IN LONDON AGAIN
"Then the sudden change in the police attitude towards Eric," said
Isobel, "is not due to any discoveries which you or Inspector Gatton
have made at Friar's Park?"
"That I cannot say," I replied. "We have made certain discoveries as I
have already told you, but whilst they distinctly point to some
criminal whose identity is not yet fully established, unfortunately I
cannot say that in a legal sense they clear Coverly."
Isobel, as I had thought at the first moment of our meeting, looked
very tired and had that pathetic expression of appeal in her eyes
which had hurt me so much when first it had appeared there on the
morning after the tragedy. She was palpably ill at ease, and I had
small cause to wonder at this. Although a veiled paragraph (in which I
thought I could detect the hand of Gatton) had appeared in the press
on the previous day, briefly stating that evidence had been
volunteered by Sir Eric Coverly which had led to an entirely new line
of police inquiry, the item of news--which had naturally excited
wide-spread interest--had never been amplified. Amid the alarms and
excursions which had terminated my visit to Upper Crossleys, Gatton I
supposed had forgotten to refer to this matter; but I did not doubt
that the paragraph was an inspired one issued from Scotland Yard.
My friend's object in circulating this statement was not by any means
evident to me, but as I expected to see him later that day I hoped to
be able to obtain from him some explanation of his new tactics.
Many hours had elapsed since, with the flames of the burning Bell
House reddening the night behind me, and throwing into lurid relief
the fir-groves surrounding Dr. Damar Greefe's mysterious stronghold, I
had been borne along the road towards London. That Gatton had hoped
for much from a detailed search of the Eurasian's establishment, I
knew, for I had not forgotten his anger at the appearance of the
flames above the tree tops which had told of the foiling of his plans.
Under cover of the conflagration the cunning Eurasian had escaped.
Every possible means had been taken to intercept him, and whilst
Gatton, inspired by I know not what hopes, had hastened to the burning
Bell House, I had set out in the police car in pursuit of Dr. Damar
Greefe accompanied by Detective-Sergeant Blythe--upon whom,
apparently, the onus of the fiasco rested.
In despite of these measures, the hunted man had made good his
retreat; and Blythe and I had entered the outskirts of London without
once sighting the car in which Damar Greefe had fled.
No communication reached me on the following morning, and I found
myself, consumed with impatient curiosity, temporarily out of touch
with Gatton. Then, shortly after mid-day, came a telegram:
"Endeavor induce Sir Eric come to your house eight to-night. Will meet
him there. Gatton."
Welcoming any ground for action--since to remain passive at such a
time was torture--I called at once at Coverly's chambers. He was out.
But I left an urgent written message for him, and in the hope of
finding him with Isobel, hurried to her flat. He had not been there
that day, however; and now I could only hope that he would return to
his rooms in time to keep the appointment. For that Gatton had some
good reason for suggesting the meeting I did not doubt.
Gatton and I were now agreed that Dr. Damar Greefe, if not directly
responsible for the death of Sir Marcus, at least had been an
accessory to his murder. At any rate he had shown his hand; firstly,
in the attempted assault upon myself by his Nubian servant and
secondly, by the devilish device whereby he had propelled some sort of
gas projectile (for this we now knew it to have been) from the tower
of Friar's Park into my room at the Abbey Inn. I had, then, become
obnoxious to him; he evidently regarded my continued existence as a
menace to his own.
Two explanations of his attitude presented themselves: one, that my
inquiries had led me daily nearer to the heart of the mystery; or,
two, that the doctor's mysterious associate, the possessor of the
green eyes, had adopted an attitude towards myself which the Eurasian
had counted sooner or later as certain to compromise him. In short,
whilst it was sufficiently evident to me that these mysterious people
residing at Upper Crossleys were the criminals for whom New Scotland
Yard was searching, no definite link between their admittedly
dangerous activities and the crime we sought to unravel, had yet been
brought to light.
On the other hand, whilst it was not feasible to suppose that any
relationship existed between Sir Eric, the new baronet, and the
Eurasian, or the woman associated with the Eurasian, I was quite well
aware that, equally, there was no evidence to show that such an
association did not exist.
I longed to be able to offer some consolation to Isobel, who at this
time was passing through days and nights of dreadful apprehension; but
beyond imparting to her some of my own personal convictions, I was
unable to say honestly that the complicity of Coverly in the murder
was definitely and legally disproved.
"If only he would break his absurd silence," she said suddenly. "This
ridiculous suspicion which still seems to be entertained in some
quarters would be removed of course; but his every act since the night
of the tragedy has only intensified it."
She sat facing me on the settee, her hands locked in her lap, and:
"Do you refer to any new act of his," I asked, "with which I am not at
present acquainted?"
She nodded slowly.
"Yes," she said; "but I can only tell you in confidence, for it is
something which Inspector Gatton does not know."
"Please tell me," I urged; "for you are aware that I have no other
object but the clearing of Coverly in the eyes of the police and the
public."
