WHERE MISS MOORE WAS GOING
It was a relief to cease breathing the atmosphere of an apartment
which was contaminated by the presence of Mr. Tom Moore. At least,
that was what I felt when I was being driven with Miss Adair towards
Imperial Mansions. Apparently that was her own feeling.
“Nice sort of brother that. He’s a man.”
“But what a sister! She’s a woman.”
She seemed to suspect me of a satirical intention.
“I don’t fancy, Mr. Ferguson, that all women are built exactly on
Bessie’s lines.”
“Would that they were. Miss Moore is of the stuff of which our mothers
should be made.”
She looked at me a little sideways; I was conscious of it, though I
myself looked straight ahead.
“Are you married, Mr. Ferguson?”
I do not know why she should have asked me such a question at that
particular moment, nor why the blood heated my cheeks. I answered
shortly:
“No. I am not so fortunate.”
“Ah! I shouldn’t be surprised if you were so fortunate, a little later
on.”
Her tone conveyed a world of meaning; though what was its
signification I could not tell. I suspected her of hinting at
something which I should resent; but how to set about the discovery of
what she meant I did not know. She continued:
“Suppose--I say suppose, just for the sake of argument--suppose it
turns out that Bessie has killed this--man, I wonder what would
happen.”
“I decline to suppose the impossible.”
“But how can you say that it’s impossible? You’re not in a position to
judge; you know nothing of her character, her disposition. She’s a
stranger--to you.”
“I know enough of her to be sure that she is incapable of anything
unworthy.”
“But how do you know?--my dear sir, how? From what you tell me, she
hasn’t said an intelligent thing to you; she’s been in a condition of
_non compos mentis_ ever since you set eyes upon her. After an hour’s
exchange of conversational bonbons with a lunatic woman, how can you
tell what she’s like when she’s sane?”
“Miss Adair, if you are coming as Miss Moore’s friend, be her friend;
if not, I will stop the cab--you shall go back again.”
She was silent for a second or two. I suspected her of stifling a
smile.
“Thank you. You need not stop the cab.” She looked at me, mischief in
her eyes. “I believe, Mr. Ferguson, that you’re a Scotchman.”
There is Scotch blood in my veins; I did not see why she should charge
it against me as a fault. I told her so. She laughed outright. Miss
Adair was a charming woman, but I will own that I was glad when we
reached our destination. She was in a provoking mood, as she showed by
the remark she made as she got out of the cab.
“Now to interview this ideal conception of what our mothers should
be.”
I did not reply. I followed her into the lift.
“The top floor,” I said.
But as we were passing the first floor, she started from her seat.
“There’s Bessie!” she cried.
From where I sat, as I turned my head, I was just in time to see my
last night’s visitor vanish round the corner of the staircase. We were
still ascending. I told the lift-man to return. When he had done so,
and we were out upon the landing, the lady was already some distance
along the corridor. She had passed my rooms, and was moving rapidly
towards No. 64.
“Where is she going?” asked Miss Adair. “Bessie!”
Her call went unheeded. Apparently the other did not hear. She
continued to hasten from us as if she were making for a particular
goal, with a well-defined purpose in view. I thought it probable that
the dead man’s body was still somewhere in his chambers, and certainly
all the plain evidences of the tragedy would have been studiously left
untouched.
“Quick!” I exclaimed. “She doesn’t know what she is doing; she is
going to Lawrence’s room, where he lies murdered. We must stop her
before she gets there.”
We hurried in pursuit, but had only gone a few yards when some one
caught me by the arm. I had previously realised that some one else was
standing in the corridor, but my attention had been too much engrossed
by Miss Moore to permit of my noticing who it was. I now perceived
that it was Hume. He gripped my arm with what seemed unnecessary
force, his countenance betraying a degree of agitation of which I had
not thought him capable.
“Ferguson!” he cried. “Miss Adair! What is Miss Moore doing here?”
His recognition surprised me, even at such a moment.
“Do you know her?”
“I believe I have that pleasure.” His words sounded like a sneer, they
were so bitterly uttered. “But what’s the meaning of it all? I spoke
to her, but she passed without a sign of recognition. What’s the
matter with her? She looks ill; where’s she going?”
“She’s going to Lawrence’s room.”
“Ferguson!” The increased pressure of his grasp showed that his
strength was greater than I imagined.
“What’s she--going there for?”
“My business is to stop her going at all, not to stand here answering
idiotic questions.”
I broke from him. The delay, brief though it had been, was sufficient
to baffle my intentions. Miss Moore had arrived at No. 64. A policeman
was standing without, seemingly acting as guardian of the portal.
“Is this the room in which Mr. Edwin Lawrence was killed?”
Although I was still at some distance from her, I could hear her ask
the question with the direct simplicity of a little child. The officer
stared at her as if he could not make her out.
“Yes, miss. But you can’t go in; my orders are to admit no one without
instructions. What’s your name and your business?”
“Let me pass!”
Putting out her arm, touching him on the chest, she waved him aside
with an imperious gesture, as if she were a sovereign queen. In an
instant she was through the door. I was on him directly she had passed
from sight.
“You idiot! Why did you let her enter?”
The man seemed bewildered.
“Let her! There wasn’t much letting about it. For a lady she’s about
as cool a hand as ever I saw.”
He perceived that my intention was to follow.
“Now then, none of that! You can’t go in there! Don’t you hear me say
it?”
“You ass!”
I must have taken him by the shoulders more vigorously than I
intended; he went spinning down the passage until the wall brought him
to a standstill. Then I went after Miss Moore into the dead man’s
room, Miss Adair and Hume hard upon my heels.