CLOSE QUARTERS
Theydon escorted Miss Beale downstairs. As they passed the closed door
of No. 17, the lady shivered.
"To think that within the next few days I would have been staying there
with Edith, and planning evenings at the theater before going to
Newquay!" she murmured; there was a pitiful catch in her voice that told
better than words how the remainder of her existence would be darkened
by the tragedy.
At best she was a shrinking, timid little woman, for whom life probably
held but narrow interests. Such as they were, their placid content was
forever shattered. The death of her niece had closed the one chief
avenue leading to the outer world. She would retire to the quiet
back-water of Iffley, to become more faded, more insignificant, more
lonely each year.
Theydon commiserated with her deeply and did not hesitate to utter his
thoughts while putting her into a cab.
"Have you no friends in London?" he inquired. "I don't like the notion
of sending you off alone into this wilderness. London is the worst place
in the world for any one in distress. The heedless multitude seems to be
callous and unsympathetic. It isn't, in reality. It simply doesn't know,
and doesn't bother."
"I used to claim some acquaintances here, but I have lost track of them
for years," she said. "In any event, I shall have more than enough to
occupy my mind today. The inquest opens at three o'clock, and I must
face the ordeal of identifying Edith's body. The detective told me that
this should be done by a relation, while the only other person who could
act--Ann Rogers--has been nearly out of her mind since yesterday
morning."
"Where are you staying?"
She mentioned a small hotel in the West End.
"I used to go there with my people when I was a girl," she added, sadly.
"Then I'll get my sister to call. You'll like her. She's a jolly good
sort, and a chat with another woman will be far more beneficial than the
society of detectives and lawyers and such-like strange fowl. Keep your
spirits up, Miss Beale. Nothing that you can say or do now will restore
the life so cruelly taken, but you and I, each in our own way, can
strive to bring the murderer to justice. I am convinced that a distinct
step in that direction will be taken this very day. You can count on
seeing or hearing from me as soon as possible after I have discussed
matters with Mr. Forbes. Meanwhile, don't forget to have a lawyer
representing you at the inquest."
They parted as though they were friends of long standing. Theydon was
genuinely sorry for this gray-haired woman's plight, and she evidently
regarded him as a kind-hearted and eminently trustworthy young man. He
stood and watched the cab as it bore her off swiftly into the maelstrom
of London. He could not help thinking that seldom had he met one less
fitted for the notoriety thrust upon all connected with a much-talked-of
crime.
When the press interviewers, the photographers, the hundred and one
officials with whom she must be brought in contact, were done with her,
poor Miss Beale would retire to her Oxfordshire nook in a state of
mental bewilderment that would baffle description. In one of his books
Theydon had endeavored to depict just such a middle-aged spinster
confronted with a situation not wholly unlike that which now faced Miss
Beale.
He smiled grimly when he realized how far fiction had wandered from
fact. The woman of his imagination had acted with a strength of
character, a decisiveness, that outwitted and confounded certain
scheming personages in the story. How different was the reality! Miss
Beale, rushing across London in a taxi, reminded him of nothing more
masterful than a cage-bird turned loose in a tempest.
He was about to reenter the mansions, meaning to telephone to both the
Fortescue Square house and the Old Broad Street offices, and ask for
instant news of Mr. Forbes in either locality. He was so preoccupied
that he failed to notice an approaching taxicab, though the driver was
signaling, and even tooted a motor horn loudly in the endeavor to
attract his attention.
He did, however, catch his own name, and halted.
"Beg pardon, sir, but you are Mr. Theydon, aren't you?" said the man.
Then Theydon recognized Evans, the taxi-driver, who had brought him from
Fortescue Square.
"Hullo!" he cried. "Any news of the gray car?"
"Yes, sir, I think so," was the somewhat surprising answer. "When I
dropped you last night I got a fare to Euston. Then I took a gentleman
to the Langham, an', as I felt like a snack, I pulled into the nearest
cab rank. I was having some corfee an' a sandwich when I 'appened to
speak about the gray car to one of the chaps. 'That's odd,' he said.
'Quarter of an hour ago I had a theater job to Langham Plice, an' a gray
landaulette stopped in front of the Chinese Embassy. It kem along from
the east side, too.' He didn't notice the number, sir, so there may be
nothink in it, after all, but I thought you might like to hear wot my
pal said."