"Well," she continued, with hesitation, "last night he lodged with me
a copy of a _declaration_ which he assured me cleared him entirely.
But he imposed an extraordinary condition."
"What was that?" I asked with interest.
"It was only to be used in the event of the worst happening!" she
said.
"What do you mean? In the event of his being put on trial for murder?"
Isobel nodded.
"I suppose so," she said sadly; "it seems madness, doesn't it?"
"Absolute madness!" I agreed. "If he is in a position to establish an
alibi why not do it now and be done with the whole unsavory business?"
"That is exactly what I pointed out to him, but he was adamant on the
matter and became dreadfully irritable and excited. I did not dare to
press the point, so of course--" She shrugged her shoulders
resignedly.
Was it a selfish joy, I wonder, which possessed me as I noted the
restrained impatience with which Isobel spoke of Coverly? I suppose it
was, and perhaps it was even indefensible; yet I record it, desiring
to be perfectly honest with myself and with others. Nevertheless, in
the near future I was to regret the sentiments which at that moment I
entertained towards Coverly. But how was I to know in my poor human
blindness that his innocence would soon be established in the eyes of
the world by other means than the publication of the statement which
he had so strangely placed with Isobel?
Since, excepting the telegram, no communication had reached me from
Gatton, I could only assume that he had discovered nothing in the
ruins of the Bell House of sufficient importance to justify a report.
Doubtless he had reported to New Scotland Yard, but that his
discoveries, if any, had not resulted in an arrest, was painfully
evident.
My latest contribution to the _Planet_ had been in the nature of a
discursive essay rather than an informative article, although I had
enlivened it with some account of my experiences at Upper Crossleys.
But at the moment that I had set pen to paper I had realized the
difficulty of expressing, within the scope of a newspaper
contribution, the peculiar conditions which ruled in that oddly
deserted village. And at Gatton's request I had been most guarded in
my treatment of the two abortive attempts made upon my own life by the
Eurasian doctor.
The appeal in Isobel's eyes, as I have said, was very difficult to
resist, but after all I had little substantial consolation to offer;
and in the circumstances I shall be understood, I think, when I say
that it was with an odd sense of relief that I finally took my
departure from her flat. To long for the right to comfort a woman as
only a lover may do, and to suspect that this sweet privilege might
have been his for the asking, is a torture which no man can suffer
unmoved.
Anticipating, almost hourly, a further message from Gatton, I went
first to the _Planet_ offices, but although I lunched at the club and
returned later, no news reached me there; whereupon, I proceeded to my
cottage. As I walked down the high-street of the onetime village,
passing that police-box at which (so far as my part in it was
concerned) the first scenes of the drama actually had been laid, I was
seized with wonder on reflecting that all these episodes, strange and
tragic, had been crowded into so short a space of time.
An officer was on duty there as on the night when I had first made
acquaintance with the green eyes of the woman of mystery; but I did
not know the man and I walked on deep in meditation, until, arriving
at the Red House, other and dreadful reflections were aroused by the
sight of that deserted building.
There were no spectators to-day, for the first excitement aroused by
the crime had begun to subside, and I did not even notice a constable
posted there. Whereby I concluded that the investigations at the Red
House had been terminated and that no more was hoped for from an
examination of those premises.
Coates was awaiting me as I entered my cottage with the news that
Inspector Gatton had telephoned an hour before from Crossleys,
confirming his telegram and stating that he would call immediately he
arrived in London. This was stimulating, and I only regretted that I
had not been at home personally to speak to him. Then:
"Sir Eric Coverly also rang up, sir," continued Coates, "at about
three o'clock and said that he would be calling this evening at eight
in accordance with your request."
I looked at the military figure standing bolt upright just within the
doorway.
"Good. Is that all?" I asked.
"That was all the message, sir," he reported.
I walked into the study in a very thoughtful mood, and from the open
window contemplated that prospect of tree-lined road, now for ever to
be associated in my mind with the darkest places in the tragedy in
which I had so strangely become involved.
Gatton, I knew, entertained a theory that the selection of the Red
House for the dreadful purpose for which it had been employed, was not
the result of any mere accident, but was ascribable to the fact that
the place was conveniently situated from the point of view of the
assassin. In short, he had an idea that the London headquarters of the
wanted man, whom we had now definitely invested with the personality
of Dr. Damar Greefe, was somewhere within my immediate neighborhood!
It was a startling conclusion and one which rested, as I thought, upon
somewhat slender premises; but nevertheless I found it disquieting.
And recognizing how the more sinister manifestations of that singular
green-eyed creature (whom I could never think of as a woman, nor
indeed regard as anything quite human) were associated with
darkness--a significantly feline trait--I confess to a certain
apprehension respecting the coming night. This apprehension was
strengthened no doubt by my memories of Gatton's last words as I had
been on the point of setting out from Upper Crossleys.
