THE SHOE BUCKLE
Once outside the death-chamber, Allerdyke asked the manager to give him a
bedroom with a sitting-room attached to it, and to put Gaffney in another
room close by--he should be obliged, he said, to stay at the hotel until
the inquest was over and arrangements had been made for his cousin's
funeral. The manager at once took him to a suite of three rooms at the
end of the corridor which they were then in. Allerdyke took it at once,
sent Gaffney down to bring up certain things from the car, and detained
the manager for a moment's conversation.
"I suppose you'd a fair lot of people come in last night from that
Christiania boat?" he asked.
"Some fifteen or twenty," answered the manager.
"Did you happen to see my cousin in conversation with any of them?"
inquired Allerdyke.
The manager shrugged his shoulders. He was not definitely sure about
that; he had a notion that he had seen Mr. James Allerdyke talking with
some of the _Perisco_ passengers, but the notion was vague.
"You know how it is," he went on. "People come in--they stand about
talking in the hall--groups, you know--they go from one to another. I
think I saw him talking to that doctor who's in there now with Dr.
Orwin--the man with the big beard--and to a lady who came at the same
time. There were several ladies in the party--the passengers were all
about in the hall, and in the coffee-room, and so on. There are a lot of
other people in the house, too, of course."
"It's this way," said Allerdyke. "I'm not at all satisfied about what
these doctors say, so far. They may be right, of course--probably are.
Still I want to know all I can, and, naturally, I'd like to know who the
people were that my cousin was last in company with. You never know what
may have happened--there's often something that doesn't show at first."
"There was--nothing missing in his room, I hope?" asked the manager with
professional anxiety.
"Nothing that I know of," answered Allerdyke. "My man and I have searched
him, and taken possession of everything--all that he had on him is in
that bag, and I'm going to examine it now. No--I don't think anything had
been taken from him, judging by what I've seen."
"You wouldn't like me to send for the police?" suggested the manager.
"Not at present," replied Allerdyke. "Not, at any rate, until these
doctors say something more definite--they'll know more presently,
no doubt. Of course, you've a list of all the people who came in
last night?"
"They would all register," answered the manager. "But then, you
know, sir, many of them will be going this morning--most of them are
only breaking their journey. You can look over the register whenever
you like."
"Later on," said Allerdyke. "In the meantime, I'll examine these things.
Send me up some coffee as soon as your people are stirring."
He unlocked the hand-bag when the manager had left him. It seemed to his
practical and methodical mind that his first duty was to make himself
thoroughly acquainted with the various personal effects which he and
Gaffney had found on the dead man. Of the valuables he took little
notice; it was very evident, in his opinion, that if James Allerdyke's
death had been brought about by some sort of foul play--a suspicion which
had instantly crossed his mind as soon as he discovered that his cousin
was dead--the object of his destroyer had not been robbery. James had
always been accustomed to carrying a considerable sum of money on him;
Gaffney's search had brought a considerable sum to light. James also wore
a very valuable watch and chain and two fine diamond rings; there they
all were. Not robbery--no; at least, not robbery of the ordinary sort.
But--had there been robbery of another, a bigger, a subtle, and
deep-designed sort? James was a man of many affairs and schemes--he might
have had valuable securities, papers relating to designs, papers
containing secrets of great moment; he was interested, for example, in
several patents--he might have had documents pertinent to some affair of
such importance that ill-disposed folk, eager to seize them, might have
murdered him in order to gain possession of them. There were many
possibilities, and there was always--to Allerdyke's mind--the
improbability that James had died through sudden illness.
