said Purdie good-naturedly. "You evidently know more than I do. I knew
Andie Lauriston well enough up to the time he left Peebles, but I've
never seen or heard of him since until he wrote to me the other week.
What's it all about, and why has he gone back to Peebles? I told him I
was coming up here any day now--and here I am, and he's gone!"
Melky edged his chair still nearer to his visitor, and with a cautious
glance at the door, lowered his voice.
"I'm a-going to tell you all about it, mister," he said. "I know you
Scotch gentlemen have got rare headpieces on you, and you'll pick it up
sharp enough. Now you listen to me, Mr. Purdie, same as if I was one of
them barrister chaps stating a case, and you'll get at it in no time."
John Purdie, who had already recognized his host as a character, as
interesting as he was amusing, listened attentively while Melky told
the story of Lauriston's doings and adventure from the moment of his
setting out to pawn his watch at Multenius's pledge-office to that in
which, on Melky's suggestion, he had made a secret and hurried
departure for Peebles. Melky forgot no detail; he did full justice to
every important point, and laid particular stress on the proceedings
before the Coroner. And in the end he appealed confidently to his
listener.
"And now I put it up to you, mister--straight!" concluded Melky. "Could
I ha' done better for him than to give him the advice I did? Wasn't it
best for him to go where he could get some evidence on his own behalf,
than to run the risk of being arrested, and put where he couldn't do
nothing for himself? What d'you say, now, Mr. Purdie?"
"Yes," agreed Purdie, after a moment's further thought. "I think you
did well. He'll no doubt be able to find some old friends in Peebles
who can surely remember that his mother did possess those two rings.
But you must bear this in mind--the police, you say, have shadowed him
since yesterday afternoon. Well, when they find he's flown, they'll
take that as a strong presumptive evidence of guilt. They'll say he's
flying from justice!"
"Don't matter, mister, if Lauriston comes back with proof of his
innocence," replied Melky.
"Yes, but they'll not wait for that," said Purdie. "They'll set the
hue-and-cry on to him--at once. He's not the sort to be easily mistaken
or overlooked--unless he's changed a lot this late year or two--he was
always a good-looking lad."
"Is so now, mister," remarked Melky, "is so now!"
"Very well," continued Purdie. "Then I want to make a suggestion to
you. It seems to me that the wisest course is for you and me to go
straight to the police authorities, and tell them frankly that
Lauriston has gone to get evidence that those rings are really his
property, and that he'll return in a day or two with that evidence.
That will probably satisfy them--I think I can add a bit more that will
help further. We don't want it to be thought that the lad's run away
rather than face a possible charge of murder, you know!"
"I see your point, mister, I see your point!" agreed Melky. "I'm with
you!--I ain't no objection to that. Of course, there ain't no need to
tell the police precisely where he has gone--what?"
"Not a bit!" said Purdie. "But I'll make myself responsible to them for
his re-appearance. Now--did you and he arrange anything about
communicating with each other?"
"Yes," replied Melky. "If anything turns up this next day or two I'm to
wire to him at the post-office, Peebles. If he finds what he wants,
he'll wire to me, here, at once."
"Good!" said Purdie. "Now, here's another matter. You've mentioned Mr.
Spencer Levendale and this book which was so strangely left at the
pledge-office. I happen to know Mr. Levendale--pretty well."
"You do, mister!" exclaimed Melky. "Small world, ain't it, now?"
"I met Mr. Spencer Levendale last September--two months ago," continued
Purdie. "He was staying at an hotel in the Highlands, with his children
and their governess: I was at the same hotel, for a month--he and I
used to go fishing together. We got pretty friendly, and he asked me to
call on him next time I was in town. Here I am--and when we've been to
the police, I'm going to Sussex Square--to tell him I'm a friend of
Lauriston's, that Lauriston is in some danger over this business, and
to ask him if he can tell me more about--that book!"
Melky jumped up and wrung his visitor's hand.
"Mister!--you're one o' the right sort," he said fervently. "That there
book has something to do with it! My idea is that the man what carried
that book into the shop is the man what scragged my poor old
relative--fact, mister! Levendale, he wouldn't tell us anything much
this morning--maybe he'll tell you more. Stand by Lauriston,
mister!--we'll pull him through."
"You seem very well disposed towards him," remarked Purdie. "He's
evidently taken your fancy."