"With their Friar's Park base destroyed, Mr. Addison," he had said,
"they will be forced to fly to that other abode, at present unknown,
from which I believe they conducted the elaborate assassination of Sir
Marcus. The only alternative is flight from the country, and the
mechanism of the C.I.D. having been put into motion, this we may
regard as almost impossible--especially in view of the marked
personality of Dr. Damar Greefe. Of course," he had added, "they may
have some other residence of which we know nothing but I incline to
the idea that they will make for London."
That the published paragraph relating to Eric Coverly's alleged
evidence was in some way associated with this theory of Gatton's I
knew, but of the soundness of his theory I had yet to learn.
Since (as Isobel had that day informed me) the document lodged with
her was a profound secret from all, Carton's inspired paragraph could
have been no more than a shot in the dark; and the fact that it had
hit the mark one of those seeming coincidences which sometimes rest
upon mere chance, but which rested, in this case upon a process of
careful reasoning. The Inspector was certain, as I was certain, of
Coverly's innocence, and he had credited him with an alibi because he
knew that if he would but consent to break his inexplicable silence,
he was in a position to establish one. Why he had forestalled Coverly
I knew not.
I made a poor and hasty dinner, for I was too excited to eat, and
returning to the study, I crossed to the bookcase and took down
Maspero's "Egyptian Art." I idly glanced again through those passages
which Gatton had copied into his note-book--the passages relating to
the attributes of Bâst, the cat-goddess. My mind rested particularly,
I remember, upon the line, "she plays with her victim as with a
mouse."
Stifling a somewhat weary sigh, I returned the book to its place and
lingered looking out of the open window into the deepening dusk.
Mentally my mood was a restless one, but it did not reflect itself
physically; for I stood there leaning against the window whilst a
procession of all the figures associated with the "_Oritoga_ mystery"
raced through my mind.
And presently as I stood there contemplating a mental image of the
Eurasian doctor, I heard the telephone bell ring. The sound aroused me
in a moment, and walking out into the little ante-room in which the
instrument was placed, I took it up--anticipating Coates, who had
immediately come in from the garden where he was engaged at the time.
"Hello!" I said.
A voice with which I was unfamiliar, a man's voice speaking rather
thickly, replied:
"Is that Mr. Addison?"
"Yes."
"I have just arrived from Crossleys with Inspector Gatton. He requests
me to ask you to meet him by the police-box at the corner of the high
street immediately."
"Very good," I said. "I will come."
"And," continued the voice--"could you spare Coates with the car for
an hour?"
"Certainly," I replied. "For what do you want him?"
"If he will take the car to Denmark Hill Station and be there by a
quarter past eight," continued the voice, "Detective-Sergeant Blythe
will meet him. There is a large box," he added, "which Inspector
Gatton wishes to have taken to your house."
"Very well," I said. "Coates will start in ten minutes' time, and I
will come along immediately to meet Inspector Gatton."
I replaced the telephone upon the little table and went out into the
garden, whither my man had returned.
"Coates," I said, "get out the Rover."
Coates immediately ceased his gardening operations and stood upright
in an attitude of attention.
"Very good, sir."
"You will just have time to get ready at the garage and return here to
admit Sir Eric Coverly at eight o'clock. I am going out, now, to meet
Inspector Gatton. But inform Sir Eric that I shall be back in a few
minutes. Show him into the study and make him comfortable. You will
then proceed in the Rover to Denmark Hill Station. You will meet there
a man with a box--a detective from Scotland Yard who will make
himself known to you. His name is Blythe. You have to bring the box
back here."
"Very good, sir," repeated Coates.
And as he entered the house he was already stripping off the old
shooting jacket which he wore in the garden. For my part I slipped a
light top-coat over my somewhat untidy house attire, and taking my hat
and a stick, stepped quickly out along the road in the direction of
the village street. A brisk walk brought me to the little sentry-box
under the trees. But Gatton was not to be seen. Indeed, with the
exception of several ordinary pedestrians who were obviously returning
from the city to their homes (all of whom I scrutinized, thinking that
Coverly might come this way) and the constable on duty at the point,
there was no one about who looked in the least like either of my
expected visitors.
Having waited for some ten minutes unavailingly, I spoke to the man in
the box.
"Good evening, constable," I said; "I expected to meet a friend
here--Inspector Gatton, of Scotland Yard--you may know him?"
"I know of him quite well, sir," answered the constable, "and should
recognize him if I saw him. But he has not been here this evening."
"You have seen no one hanging about who might have been sent by him?"
"No one, sir."
"Strange," I muttered; then: "My name is Addison, constable," I said,
"and if any one should ask for me will you direct him to proceed to
my house?" And I gave the man instructions respecting its whereabouts.
"I will," answered the constable; and wishing him "good night," I
retraced my steps, curious respecting the matter, but not apprehensive
as I well might have been--and with no glimmering of the ghastly truth
penetrating to my mind.