Now that Marshall Allerdyke's mind was clearing, getting free of the
first effects of the sudden shock of finding his cousin dead, doubt and
uneasiness as to the whole episode were rising strongly within him. He
and James had been brought up together; they had never been apart from
each other for more than a few months at a time during thirty-five years,
and he flattered himself that he knew James as well as any man of James's
acquaintance. He could not remember that his cousin had ever made any
complaint of illness or indisposition; he had certainly never had any
serious sickness in his life. As to heart trouble, Allerdyke knew that a
few years previous to his death, James had taken out a life-policy with a
first-rate office, and had been passed as a first-class life: he
remembered, as he sat there thinking over these things, the
self-satisfied grin with which James had come and told him that the
examining doctor had declared him to be as sound as a bell. It was true,
of course, that disease might have set in after that--still, it was only
six weeks since he had seen James and James was then looking in a fit,
healthy, hearty state. He had gone off on one of his Russian journeys as
full of life and spirits as a man could be--and had not the hotel
manager just said that he seemed full of health, full of go, at ten
o'clock last night? And yet, within a couple of hours or so--according to
what the medical men thought from their hurried examination--this active
vigorous man was dead--swiftly and mysteriously dead.
Allerdyke felt--felt intensely--that there was something deeply strange
in all this, and yet it was beyond him, with his limited knowledge, to
account for James's sudden death, except on the hypothesis suggested by
the two doctors. All sorts of vague, half-formed thoughts were in his
mind. Was there any person who desired James's death? Had any one tracked
him to this place--got rid of him by some subtle means? Had--
"Pshaw!" he muttered, suddenly interrupting his train of thought, and
recognizing how shapeless and futile it all was. "It just comes to
this--I'm asking myself if the poor lad was murdered! And what have I to
go on? Naught--naught at all!"
Nevertheless, there were papers before him which had been taken from
James's pocket; there was the little journal or diary which he always
carried, and in which, to Allerdyke's knowledge, he always jotted down
a brief note of each day's proceedings wherever he went. He could
examine these, at any rate--they might cast some light on his cousin's
recent doings.
He began with the diary, turning over its pages until he came to the date
on which James had left Bradford for St. Petersburg. That was on March
30th. He had travelled to the Russian capital overland--by way of Berlin
and Vilna, at each of which places he had evidently broken his journey.
From St. Petersburg he had gone on to Moscow, where he had spent the
better part of a week. All his movements were clearly set out in the
brief pencilled entries in the journal. From Moscow he had returned to
St. Petersburg; there he had stayed a fortnight; thence he had journeyed
to Revel, from Revel he had crossed the Baltic to Stockholm; from
Stockholm he had gone across country to Christiania. And from Christiania
he had sailed for Hull to meet his death in that adjacent room where the
doctors were now busied with his body.
Marshall Allerdyke, though he had no actual monetary connection with
them, had always possessed a fairly accurate knowledge of his cousin's
business affairs--James was the sort of man who talked freely to his
intimates about his doings. Therefore Allerdyke was able to make out from
the journal what James had done during his stay at St. Petersburg, in
Moscow, in Revel, and in Stockholm, in all of which places he had irons
of one sort or another in the fire. He recognized the names of various
firms upon which James had called--these names were as familiar to him as
those of the big manufacturing concerns in his own town. James had been
to see this man, this man had been to see James. He had dined with such
an one; such an one had dined with him. Ordinarily innocent entries, all
these; there was no subtle significance to be attached to any of them:
they were just the sort of entries which the busy commercial man, engaged
in operations of some magnitude, would make for his own convenience.
There was, in short, nothing in that tiny book--a mere,
waistcoat-pocket sort of affair--which Allerdyke was at a loss to
understand, or which excited any wonder or speculation in him: with one
exception. That exception was in three entries: brief, bald, mere
lines, all made during James's second stay--the fortnight period--in
St. Petersburg. They were:--
April 18: Met Princess.
April 20: Lunched with Princess.
April 23: Princess dined with me.
These entries puzzled Allerdyke. His cousin had been going over to Russia
at least twice a year for three years, but he had never heard him mention
that he had formed the acquaintance of any person of princely rank. Who
was this Princess with whom James had evidently become on such friendly
terms that they had lunched and dined together? James had twice written
to him during his absence--he had both letters in his pocket then, and
one of them was dated from St. Petersburg on April 24th, but there was no
mention of any Princess in either. Seeking for an explanation, he came to
the conclusion that James, who had a slight weakness for the society of
ladies connected with the stage, had made the acquaintance of some
actress or other, ballet-dancer, singer, artiste, and had given her the
nickname of Princess.
