THE COMING OF SERGEANT SMITH
Jasper Cole at that moment was trudging through the snow to the little
chalet which May Nuttall had taken on the slope of the mountain
overlooking Chamonix. The sleigh which had brought him up from the
station was at the foot of the rise. May saw him from the veranda, and
coo-ooed a welcome. He stamped the snow from his boots and ran up the
steps of the veranda to meet her.
"This is a very pleasant surprise," she said, giving him both her hands
and looking at him approvingly. He had lost much of his pallor, and his
face was tanned and healthy, though a little fine drawn.
"It was rather a mad thing to do, wasn't it?" he confessed ruefully.
"You are such a confirmed bachelor, Jasper, that I believe you hate
doing anything outside your regular routine. Why did you come all the
way from Holland to the Haute Savoie?"
He had followed her into the warm and cozy sitting room, and was warming
his chilled fingers by the big log fire which burned on the hearth.
"Can you ask? I came to see you."
"And how are all the experiments going?"
She turned him to another topic in some hurry.
"There have been no experiments since last month; at least not the kind
of experiments you mean. The one in which I have been engaged has been
very successful."
"And what was that?" she asked curiously.
"I will tell you one of these days," he said.
He was staying at the Hotel des Alpes, and hoped to be a week in
Chamonix. They chatted about the weather, the early snow which had
covered the valley in a mantle of white, about the tantalizing behavior
of Mont Blanc, which had not been visible since May had arrived, of the
early avalanches, which awakened her with their thunder on the night of
her arrival, of the pleasant road to Argentieres, of the villages by the
Col de Balme, which are buried in snow, of the sparkling, ethereal green
of the great glacier--of everything save that which was nearest to their
thoughts and to their hearts.
Jasper broke the ice when he referred to Frank's visit to Geneva.
"How did you know?" she asked, suddenly grave.
"Somebody told me," he said casually.
"Jasper, were you ever at Montreux?" she asked, looking him straight in
the eye.
"I have been to Montreux, or rather to Caux," he said. "That is the
village on the mountain above, and one has to go through Montreux to
reach it. Why did you ask?"
A sudden chill had fallen upon her, which she did not shake off that day
or the next.
They made the usual excursions together, climbed up the wooded slopes
of the Butte, and on the third morning after his arrival stood together
in the clear dawn and watched the first pink rays of the sun striking
the humped summit of Mont Blanc.
"Isn't it glorious?" she whispered.
He nodded.
The serene beauty of it all, the purity, the majestic aloofness of
mountains at once depressed and exalted her, brought her nearer to the
sublimity of ancient truths, cleansed her of petty fears. She turned to
him unexpectedly and asked:
"Jasper, who killed John Minute?"
He made no reply. His wistful eyes were fixed hungrily upon the glories
of light and shade, of space, of inaccessibility, of purity, of
coloring, of all that dawn upon Mont Blanc comprehended. When he spoke
his voice was lowered to almost a whisper.
"I know that the man who killed John Minute is alive and free," he said.
"Who was he?"
"If you do not know now, you may never know," he said.
There was a silence which lasted for fully five minutes, and the crimson
light upon the mountain top had paled to lemon yellow.
Then she asked again:
"Are you directly or indirectly guilty?"
He shook his head.
"Neither directly nor indirectly," he said shortly, and the next minute
she was in his arms.
There had been no word of love between them, no tender passage, no
letter which the world could not read. It was a love-making which had
begun where other love-makings end--in conquest and in surrender. In
this strange way, beyond all understanding, May Nuttall became engaged,
and announced the fact in the briefest of letters to her friends.
A fortnight later the girl arrived in England, and was met at Charing
Cross by Saul Arthur Mann. She was radiantly happy and bubbling over
with good spirits, a picture of health and beauty.
All this Mr. Mann observed with a sinking heart. He had a duty to
perform, and that duty was not a pleasant one. He knew it was useless to
reason with the girl. He could offer her no more than half-formed
theories and suspicions, but at least he had one trump card. He debated
in his mind whether he should play this, for here, too, his information
was of the scantiest description. He carried his account of the girl to
Frank Merrill.
"My dear Frank, she is simply infatuated," said the little man in
despair. "Oh, if that infernal record of mine was only completed I could
convince her in a second! There is no single investigation I have ever
undertaken which has been so disappointing."
"Can nothing be done?" asked Frank, "I cannot believe that it will
happen. Marry Jasper! Great Caesar! After all--"
His voice was hoarse. The hand he raised in protest shook.
Saul Arthur Mann scratched his chin reflectively.
"Suppose you saw her," he suggested, and added a little grimly: "I will
see Mr. Cole at the same time."
Frank hesitated.
"I can understand your reluctance," the little man went on, "but there
is too much at stake to allow your finer feelings to stop you. This
matter has got to be prevented at all costs. We are fighting for time.
In a month, possibly less, we may have the whole of the facts in our
hands."
"Have you found out anything about the girl in Camden Town?" asked
Frank.
"She has disappeared completely," replied the other. "Every clew we have
had has led nowhere."
Frank dressed himself with unusual care that afternoon, and, having
previously telephoned and secured the girl's permission to call, he
presented himself to the minute. She was, as usual, cordiality itself.
"I was rather hurt at your not calling before, Frank," she said. "You
have come to congratulate me?"
