As Murchison thought over matters in the cold, clear light of the
morning, when the brain is at its freshest, he cursed the fate that ever
seemed to mix him up in the private affairs of his friends. First had
been that unhappy episode of poor Jack Pomfret, who had not strength of
mind to survive the disgrace he had brought upon himself by his
impetuous folly.
Now there was this affair of Guy Spencer's, which he felt he must go
through with and prove to the bottom. He must find out definitely
whether the likeness to Norah Burton was accidental, or whether that
scheming adventuress had, for the second time, ensnared a trusting and
unsuspicious man.
On Tuesday night when he dined in Eaton Place with the Spencers, he
would seize an opportunity of putting to her a few leading questions.
They would be of such a nature, that if his suspicions were correct,
they would shake her self-possession.
Certainly, she had betrayed no embarrassment at the sight of him, and
that was a point in her favour. For, assuming that she was Norah
Burton, the name of Murchison would be quite familiar to her, even if
she had forgotten his appearance after the lapse of those six years.
In the meantime he would get as much information about Stella Keane as
he could before the date of the dinner. There was a man at his club,
Gregory Fairfax, a middle-aged gossip, who was to be found in the
smoking-room every day at a certain hour.
Fairfax was a man of leisure and means, who had the reputation of
knowing more people, and all about them, than anybody in town. He mixed
in a dozen different sets: smart, fast, and Bohemian. He was equally at
home in Belgravia, Mayfair, South Kensington, and several other
quarters. He belonged to most of the best clubs, and many more that had
no pretensions to social distinction. His knowledge of the various
phases of London life was wide and extensive. He had also a marvellous
memory. He never forgot a face or the minutest details of a scandal.
To this gentleman, with whom he was on quite intimate terms, having
known him from his first introduction to the London world, Hugh
repaired, in the hope of getting to know all there was to know about
this mysterious young woman who had so suddenly and clandestinely
projected herself into the Southleigh family.
After a few casual remarks, he opened the ball. It was an easy task,
for there was nothing pleased Fairfax more than to place his extensive
social knowledge at the service of any friend or acquaintance who was in
search of details.
"I say, Fairfax, I think you can help me in a little matter, because you
have the reputation of knowing everything about everybody."
Mr Fairfax smiled genially. He was very proud of his profound social
knowledge, and nothing pleased him more than to have his well-earned
reputation alluded to in flattering terms.
"Fire away, my young friend. I think I have picked up a bit in my
twenty-five years of London life. Who is it you want to ask me about?"
"I dined last night with my old friends the Southleighs; and there, for
the first time, I met Mrs Guy Spencer. I had heard of the marriage, of
course, but no particulars of the young lady until I came to town a
little while ago. All I have learned is that she was a Miss Stella
Keane, and that she gives no very detailed account of her family
history. I gather the general impression is that there is a mystery
about her, which she refuses to allow anybody to penetrate. Do you know
anything about her yourself?"
Fairfax assumed an air of great gravity and importance. He was now in
his element, about to pour out his stores of knowledge to an interested
and grateful listener.
"There may be one or two people who know as much as I know--always
remembering that there is no first-hand knowledge, but the chances are a
hundred to one you would not come across them. It happens that I was a
good deal in that rather queer set which frequented Mrs L'Estrange's
flat."
"She was supposed to be a well-bred woman, was she not?"
"Oh, certainly, so far as family went. But, judging in the light of
subsequent events, there is no doubt she was a wrong 'un. The place,
from the start, was simply a gambling-saloon. Sometimes, the play was
very moderate. I am fond of a bit of a flutter myself, but I must own
that I never lost very much, and for a long time I never had any
suspicions of foul play."
"Ah, but you had later on?" interrupted Hugh.
"I'll come to that before we get on to Miss Stella Keane. Then one
night something happened. Do you remember a little chap named Esmond,
who used to go about everywhere?"
Yes, Hugh remembered Tommy Esmond, although his acquaintance with him
had been of the slightest.
"He was a funny little man, very genial and popular with everybody.
Like myself, he didn't stick to any one particular set, but went into a
dozen different ones. One night he would be dining at a swagger club
with a peer, the next he would be hobnobbing at a pot-house sort of a
place with a fifth-rate actor. Very eclectic was Tommy, and nobody ever
knew where the deuce he came from. He had been so long about that
people forgot to inquire, and looked upon him as a sort of institution,
and took him for granted, as it were.
"Well, one night, one dreadful night, Tommy was discovered cheating by a
couple of chaps who were too sharp for him. They were common sort of
fellows, might have been crooks themselves for all I know, and kicked up
a deuce of a row. They went so far as to insinuate that Mrs L'Estrange
was not altogether innocent, and had a hand in the plunder. Result,
Tommy had to make a bolt of it."
"What was your own opinion about it? Was it an accident?"
"I might not have believed it, but a similar thing took place about a
couple of months later. Another man was found cheating, and this time
Mrs L'Estrange refused to face the music. She closed down, and
disappeared from London. I have never met anybody who has seen or heard
anything of her since. I expect she's to be found on the Continent like
her friend Tommy."
"And Miss Keane was an inmate of this suspicious household?"
"Yes, ever since I went to the house, up to a few days after Tommy
bolted. She left suddenly, and Mrs L'Estrange was very reticent as to
where she had gone to. The next I heard was that she had been married
quietly to Guy Spencer."
"Did any suspicions attach to her?"
"No, it would not be fair to say that they did. She never played
herself, but she had a great knack of hovering about the tables. And
after the Esmond episode one or two men whispered that she had been
hovering about them too much, and that Mrs L'Estrange thought she had
better get rid of her. It might be so or not."