"Was the car empty? Did it call for some one at the Embassy?"
"That's the queer part of it, sir. I axed pertic'ler. This gray car
brought a gentleman, a small, youngish man, 'oo skipped up the Embassy
steps like a lamplighter, and went in afore you could s'y 'knife.'
Somebody might ha' bin watchin' for him through the keyhole, the door
was opened that quick. Then the car went off. My friend wouldn't ha'
given a second thought to it if the gentleman hadn't vanished like a
jack-in-the-box. That's w'y he remembered the color of the car."
Theydon tried to look as though Evans's statement merely puzzled him,
whereas his mind was already busy with the extraordinary coincidences
which the haphazard events of a few hours had produced. Was the Far East
bound up in some mysterious way with Mrs. Lester's death? Did the crime
possess a political significance? If so, an explanation by Forbes was
more than ever demanded.
"Your informant was not mistaken about the Chinese Embassy, I suppose?"
he said.
"No, sir. He's always in that district. His garage is at the back of
Great Portland Street. He knows most of them there Chinks by sight."
"Then that gray car can hardly have been our gray car," commented
Theydon, deeming it wise to prevent the sharp-witted taxi-driver from
jumping at conclusions.
"I'm afraid not, sir. Still, I just took the liberty--"
"I'm very much obliged to you, of course. I said half-a-crown, didn't I?
Here you are. Keep an eye open for XY 1314 and let me know if you hear
or see anything of it."
"Thank you, sir." Then Evans lifted his eyes to the block of buildings.
"A nasty business this murder which was done 'ere the other night, sir,"
he went on. "One 'ud hardly b'lieve it possible for such things to tike
plice in London nowadays."
Much as he was disinclined for gossip of the sort at the moment, Theydon
saw that he must endeavor to dissociate the gray car and the crime from
their dangerous juxtaposition in the man's mind, so he spoke about Mrs.
Lester's attractive appearance, harped on the apparent aimlessness of
the deed, hinted darkly at clews in the possession of the police, and
finally got rid of the well-meaning chauffeur. Back he went to his
telephone, and having ascertained that Mr. Forbes was fully expected to
put in an appearance at the city office before noon, settled down to
read the newspapers.
They contained sensational but fairly accurate accounts of the tragedy.
One enterprising journal had published an interview with Bates, whom the
reporter described as "a typical British man-servant," which was
amusing, since Bates had "retired noncommissioned officer" written all
over his square frame and soldierly features.
The same journalist spoke of Theydon himself, and had even ferreted out
the fact that Mrs. Lester was the widow of an English barrister who had
died at Shanghai. On reaction, Theydon saw that there was nothing
unusual in this statement. The connection between the metropolitan press
and the bar is old and intimate, and scores of junior barristers must
remember Arthur Lester's beginnings.
Resolved to possess his soul in patience till twelve o'clock, the hour
being yet barely 11:30 a. m., Theydon tackled a page of reviews, since
there is always consolation for a writer in learning at second hand what
sheer drivel others can produce.
He was growling at the discovery that some hapless essayist had
appropriated a title which he himself had marked down for his next book,
when the door-bell rang. He did not give much heed, because so many
tradesmen called during the course of each morning, so he was surprised
and startled when Bates announced:
"Mr. Forbes to see you, sir."
Had a powerful spring concealed in the seat of his chair been released
suddenly, Theydon could not have bounced to his feet with greater speed.
Forbes came in. He was pale, but self-contained and clear-eyed.
"Forgive an unceremonious visit," he said. "I'm glad to find you at
home. I meant to arrive here sooner, but I was detained on business of
some importance."
By this time Bates had closed the door; Theydon explained his presence
in the flat by saying that within a few minutes he would have been
telephoning again to Old Broad Street.
"Ah! Did you speak to Macdonald?" said Forbes, dropping into a chair
with a curious lassitude of manner which did not escape Theydon.
"Yes. I have been most anxious to have a word with you--"
Forbes broke in with a short laugh.
"You would get nothing out of Macdonald," he said. "He knows that my
visits to the Chinese Embassy are few and far between and generally have
to do with--but what is it now? Why should you be so perturbed when I
mention the Chinese Embassy?"
Theydon was literally astounded, and did not strive to hide his
agitation. But he was by no means tongue-tied. Now, most emphatically,
was he determined to have done with pretense. Whether by accident or
design, Forbes had placed himself with his back to the window.
