THE MYSTERY DEEPENS.
Nobody in the Park Lane house appeared to have the slightest suspicion
that anything had been wrong. The stolid, well-trained servants
accepted the explanation of the broken door quite as a matter of
course. And when Vera had come down in the morning she appeared to
have forgotten the incident entirely. Lord Ravenspur was not feeling
particularly well, and he had decided to keep to his room for the day.
The explanation was perfectly simple and quite natural. All the same,
Walter was thankful that Vera should ask him no questions. It was no
easy matter to preserve a cheerful and unconcerned face at the
breakfast table, but he seemed to manage it all right. He was just a
little quiet and subdued, but then there was nothing remarkable about
that, especially in view of Lord Ravenspur's feelings on the subject
of his engagement to Vera.
The day dragged on, and Walter waited with what patience he had till
the evening. He was not displeased to find that Vera was dining out
with some friends in Sloane Square, for this would give him the
opportunity he needed. He changed his dinner jacket presently for an
old tweed coat and cap. Then he set out on his errand in Vauxhall
Bridge Road. Walter was not alone on this occasion, for he was
accompanied by a journalist friend whose particular study was the life
and habits of the lower classes. It was this friend who had suggested
the advisability of the humble garb, so that they could thus mix
freely with the people around them. Walter congratulated himself upon
his friend's prudence when he saw the class of audience that filled
the Imperial Palace Theatre.
The place was large enough, and by no means lacked artistic finish. At
one time it had been an actual theatre, run by some enthusiast with a
view to the elevation of the masses and the production of high-class
plays at popular prices. The experiment had ended in a ghastly
failure, and now a shrewd, hard-headed publican in the neighbourhood
was making a fortune by the simple expedient of giving his patrons
exactly what they required.
"What part of the house shall we try?" Walter asked.
"We can't do better than the pit," Venables replied. "That will cost
you sixpence, or perhaps, if you like to be extravagant, we can have a
box for half-a-crown. Still, we don't want to make ourselves
conspicuous. The pit is quite good enough for me. You can smoke here,
you know, and drink too, for the matter of that. But I should not
advise you to try the latter experiment."
The house was fairly well filled as the two friends entered and took
their seats. The audience for the most part were respectable enough,
but the whole place reeked with perspiring humanity, and the air was
pungent with the smell of acrid tobacco. A constant fusillade of chaff
went on between the stage and the audience. Indeed, the artistes, for
the most part, appeared to be on the most friendly terms with the
_habitués_ of the theatre. A dreary-looking comedian was singing one
of the inevitable patter songs, full of the feeble allusions to drink
without which songs of that kind never appear to be complete. The
audience listened stolidly enough.
"Are they never going to tire of this kind of thing?" Walter asked his
companion. "Is there nothing humorous in the world outside the region
of too much beer? These people sadden me."
"Oh, they are all right," Venables said, cheerfully. "They are quite
happy in their own particular way. I have long ceased to look for
anything fresh on the music hall stage. An original artist and an
original manner wouldn't be tolerated."
The dreary song came to an end at length; then it was followed by two
so-called sisters, who, in short skirts and large picture hats,
discoursed of the joys of country life in a peculiarly aggressive
Cockney accent. The whole thing was dull and depressing to the last
degree, and Walter began to regret his loss of time. He noticed from
his programme that Valdo was down rather late, so there was nothing
for it but to possess his soul in patience till the time came. It was
a little past ten o'clock before the stage was cleared, and the
attendants, in their grimy uniforms, began to erect a series of fine
wires running from the roof to the floor. Then there was an extra
flourish from the aggressive orchestra, and a slim man, dressed
entirely in black, came on to the stage. He was received with great
enthusiasm and the smiting of glasses upon the tables. Evidently Valdo
had established himself as a firm favourite with the patrons of the
Imperial Palace Theatre.