"And my cousin Zillah's," answered Melky, with a confidential grin.
"Zillah--loveliest girl in all Paddington, mister--she's clear gone on
the young fellow! And--a word in your ear, mister!--Zillah's been
educated like a lady, and now that the old man's gone, Zillah'll
have--ah! a fortune that 'ud make a nigger turn white! And no error
about it! See it through, mister!"
"I'll see it through," said Purdie. "Now, then--these police. Look
here--is there a good hotel in this neighbourhood?--I've all my traps
in that taxi-cab downstairs--I drove straight here from the station,
because I wanted to see Andie Lauriston at once."
"Money's no object to you, I reckon, mister?" asked Melky, with a
shrewd glance at the young Scotsman's evident signs of prosperity.
"Not in reason," answered Purdie.
"Then there's the Great Western Hotel, at the end o' Praed Street,"
said Melky. "That'll suit a young gentleman like you, mister, down to
the ground. And you'll be right on the spot!"
"Come with me, then," said Purdie. "And then to the police."
Half-an-hour's private conversation with the police authorities enabled
Purdie to put some different ideas into the official heads. They began
to look at matters in a new light. Here was a wealthy young Scottish
manufacturer, a person of standing and position, who was able to vouch
for Andrew Lauriston in more ways than one, who had known him from
boyhood, had full faith in him and in his word, and was certain that
all that Lauriston had said about the rings and about his finding of
Daniel Multenius would be found to be absolutely true. They willingly
agreed to move no further in the matter until Lauriston's return--and
Purdie noticed, not without a smile, that they pointedly refrained from
asking where he had gone to. He came out from that interview with
Ayscough in attendance upon him--and Melky, waiting without, saw that
things had gone all right.
"You might let me have your London address, sir," said Ayscough. "I
might want to let you know something."
"Great Western Hotel," answered Purdie. "I shall stay there until
Lauriston's return, and until this matter's entirely cleared up, as far
as he's concerned. Come there, if you want me. All right," he
continued, as he and Melky walked away from the police-station. "They
took my word for it!--they'll do nothing until Lauriston comes back.
Now then, you know this neighbourhood, and I don't--show me the way to
Sussex Square--I'm going to call on Mr. Levendale at once."
John Purdie had a double object in calling on Mr. Spencer Levendale. He
had mentioned to Melky that when he met Levendale in the Highlands,
Levendale, who was a widower, had his children and their governess with
him. But he had not mentioned that he, Purdie, had fallen in love with
the governess, and that one of his objects in coming to London just
then was to renew his acquaintance with her. It was chiefly of the
governess that he was thinking as he stood on the steps of the big
house in Sussex Square--perhaps, in a few minutes, he would see her
again.
But Purdie was doomed to see neither Mr. Spencer Levendale nor the
pretty governess that day. Mr. Levendale, said the butler, was on
business in the city and was to dine out that evening: Miss Bennett had
taken the two children to see a relative of theirs at Hounslow, and
would not return until late. So Purdie, having pencilled his London
address on them, left cards for Mr. Levendale and Miss Bennett, and,
going back to his hotel, settled himself in his quarters to await
developments. He spent the evening in reading the accounts of the
inquest on Daniel Multenius--in more than one of the newspapers they
were full and circumstantial, and it needed little of his shrewd
perception to convince him that his old schoolmate stood in
considerable danger if he failed to establish his ownership of the
rings.
He had finished breakfast next morning and was thinking of strolling
round to Melky Rubinstein's lodgings, to hear if any news had come from
Lauriston, when a waiter brought him Ayscough's card, saying that its
presenter was waiting for him in the smoking-room. Purdie went there at
once: the detective, who looked unusually grave and thoughtful, drew
him aside into a quiet part of the room.
"There's a strange affair occurred during the night, Mr. Purdie," said
Ayscough, when they were alone. "And it's my opinion it's connected
with this Multenius affair."
"What is it?" asked Purdie.
"This," replied Ayscough. "A Praed Street tradesman--in a small
way--was picked up, dying, in a quiet street off Maida Vale, at twelve
o'clock last night, and he died soon afterwards. And--he'd been
poisoned!--but how, the doctors can't yet tell."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE CALL FOR HELP
Purdie, whose temperament inclined him to slowness and deliberation in
face of any grave crisis, motioned the detective to take a seat in the
quiet corner of the smoking-room, into which they had retreated, and
sat down close by him.