The younger man deliberately crossed the room, pulled up the blind, thus
admitting the flood of light which comes only from the upper third of a
window, and sat down in such a position that Forbes was compelled to
turn in order to face him.
"Before you utter another word, Mr. Forbes," he said gravely, "let me
tell you that in my efforts to trace your whereabouts I also called up
Fortescue Square. Miss Forbes came to the telephone. She said you had
gone to the Home Office. By some feminine necromancy, too, she divined
the link which binds you with the death of Mrs. Lester. She was
distressed on your account, and I was hard put to it to extricate myself
from the risk of saying something which I might regret. I--"
"What do you imply by that remark?" interrupted Forbes, piercing the
other with a look that was strangely reminiscent of his daughter's
candid scrutiny.
"I imply the serious fact that I know who visited Mrs. Lester before she
met her death. I not only heard her visitor's arrival and departure, but
saw him at the corner of these mansions while on my way home from Daly's
Theater, and again when he posted a letter in the pillar box on the same
corner. If such unwonted interest on my part in the movements of one who
was then a complete stranger surprises you, let me remind you that only
a few minutes earlier I had stood by his side at the door of the theater
and heard him telling his daughter that he intended to walk to the
Constitutional Club."
Forbes smiled, but uttered no word. His expression was inscrutable. His
pallor reminded Theydon of the tint of ivory, of that waxen-white Dutch
grisaille beloved of fifteenth century illuminators of manuscripts. His
silence was disturbing, almost irritating, his manner singularly calm.
These negative indications conveyed absolutely nothing to Theydon, who
for the second time in their brief acquaintance found himself in the
ridiculous position of one explaining a fault rather than, as he
imagined, arraigning a man under suspicion.
"So we had better dispense with ambiguities, Mr. Forbes," he went on,
speaking with a precision that sounded oddly in his own ears. "It was
you who called on Mrs. Lester on Monday night, you who posted the letter
she wrote to Miss Beale at Iffley, Oxfordshire, you for whom the police
are now searching. I have contrived thus far to keep your secret, but
the situation is passing out of my control. I would help you if I
could--"
"Why?"
The monosyllable, sharp and insistent, was disconcerting as the
unexpected crack of a whip, but Theydon answered valiantly:
"Because of the monstrous absurdities with which Fate has plagued me
during the past two days, I appeal now for outspokenness, so I set an
example. Had it not been for your daughter's remarkably attractive
appearance I should not, in all likelihood, have given a second glance
at my neighbors on the steps of the theater. But I cannot forget that I
did see both her and you--indeed, Miss Forbes herself recalled the
incident--and the close questioning of the Scotland Yard men who were
here last night showed me the folly of imagining that I could deny all
knowledge of you. I recognize now that some impish contriving of
circumstances forced this knowledge upon me. The sudden downpour of
rain, and the fact that I was delayed by a slight accident to my cab,
conspired with the apparently simple chance which led me to overhear the
conversation between Miss Forbes and yourself. I tried hard to baffle
the detectives--"
"Again I ask 'Why?'"
Theydon was rapidly being wound up to a pitch of excited resentment.
"Why?" he cried. "Was I not your guest? How could I come from a house
where I had been admitted to a delightful intimacy and tell the
representatives of the law that my host was the man they were looking
for?"
During some seconds Forbes bent his eyes on the floor, seemingly in deep
thought.
"Theydon," he said at last, looking up in his direct way, "I am your
senior by a good many years--am old enough, as the saying goes, to be
your father. I may venture, therefore, to give you a piece of sound
advice. Pack a kit-bag, catch the afternoon boat train for Boulogne, and
go for a walking tour in Normandy and Brittany. When I was your age and
a junior in a bank I had to take my holidays in May; each year I tramped
that corner of France. I recommend it as a playground. It will appeal to
your literary instincts, and it has the immeasurable advantage just now
of being practically as remote from London as the Sahara."
It must not be forgotten that Theydon was a romancer, an idealist. The
"lounge suit" of the modern tailor hampers the play of such qualities no
more than the beaten armor of the age of chivalry.
"If my departure for France will relieve Miss Forbes of anxiety on your
behalf, I'll go," he vowed.
Forbes regarded him with a new interest.
"I believe you mean that," he said.
"I do."
"But I cannot send you out of the country on a false pretense. It was
your safety and well-being, not my daughter's, that I was thinking of."