All Walter's apathy had vanished, as he turned to the stage and
scrutinised the acrobat long and carefully. So far as he could judge,
Valdo was no Englishman with a foreign name, but a genuine foreigner,
presumably of Italian birth. The man was not tall or particularly
broad, but he was well proportioned, and gave the idea of one
possessed of considerable physical strength. In particular, Walter
noticed how long his arms were, and how the muscles stood out between
his shoulders. As to the rest, the man looked mild enough, and his
dark Southern face was wreathed in an amiable smile.
He proceeded, with the aid of an attendant, to fasten two small curved
canvas frames to his shoulders. These he thrashed up and down with his
arms much as a cock flaps its wings before crowing. Then, with an
agile leap from the stage, the man proceeded to sail up slowly from
the floor to the flies.
"That's clever," Venables exclaimed. "It looks to me as if our friend
has solved the art of the flying machine. But one never knows. I
daresay it is no more than some ingenious trick."
This speech appeared to be resented by a respectable-looking mechanic
who was occupying the next seat to Venables.
"Nothing of the kind," the man said indignantly. "I've been here three
nights now, and I know something about mechanics, too. If you think
that wires are used you are just mistaken. A friend of mine is stage
carpenter here, and he told me all about it. Depend upon it, that chap
has got the knack right enough."
The performer fluttered down again from the wings as lightly and
easily as he had risen, and a tremendous outbreak of applause
followed. When the din had died away, the stage manager came forward
and invited any of the audience who chose to come up and see for
themselves that everything was fair and legitimate, and that no
mechanism had been employed. The intelligent mechanic turned to
Venables with a defiant smile.
"Now is your chance, guv'nor," he exclaimed. "You go and smell it out
for yourself."
Venables would have declined the offer, but already Walter had risen
eagerly from his seat. The opportunity was too good to be missed.
Though he did not associate this man Valdo with the mysterious attack
on Lord Ravenspur's life, he felt quite convinced that the artist was
indirectly concerned in it. To waste a chance would be the height of
folly. A moment or two later the two friends were on the stage. They
stood there whilst the performer went through another series of
graceful performances, but they could see absolutely nothing which
suggested mechanical contrivance of any kind. The whole act came to an
end at length, and Valdo stood there bowing and smiling when his wings
were removed.
"Let's have a chat with him," Venables whispered. "Apart from the
thing being decidedly interesting, there ought to be some good 'copy'
here. Properly worked, Signor Valdo ought to be worth a couple of
columns to me."
At the suggestion of the "Press," the stage manager pricked up his
ears. He was not insensible to the value of a good advertisement. He
suggested a move to his private office, where it would be possible for
the visitors to interview quietly.
"Nothing I should like better," Walter said eagerly. "Perhaps you will
come with us, and join us in a bottle of champagne?"
They made their way behind the stage to a dingy little room,
insufficiently lighted with one gas jet. The back of the stage was in
a turmoil. It was almost impossible to hear for the din. Then very
briefly and modestly Valdo told his history. He had found out his
peculiar powers by a series of experiments with the parachute. The
whole secret lay, he explained, in the enormously powerful muscles
between his shoulders and the backs of his arms. The rest was worked
by the amazing rapidity with which he had learnt to move his arms. So
far the thing was effective enough, but the strain was so great that,
hitherto, he had found it impossible to rise to a height of more than
forty feet. This naturally prevented him from obtaining engagements in
the larger theatres and halls where so limited a flight would have
been far less imposing than it appeared to be when performed in a
place like the Imperial Palace. There was nothing more to be said, and
the two friends were turning away when a woman put her head into the
door, and looked inquiringly at Valdo. He muttered something to the
effect that he would be ready in a moment or two, and the woman
vanished.
Walter caught his lip in his teeth. It was hard work to conceal his
surprise. There was no doubt whatever about it, no question as to the
identity of the intruder. Strange as it appeared to be, Walter
recognised the features of Mrs. Delahay. There was no mistaking that
white, stern face. It was only for a moment, but that moment had been
enough for Lance.