"Now, to begin with," he said, "why do you think this affair is
connected with the affair of the old pawn-broker? There must be some
link."
"There is a link, sir," answered Ayscough. "The man was old Daniel
Multenius's next door neighbour: name of Parslett--James Parslett,
fruit and vegetable dealer. Smallish way of business, but well known
enough in that quarter. Now, I'll explain something to you. I'm no hand
at drawing," continued the detective, "but I think I can do a bit of a
rough sketch on this scrap of paper which will make clear to you the
lie of the land. These two lines represent Praed Street. Here, where I
make this cross, is Daniel Multenius's pawnshop. The front part of
it--the jeweller's shop--looks out on Praed Street. At the side is a
narrow passage or entry: from that you get access to the pledge-office.
Now then, Multenius's premises run down one side of this passage:
Parslett's run down the other. Parslett's house has a side-door into
it, exactly opposite the door into Multenius's pledge office. Is that
clear, Mr. Purdie?"
"Quite!" answered Purdie. "I understand it exactly."
"Then my theory is, that Parslett saw the real murderer of Daniel
Multenius come out of Multenius's side-door, while he, Parslett, was
standing at his own; that he recognized him, that he tried to blackmail
him yesterday, and that the man contrived to poison him, in such a
fashion that Parslett died shortly after leaving him," said Ayscough,
confidently. "It's but a theory--but I'll lay anything I'm not far out
in it!"
"What reason have you for thinking that Parslett blackmailed the
murderer?" asked Purdie.
"This!" answered the detective, with something of triumph in his tone.
"I've been making some enquiries already this morning, early as it is.
When Parslett was picked up and carried to the hospital--this St.
Mary's Hospital, close by here--he was found to have fifty pounds in
gold in his pocket. Now, according to Parslett's widow, whom I've seen
this morning, Parslett was considerably hard up yesterday. Trade hasn't
been very good with him of late, and she naturally knows his
circumstances. He went out of the house last night about nine o'clock,
saying he was going to have a stroll round, and the widow says she's
certain he'd no fifty pounds on him when he left her--it would be a
wonder, she says, if he'd as much as fifty shillings! Now then, Mr.
Purdie, where did a man like that pick up fifty sovereigns between the
time he went out, and the time he was picked up, dying?"
"He might have borrowed it from some friend," suggested Purdie.
"I thought of that, sir," said Ayscough. "It seems the natural thing to
think of. But Mrs. Parslett says they haven't a friend from whom he
could have borrowed such an amount--not one! No, sir!--my belief is
that Parslett saw some man enter and leave Multenius's shop; that he
knew the man; that he went and plumped him with the affair, and that
the man gave him that gold to get rid of him at the moment--and
contrived to poison him, too!"
Purdie considered the proposition for awhile in silence.
"Well," he remarked at last, "if that's so, it seems to establish two
facts--first, that the murderer is some man who lives in this
neighbourhood, and second, that he's an expert in poisons."
"Right, sir!" agreed Ayscough. "Quite right. And it would, of course,
establish another--the innocence of your friend, Lauriston."
Purdie smiled.
"I never had any doubt of that," he said.
"Between ourselves, neither had I," remarked Ayscough heartily. "I told
our people that I, personally, was convinced of the young fellow's
complete innocence from the very first--and it was I who found him in
the shop. It's a most unfortunate thing that he was there, and a sad
coincidence that those rings of his were much of a muchness with the
rings in the tray in the old man's parlour--but I've never doubted him.
No, sir!--I believe all this business goes a lot deeper than that! It's
no common affair--old Daniel Multenius was attacked by
somebody--somebody!--for some special reason--and it's going to take a
lot of getting at. And I'm convinced this Parslett affair is a
development--Parslett's been poisoned because he knew too much."
"You say you don't know what particular poison was used?" asked Purdie.
"It would be something of a clue to know that. Because, if it turned
out to be one of a very subtle nature, that would prove that whoever
administered it had made a special study of poisons."
"I don't know that--yet," answered Ayscough. "But," he continued,
rising from his chair, "if you'd step round with me to the hospital, we
might get to know, now. There's one or two of their specialists been
making an examination. It's only a mere step along the street."