"What have I to fear?"
"I do not know. I am like a man wandering by night in a jungle alive
with fearsome beasts and reptiles."
"Yet you had some reason for suggesting my prompt departure."
"Yes. It is an absurd thing to say, but I believe I am putting you in
danger of your life by coming here this morning."
"Can't you speak plainly, Mr. Forbes? What good purpose do you serve by
holding forth these vague terrors? If, as Miss Forbes told me, you have
visited the Home Office, I take it you made yourself clear to the
authorities--assuming, that is, you went there in connection with the
amazing conditions which seem to be bound up with this crime."
"There is a certain class of knowledge which is in itself dangerous to
those who possess it, no matter whether or not it affects them in any
particular. I recommend you, in good faith, to leave London today."
"If my own safety is the only consideration I refuse as readily as I
agreed before."
Theydon's tone grew somewhat impatient. He really fancied that Forbes
was trifling with him. Indeed, a queer doubt of the man's complete
sanity now peeped up in him. Forbes was regarded as a crank by a large
section of the public on account of his peace propaganda; if that
opinion were justified why should he not be eccentric in other respects?
It was fantastic, almost stupid, to look upon him as responsible for
Mrs. Lester's murder, but there was always a possibility that he might
be utilizing the chance which led him to her apartments shortly before
the crime was committed to cover himself and his movements with a veil
of spurious mystery. In a word, though Theydon had likened his visitor's
face to a mask of ivory he had momentarily forgotten the ominous token
found on Mrs. Lester's body and duplicated in Forbes's own house by the
morning's post.
Forbes spread wide his hands with the air of one who heard, but was
allowing his thoughts to wander. When next he spoke it was only to
increase the crazy inconsequence of their talk.
"Later--perhaps today--perhaps it may never be necessary--I may explain
myself to your heart's content," he said slowly. "At present I am here
to ask a favor. In the first place, is Mrs. Lester's flat in charge of
the police?"
"I suppose so," said Theydon.
"Is there a detective or constable on duty there now?"
"I am not sure. I imagine there is not. When the Scotland Yard men and I
came out after midnight they locked the door and took away the key.
The--er--body is at the mortuary, awaiting the opening of the inquest at
three o'clock."
"Ah! I hoped that would be so. Can you ascertain for certain?"
"But why?"
"Because I wish to go in there. And that brings me to the favor I seek.
The secretary of these flats, even the hall porter, should have a master
key. Borrow it on some pretext. They will give it to you."
"Really, Mr. Forbes--" gasped Theydon, voicing his surprise as a
preliminary to a decided refusal. He was interrupted by the insistent
clang of the telephone--that curt herald which brooks no delay in
answering its demand for an audience.
"Pardon me one moment," he said. "I'll just see who that is."
The inquirer was Evelyn Forbes.
"I've waited patiently--" she began, but he stopped her instantly by
saying that her father was with him.
"Please ask him to come to the phone," she said.
Forbes rose at once. He merely assured the girl that he was engaged in
important business and would be home soon after the luncheon hour.
Meanwhile, she was not to go out, and his orders must be obeyed to the
letter.
"Now, Theydon," he said, coming back to the sitting room, "what about
that key?"
The most extraordinary feature of an extraordinary case was the way in
which the mere sound of Evelyn Forbes's voice stilled any qualms of
conscience in Theydon's breast. He knew he was acting foolishly in
conducting a blind inquiry on his own account, an inquiry which might
well arouse the anger and active resentment of the police, but he
offered a sop to his better judgment by consulting Bates.
Then came a veritable surprise.
"The fact is, sir," admitted Bates nervously, "we have Ann Rogers's key
in the kitchen. When she went away on Monday she left it here, bein'
afraid of losin' it. Of course, she took it on Tuesday mornin', and
after goin' from one fit of hysterics into another she gev it to us
again."
Theydon's face was eloquent of the serious view of this avowal.
"Did you tell the police?" he said.
"No, sir. My missus an' me clean forgot all about it."
"So, while Mrs. Lester was being killed, the key of her flat was
actually in your possession?"
"I suppose it might be put that way, sir."
By this time Theydon was becoming exasperated at the veritable
conspiracy which fate had engineered for the express purpose,
apparently, of entangling him in an abominable crime.
