest,"
she said. "Please don't look alarmed. I have been talking all the
afternoon and have been narrating my sad experience--such as I
remember--to the most important people. Cabinet Ministers and police
commissioners and doctors and things."
"One moment," he said.
He took from his pocket a stout book.
"I was wondering what that was," she laughed. "You haven't been buying
me reading-matter?"
He nodded, and held the volume so that she could read the title.
"'A Friend in Need,' by S. Beale. I didn't know you wrote!" she said in
surprise.
"I am literary and even worse," he said flippantly. "I see you have a
shelf of books here. If you will allow me I will put it with the
others."
"But mayn't I see it?"
He shook his head.
"I just want to tell you all you have said about van Heerden is true. He
is a most dangerous man. He may yet be dangerous to you. I don't want
you to touch that little book unless you are in really serious trouble.
Will you promise me?"
She opened her eyes wide.
"But, Mr. Beale----?"
"Will you promise me?" he said again.
"Of course I'll promise you, but I don't quite understand."
"You will understand," he said.
He opened the door for her and she passed out ahead of him. Kitson came
to meet them.
"I suppose there is no news?" asked Stanford.
"None," said the other, "except high political news. There has been an
exchange of notes between the Triple Alliance and the German Government.
All communication with the Ukraine is cut off, and three ships have been
sunk in the Bosphorus so cleverly that our grain ships in the Black Sea
are isolated."
"That's bad," said Beale.
He walked to the table. It was littered with maps and charts and printed
tabulations. McNorton got up and joined them.
"I have just had a 'phone message through from the Yard," he said.
"Carter, my assistant, says that he's certain van Heerden has not left
London."
"Has the girl spoken?"
"Glaum? No, she's as dumb as an oyster. I doubt if you would get her to
speak even if you put her through the third degree, and we don't allow
that."
"So I am told," said Beale dryly.
There was a knock at the door.
"Unlock it somebody," said Kitson. "I turned the key."
The nearest person was the member of the Corn Exchange Committee, and he
clicked back the lock and the door opened to admit a waiter.
"There's a man here----" he said; but before he could say more he was
pushed aside and a dusty, dishevelled figure stepped into the room and
glanced round.
"My name is Milsom," he said. "I have come to give King's Evidence!"