"Did you ever come across a cousin of hers there, a man named Dutton?"
"Oh yes, a dozen or more times, for I went to the flat pretty
frequently. A common, under-bred fellow, not in the least like her, for
in addition to being remarkably good-looking, her manners and appearance
were those of a lady."
"Do you know what has become of him?"
"Yes, he's an outside stockbroker, with a small office in the City. I
ran against him only last week. I don't know whether he recognised me
or not, but I looked the other way. With one or two exceptions, the
L'Estrange _clientele_ was not one that you cared to recognise when
outside the flat."
Fairfax had finished his narrative. Hugh thanked him warmly. Still, he
had not learned anything really of importance. There was no evidence
that Miss Keane had cheated, or helped others to cheat. The hovering
round the card-table was not a particularly suspicious action if taken
by itself. She might be signalling to her confederates, of course, but
there was no evidence on which to convict her.
A sudden thought struck Murchison which prompted him to put a question
to Fairfax.
"She might have been a decoy, to lure rich men to this gambling place,
in order that they might be rooked by her accomplices." The middle-aged
man shook his head. "I don't think so. She had no scope for that sort
of game. Mrs L'Estrange hardly knew any body in her own world, for
reasons which I daresay could be very satisfactorily explained, I should
guess a not too clean or reputable past. She could not get the girl
into houses where she would pick up rich men."
"But you say some men came there who played heavily."
"A few," answered Fairfax. "But I always had a notion that Dutton
picked those up, in the course of his shady business, a mug here, a mug
there, who had a few thousands to throw away either on the Stock
Exchange or in gambling. If the flat was run on the crook, and it is
even betting it was, I should say the proprietors--or the syndicate,
call it what you like--were contented with quite small profits. I
daresay a couple of thousand a year would keep Mrs L'Estrange in
luxury, and I suppose she must have had a bit of money of her own."
"And, assuming that they were all in league, Tommy Esmond and others
would want their bit," suggested Hugh.
"Certainly," assented Fairfax; "but always granting that the show was
run on the crook, it wouldn't be difficult to romp in thirty or forty
pounds a night, with even the small players and the occasional mugs who
were well-lined. Quite a decent amount to divide at the end of the
week."
"Well, I am awfully obliged for all you have told me, Fairfax."
"But it doesn't help you much, eh?" queried the elder man, who detected
a certain note of disappointment in his companion's tone.
"Well, candidly, it doesn't, but of course, that is no fault of yours.
We may dismiss the L'Estrange business, there is no evidence there. She
might have signalled to her confederates or not. It might have been a
perfectly innocent action. She didn't play herself, she just hovered
round the tables to kill the time."
"Of course, either theory will fit," remarked the shrewd man of the
world, who had picked up so much knowledge of life in his forty-five
strenuous years.
He paused for a few moments before he spoke again.
"Now look here, Murchison, I can read you like a book. I haven't told
you very much more than you know yourself, or could have pieced
together. You are disappointed because I couldn't tell you anything of
her history prior to her appearance in the L'Estrange household. Well,
there, I am at fault. And you have a particular reason for wanting to
know. In other words, you have some suspicions of your own."
Hugh felt he must be cautious. In connecting Mrs Spencer with Norah
Burton he might be on the wrong track altogether, have been deceived by
a striking, but purely accidental, resemblance. He could not be too
frank with a man of Fairfax's temperament. Rumour had it that he would
always respect a confidence, but his general reputation was that of a
chatterbox. He spoke guardedly.
"Yes, certain undefined ones, quite undefined, please understand that."
Then, speaking a little more frankly, "What I dearly want to know is,
was she a straight woman before she charmed my friend Guy Spencer into
marrying her."
Fairfax smiled his slow, wise smile: "I am glad you have put your cards
on the table. Of course I guessed from the beginning that it was what
you were after. Well, I shan't breathe a word of this to anybody; I can
hold my tongue when I have a mind. You have a deep interest in the
matter for the sake of the Southleigh family, eh?"
Hugh had to admit that it was so.
"Well, I am going to tell you something that, up to the present, I have
not told to anybody else, and, to tell you the truth, I was not in the
least interested in Guy Spencer's marriage. If he chose to marry a girl
without a past, that was his affair. But I see you are keen."
"Yes, I am very keen."
"Good! Well, I will give you a little information, from which you can
draw your own inferences. They are as open to you as to me, and I shall
just state the bare facts. As you know, Esmond had to bolt to the
Continent. On a certain morning I came up from the country by an early
train, landing at Charing Cross. I went to the bookstall to buy a few
papers. I must tell you that I am one of those persons who have eyes at
the back of their head, and see everything going on around them."
Yes, Hugh knew that Fairfax had a wonderful gift of observation, in
addition to his many other gifts.
"As I turned away, I saw Esmond slink into the station, glancing
furtively from right to left, as fearful of being seen. Of course, I
had not heard the news, and I was not present at the _debacle_, but I
guessed something was up from his furtive appearance. As he slunk
along, a young woman heavily-veiled walked swiftly forward, and laid her
hand upon his arm. They were only together for a few seconds, Esmond
was evidently urging her to leave him for fear of recognition. When
they parted, she kissed him affectionately. In spite of the heavy
veiling, I recognised her."
"Stella Keane, of course," cried Hugh.
"Stella Keane. Fortunately, neither of them saw me, I expect they were
both too agitated. Well, there is the fact; as I said just now, you can
draw your own inferences, and perhaps answer the question whether she
was a good woman before she married your friend."
"It is answered," said Hugh sternly. "A good woman would not trouble to
go to the station to say good-bye to a derelict card-sharper, and kiss
him affectionately, unless there had been some close and dishonourable
relationship between them."