"Why on earth didn't you mention such an important fact to the
detectives?" he almost shouted, "Don't you see they are bound to
think--"
"O, a plague on the detectives and on what they think!" broke in Forbes
imperiously. "It doesn't matter a straw what they think, and very little
what they do. This affair goes a long way beyond the four-mile radius,
Theydon. The vital point is that your man has the key. Where is it? Let
us go in there at once!"
"You offered me some advice, Mr. Forbes," said Theydon firmly. "Let me
now return it in kind. If you wish to examine Mrs. Lester's flat why not
seek the permission of Scotland Yard?"
"My good fellow, I have spent a valuable hour this morning in persuading
the Home Secretary that the less Scotland Yard interferes in my behalf
the more effectually shall I be protected. I don't want any detective
within a mile of my house or office. But, as I have told you already,
explanations must wait--You, Bates, look a man who can hold his tongue.
Do so, and with Mr. Theydon's permission I'll make it worth your while
when this storm has blown over--Now, give me that key."
Theydon was silenced, if not convinced. He realized, of course, that he
must make a full confession to the Criminal Investigation Department
before the sun went down, but argued that he might as well see the
present adventure through.
Soon he and Forbes were standing at the door of No. 17. Forbes curbed
his impatience sufficiently to permit of any one who happened to be in
the interior answering the summons of the electric bell. Of course, no
one came. The police had no reason to remain in charge of the place, and
Ann Rogers would have become a raving lunatic if left alone there for
one half-hour.
The aromatic odor of the burnt joss stick still clung to the suite of
apartments, and Forbes noticed it at once.
"Where was the body found?" he asked.
Theydon led the way to the bedroom. He related Winter's theory of the
crime, and pointed out its seeming aimlessness. So far as the police
could ascertain from the half-crazy servant, none of Mrs. Lester's
jewels was missing. Even her gold purse, containing a fair sum of money,
was found on the dressing-table.
He did not know that the detectives had taken away a few scraps of torn
paper thrown carelessly into the grate and had carefully gathered up a
tiny snake-like curl of white ash from the tiled hearth, which, on
analysis, would probably prove to be the remains of the joss stick.
Forbes gazed at the impression on the side of the bed as though the body
of the woman whom he had last seen in full possession of her grace and
beauty were still lying there. The vision seemed to affect him
profoundly. He did not speak for fully a minute, and, when speech came,
his voice was low and strained.
"Tell me everything you know," he said. "The Scotland Yard men took an
unusual step in admitting you to their conclave. They must have had some
motive. Tell me what they said, their very words, if you can recall
them."
Theydon was uncomfortably aware of a strange compulsion to obey. His
commonplace, everyday senses cried out in revolt, and warned him that he
was tampering dangerously with matters which should be left to the cold
scrutiny of the law, but some subconscious instinct overpowered these
prudent monitors, and he gave an almost exact account of his talk with
Winter and Furneaux.
Then followed questions, eager, searching, almost uncanny in their
prescience.
"The little one--who strikes me as having more brains than I credit the
ordinary London policeman with--spoke of the evil deities of China. How
did such an extraordinary topic crop up?"
"In connection with the joss stick."
"Yes, yes. But I don't see the inference."
"Mr. Winter alluded to the habit some ladies have of burning such
incense in their houses, whereupon Furneaux remarked that the Chinese
use them to propitiate harmful spirits."
"Was that all?"
Theydon felt insensibly that his companion was hinting at something more
definite, but he was bound in honor to respect the confidence reposed in
him.
"I don't quite understand," he temporized.
"Was nothing said as to the finding of some object, such as a small
article obviously Chinese in origin, which might turn an inquirer's
thought into that channel?"
"The conversation I am relating took place the moment after we had
entered the flat. We were standing in the hall. It was wholly the
outcome of the strange smell which was immediately perceptible."
Forbes passed a hand over his eyes.
"I wonder," he breathed.
Then, turning quickly on Theydon, he repeats the question.
"Are you quite sure they did not mention the discovery in this room of
any object which could be regarded, even remotely, as a sign or symbol
left by the murderer to show that his crime was an act of vengeance, or
retaliation?"
Theydon hesitated. Unquestionably he was in a position of no ordinary
difficulty. But his doubts were solved by an interruption that brought
his heart into his mouth, because a thin, high-pitched voice came
through the half-open door:
"Are you thinking of a small ivory skull, Mr. Forbes?"