That was all there was to be got from the diary. It amounted to
nothing. There were, however, the loose papers. He began to examine
these methodically. They were few in number--James was the sort of man
who never keeps anything which can be destroyed: Allerdyke knew from
experience that he had a horror of accumulating what he called rubbish.
These papers, fastened together with a band of india-rubber, were all
business documents, with one exception--a letter from Allerdyke himself
addressed to Stockholm, to wait James's arrival. There were some
specifications relating to building property; there was a schedule of
the timber then standing in a certain pine forest in Sweden in which
James had a valuable share; there was a balance-sheet of a Moscow
trading concern in which he had invested money; there were odds and ends
of a similar nature--all financial. From these papers Allerdyke could
only select one which he did not understand, which conveyed no meaning
to him. This was a telegram, dispatched from London on April 21st, at
eleven o'clock in the morning. He spread it out on the table and slowly
read it:--
"To _James Allerdyke_, _Hotel Grand Monarch_, _St. Petersburg_.
"Your wire received. If Princess will confide goods to your care to
personally bring over here have no doubt matter can be speedily and
satisfactorily arranged. Have important client now in town until middle
May who seems to be best man to approach and is likely to be a generous
buyer.
"FRANKLIN FULLAWAY, Waldorf Hotel, London."
Here was another surprise: Allerdyke had never in his life heard James
mention the name--Franklin Fullaway. Yet here Mr. Franklin Fullaway,
whoever he might be, was wiring to James as only a business acquaintance
of some standing would wire. And here again was the mention of a
Princess--presumably, nay, evidently, the Princess to whom reference was
made in the diary. And there was mention, too, of goods--probably
valuable goods--to be confided to James's care for conveyance to
England, to London, for sale to some prospective purchaser. If James had
brought them, where were they? So far as Allerdyke had ascertained,
James had no luggage beyond his big suitcase and the handbag which now
stood on the table before his own eyes--he was a man for travelling
light, James, and never encumbered himself with more than indispensable
necessities. Where, then--
A tap at the door of the sitting-room prefaced the entry of the two
medical men.
"We heard from the manager that you were in this room, Mr. Allerdyke,"
said Dr. Orwin. "Well, we made a further examination of your relative,
and we still incline to the opinion expressed already. Now, if you
approve it, I will arrange at once for communicating with the Coroner,
removing the body, and having an autopsy performed. As Dr. Lydenberg has
business in the town which will keep him here a few days, he will join
me, and it will be more satisfactory to you, no doubt, if another doctor
is called--I should advise the professional police surgeon. If you will
leave it to me--"
"I'll leave everything of that sort to you, doctor," said Allerdyke. "I'm
much obliged to both of you, gentlemen. You understand what I'm anxious
about?--I want to be certain--certain, mind you!--of the cause of my
cousin's death. Now you speak of removing him? Then I'll just go and take
a look at him before that's done."
He presently locked up his rooms, leaving the hand-bag there, also
locked, and went alone to the room in which James lay dead. Most folks
who knew Marshall Allerdyke considered him a hard, unsentimental man,
but there were tears in his eyes as he stooped over his cousin's body and
laid his hand on the cold forehead. Once more he broke into familiar,
muttered speech.
"If there's been aught wrong, lad," he said. "Aught foul or underhand,
I'll right thee!--by God, I will!"
Then he stooped lower and kissed the dead man's cheek, and pressed the
still hands. It was with an effort that he turned away and regained his
self-command--and it was in that moment that his eyes, slightly blurred
as they were, caught sight of an object which lay half-concealed by a
corner of the hearth-rug--a glittering, shining object, which threw back
the gleam of the still burning electric light. He strode across the room
and picked it up--the gold buckle of a woman's shoe, studded with real,
if tiny, diamonds.