Purdie followed the detective out and along Praed Street. Before they
reached the doors of the hospital, a man came up to Ayscough: a solid,
substantial-looking person, of cautious manner and watchful eye, whose
glance wandered speculatively from the detective to his companion.
Evidently sizing Purdie up as some one in Ayscough's confidence, he
spoke--in the fashion of one who has something as mysterious, as
important, to communicate.
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Ayscough," he said. "A word with you sir. You
know me, Mr. Ayscough?"
Ayscough looked sharply at his questioner.
"Mr. Goodyer, isn't it?" he asked. "Oh, yes, I remember. What is it?
You can speak before this gentleman--it's all right."
"About this affair of last night--Parslett, you know," said Goodyer,
drawing the detective aside, and lowering his voice, so that passers-by
might not hear. "There's something I can tell you--I've heard all about
the matter from Parslett's wife. But I've not told her what I can tell
you, Mr. Ayscough."
"And--what's that?" enquired the detective.
"I'm Parslett's landlord, you know," continued Goodyer. "He's had that
shop and dwelling-house of me for some years. Now, Parslett's not been
doing very well of late, from one cause or another, and to put it in a
nutshell, he owed me half a year's rent. I saw him yesterday, and told
him I must have the money at once: in fact, I pressed him pretty hard
about it.--I'd been at him for two or three weeks, and I could see it
was no good going on. He'd been down in the mouth about it, the last
week or so, but yesterday afternoon he was confident enough. 'Now, you
needn't alarm yourself, Mr. Goodyer,' he said. 'There's a nice bit of
money going to be paid to me tonight, and I'll settle up with you
before I stick my head on the pillow,' he said. 'Tonight, for certain?'
says I. 'Before even I go to bed!' he says. 'I can't fix it to a
minute, but you can rely on me calling at your house in St. Mary's
Terrace before eleven o'clock--with the money.' And he was so certain
about it, Mr. Ayscough, that I said no more than that I should be much
obliged, and I'd wait up for him. And," concluded Goodyer, "I did wait
up--till half-past twelve--but he never came. So this morning, of
course, I walked round here--and then I heard what happened--about him
being picked up dying and since being dead--with fifty pounds in gold
in his pocket. Of course, Mr. Ayscough, that was the money he referred
to."
"You haven't mentioned this to anybody?" asked Ayscough.
"Neither to the widow nor to anybody--but you," replied Goodyer.
"Don't!" said Ayscough. "Keep it to yourself till I give you the word.
You didn't hear anything from Parslett as to where the money was coming
from?"
"Not one syllable!" answered Goodyer. "But I could see he was dead sure
of having it."
"Well--keep quiet about it," continued Ayscough. "There'll be an
inquest, you know, and what you have to tell'll come in handy, then.
There's some mystery about all this affair, Mr. Goodyer, and it's going
to take some unravelling."
"You're right!" said Goodyer. "I believe you!"
He went off along the street, and the detective turned to Purdie and
motioned him towards the hospital.
"Queer, all that, sir!" he muttered. "Very queer! But it all tends to
showing that my theory's the right one. Now if you'll just stop in the
waiting-room a few minutes, I'll find out if these doctors have come to
any conclusion about the precise nature of the poison."
Purdie waited for ten minutes, speculating on the curiosities of the
mystery into which he had been so strangely plunged: at last the
detective came back, shaking his head.
"Can't get a definite word out of 'em, yet," he said, as they went
away. "There's two or three of 'em--big experts in--what do you call
it--oh, yes, toxology--putting their heads together over the analysing
business, and they won't say anything so far--they'll leave that to the
inquest. But I gathered this much, Mr. Purdie, from the one I spoke
to--this man Parslett was poisoned in some extremely clever fashion,
and by some poison that's not generally known, which was administered
to him probably half-an-hour before it took effect. What's that argue,
sir, but that whoever gave him that poison is something of an expert?
Deep game, Mr. Purdie, a very deep game indeed!--and now I don't think
there's much need to be anxious about that young friend of yours. I'm
certain, anyway, that the man who poisoned Parslett is the man who
killed poor old Daniel Multenius. But--we shall see."
Purdie parted from Ayscough outside the hospital and walked along to
Mrs. Flitwick's house in Star Street. He met Melky Rubinstein emerging
from the door; Melky immediately pulled out a telegram which he thrust
into Purdie's hand.
