"It is understood that the police have obtained an important clue to
the perpetrators of the daring theft of the diamond necklet belonging
to the Archduchess Marie Louise, and that an arrest is shortly
expected. Some highly sensational revelations are likely."
I read and re-read those significant lines. What were the "sensational
revelations" promised? Had they any connection with the weird mystery
of that closed house in Porchester Terrace?
I felt that perhaps I was not doing right in refraining from laying
before the Criminal Investigation Department the facts of my strange
experience in that long-closed house. In that neglected garden, my own
grave lay open. What bodies of other previous victims lay there
interred?
I recollected that in the metropolis many bodies of murdered persons
had been found buried in cellars and in gardens. A recent case of the
discovery of an unfortunate woman's body beneath the front doorsteps
of a certain house in North London was fresh within my mind.
Truly the night mysteries of London are many and gruesome. The public
never dream of half the brutal crimes that are committed and never
detected. Only the police, if they are frank, will tell you of the
many cases in which persons missing are suspected of having been
victims of foul play. Yet they are mysteries never solved.
I went across to White's and dined alone. I was in no mood for the
companionship of friends. No one save myself knew that my wife had
disappeared. Jack suspected something wrong, but was not aware of what
it exactly was.
I went down to Andover next day and called upon the Shuttleworths.
Mrs. Shuttleworth was kind and affable as usual, but whether my
suspicions were ungrounded or not, I thought the rector a trifle
brusque in manner, as though annoyed by my presence there.
I recollected what the man Lewis had told his friends--that he had
seen Shuttleworth down in the Ditches--one of the lowest
neighbourhoods--of Southampton. The rector had told him all that had
transpired!
Why was this worthy country rector, living the quiet life of a remote
Hampshire village, in such constant communication with a band of
thieves?
I sat with him in his well-remembered study for perhaps an hour. But
he was a complete enigma. Casually I referred to the great jewel
theft, which was more or less upon every one's tongue.
"I seldom read newspaper horrors," he replied, puffing at his familiar
pipe. "I saw something in the head-lines of the paper, but I did not
read the details. I've been writing some articles for the _Guardian_
lately, and my time has been so fully occupied."
Was this the truth? Or was he merely evading the necessity of
discussing the matter?
He had inquired after Sylvia, and I had been compelled to admit that
she was away. But I did so in such a manner that I implied she was
visiting friends.
Outside, the lawn, so bright and pleasant in summer, now looked damp
and dreary, littered by the brown drifting leaves of autumn.
Somehow I read in his grey face a strange expression, and detected an
eagerness to get rid of me. For the first time I found myself an
unwelcome visitor at the rectory.
"Have you seen Mr. Pennington of late?" I asked presently.
"No, not for some time. He wrote me from Brussels about a month ago,
and said that business was calling him to Spain. Have you seen him?"
he asked.
"Not very recently," I replied vaguely.