"Just come, mister!" exclaimed Melky. "There's a word for you in it--I
was going to your hotel. Read what he says."
Purdie unfolded the pink paper and read.
"On the track all right understand Purdie is in town if he comes to
Star Street explain all to him will wire again later in day."
"Good!" said Purdie. He handed back the telegram and looked
meditatively at Melky. "Are you busy this morning?" he asked.
"Doing no business whatever, mister," lisped Melky, solemnly. "Not
until this business is settled--not me!"
"Come to the hotel with me," continued Purdie. "I want to talk to you
about something."
But when they reached the hotel, all thought of conversation was driven
out of Purdie's mind for the moment. The hall-porter handed him a note,
remarking that it had just come. Purdie's face flushed as he recognized
the handwriting: he turned sharply away and tore open the envelope.
Inside, on a half-sheet of notepaper, were a few lines--from the pretty
governess at Mr. Spencer Levendale's.
"Can you come here at once and ask for me? There is something seriously
wrong: I am much troubled and have no one in London I can consult."
With a hasty excuse to Melky, Purdie ran out of the hotel, and set off
in quick response to the note.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE PRIVATE LABORATORY
As he turned down Spring Street towards Sussex Square, Purdie hastily
reviewed his knowledge of Mr. Spencer Levendale and his family. He had
met them, only two months previously, at a remote and out-of-the-way
place in the Highlands, in a hotel where he and they were almost the
only guests. Under such circumstances, strangers are soon drawn
together, and as Levendale and Purdie had a common interest in fishing
they were quickly on good terms. But Purdie was thinking now as he made
his way towards Levendale's London house that he really knew very
little of this man who was evidently mixed up in some way with the
mystery into which young Andie Lauriston had so unfortunately also
become intermingled. He knew that Levendale was undoubtedly a very
wealthy man: there were all the signs of wealth about him; he had
brought several servants down to the Highlands with him: money appeared
to be plentiful with him as pebbles are on a beach. Purdie learnt bit
by bit that Levendale had made a great fortune in South Africa, that he
had come home to England and gone into Parliament; that he was a
widower and the father of two little girls--he learnt, too, that the
children's governess, Miss Elsie Bennett, a pretty and taking girl of
twenty-two or three, had come with them from Cape Town. But of
Levendale's real character and self he knew no more than could be
gained from holiday acquaintance. Certain circumstances told him by
Melky about the rare book left in old Multenius's parlour inclined
Purdie to be somewhat suspicious that Levendale was concealing
something which he knew about that affair--and now here was Miss
Bennett writing what, on the face of it, looked like an appealing
letter to him, as if something had happened.
Purdie knew something had happened as soon as he was admitted to the
house. Levendale's butler, who had accompanied his master to the
Highlands, and had recognized Purdie on his calling the previous day,
came hurrying to him in the hall, as soon as the footman opened the
door.
"You haven't seen Mr. Levendale since you were here yesterday, sir?" he
asked, in a low, anxious voice.
"Seen Mr. Levendale? No!" answered Purdie. "Why--what do you mean?"
The butler looked round at a couple of footmen who hung about the door.
"Don't want to make any fuss about it, Mr. Purdie," he whispered,
"though it's pretty well known in the house already. The fact is, sir,
Mr. Levendale's missing!"
"Missing?" exclaimed Purdie. "Since when?"
"Only since last night, sir," replied the butler, "but the
circumstances are queer. He dined out with some City gentlemen,
somewhere, last night, and he came home about ten o'clock. He wasn't in
the house long. He went into his laboratory--he spends a lot of time in
experimenting in chemistry, you know, sir--and he called me in there.
'I'm going out again for an hour, Grayson,' he says. 'I shall be in at
eleven: don't go to bed, for I want to see you for a minute or two.' Of
course, there was nothing in that, Mr. Purdie, and I waited for him.
But he never came home--and no message came. He never came home at
all--and this morning I've telephoned to his two clubs, and to one or
two other places in the City--nobody's seen or heard anything of him.
And I can't think what's happened--it's all so unlike his habits."
"He didn't tell you where he was going?" asked Purdie.
"No, sir, but he went on foot," answered the butler. "I let him out--he
turned up Paddington way."
"You didn't notice anything out of the common about him?" suggested
Purdie.
The butler hesitated for a moment.
"Well, sir," he said at last, "I did notice something. Come this way,
Mr. Purdie."