She looked at him straight in the eyes as she said this.
"You can hardly expect that, May," he said gently, "knowing how much you
are to me and how greatly I wanted you. Honestly, I cannot understand
it, and I can only suppose that you, whom I love better than anything in
the world--and you mean more to me than any other being--share the
suspicion which surrounds me like a poison cloud."
"Yet if I shared that suspicion," she said calmly, "would I let you see
me? No, Frank, I was a child when--you know. It was only a few months
ago, but I believe--indeed I know--it would have been the greatest
mistake I could possibly have made. I should have been a very unhappy
woman, for I have loved Jasper all along."
She said this evenly, without any display of emotion or embarrassment.
Frank, narrating the interview to Saul Arthur Mann, described the
speech as almost mechanical.
"I hope you are going to take it nicely," she went on, "that we are
going to be such good friends as we always were, and that even the
memory of your poor uncle's death and the ghastly trial which followed
and the part that Jasper played will not spoil our friendship."
"But don't you see what it means to me?" he burst forth, and for a
second they looked at one another, and Frank divined her thoughts and
winced.
"I know what you are thinking," he said huskily; "you are thinking of
all the beastly things that were said at the trial, that if I had gained
you I should have gained all that I tried to gain."
She went red.
"It was horrid of me, wasn't it?" she confessed. "And yet that idea came
to me. One cannot control one's thoughts, Frank, and you must be content
to know that I believe in your innocence. There are some thoughts which
flourish in one's mind like weeds, and which refuse to be uprooted.
Don't blame me if I recalled the lawyer's words; it was an involuntary,
hateful thought."
He inclined his head.
"There is another thought which is not involuntary," she went on, "and
it is because I want to retain our friendship and I want everything to
go on as usual that I am asking you one question. Your twenty-fourth
birthday has come and gone; you told me that your uncle's design was to
keep you unmarried until that day. You are still unmarried, and your
twenty-fourth birthday has passed. What has happened?"
"Many things have happened," he replied quietly. "My uncle is dead. I am
a rich man apart from the accident of his legacy. I could meet you on
level terms."
"I knew nothing of this," she said quickly.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Didn't Jasper tell you?" he asked.
"No--Jasper told me nothing."
Frank drew a long breath.
"Then I can only say that until the mystery of my uncle's death is
solved you cannot know," he said. "I can only repeat what I have already
told you."
She offered her hand.
"I believe you, Frank," she said, "and I was wrong even to doubt you in
the smallest degree."
He took her hand and held it.
"May," he said, "what is this strange fascination that Jasper has over
you?"
For the second time in that interview she flushed and pulled her hand
back.
"There is nothing unusual in the fascination which Jasper exercises,"
she smiled, quickly recovering, almost against her will, from the little
twinge of anger she felt. "It is the influence which every woman has
felt and which you one day will feel."
He laughed bitterly.
"Then nothing will make you change your mind?" he said.
"Nothing in the world," she answered emphatically.
For a moment she was sorry for him, as he stood, both hands resting on a
chair, his eyes on the ground, a picture of despair, and she crossed to
him and slipped her arm through his.
"Don't take it so badly, Frank," she said softly. "I am a capricious,
foolish girl, I know, and I am really not worth a moment's suffering."
He shook himself together, gathered up his hat, his stick, and his
overcoat and offered his hand.
"Good-by," he said, "and good luck!"
In the meantime another interview of a widely different character was
taking place in the little house which Jasper Cole occupied on the
Portsmouth Road. Jasper and Saul Arthur Mann had met before, but this
was the first visit that the investigator had paid to the home of John
Minute's heir.
Jasper was waiting at the door to greet the little man when he arrived,
and had offered him a quiet but warm welcome and led the way to the
beautiful study which was half laboratory, which he had built for
himself since John Minute's death.
"I am coming straight to the point without any beating about the bush,
Mr. Cole," said the little man, depositing his bag on the side of his
chair and opening it with a jerk. "I will tell you frankly that I am
acting on Mr. Merrill's behalf and that I am also acting, as I believe,
in the interests of justice."
"Your motives, at any rate, are admirable," said Jasper, pushing back
the papers which littered his big library table, and seating himself on
the edge.
"You are probably aware that you are to some extent under suspicion, Mr.
Cole."
"Under your suspicion or the suspicion of the authorities?" asked the
other coolly.
"Under mine," said Saul Arthur Mann emphatically. "I cannot speak for
the authorities."
"In what direction does this suspicion run?"
He thrust his hands deep in his trousers pockets, and eyed the other
keenly.
"My first suspicion is that you are well aware as to who murdered John
Minute."
Jasper Cole nodded.
"I am perfectly aware that he was murdered by your friend, Mr. Merrill,"
he said.
"I suggest," said Saul Arthur Mann calmly, "that you know the murderer,
and you know the murderer was _not_ Frank Merrill."
Jasper made no reply, and a faint smile flickered for a second at the
corner of his mouth, but he gave no other sign of his inward feelings.
"And the other point you wish to raise?" he asked.
"The other is a more delicate subject, since it involves a lady," said
the little man. "You are about to be married to Miss Nuttall."
Jasper Cole nodded.
"You have obtained an extraordinary influence over the lady in this past
few months."
"I hope so," said the other cheerfully.
"It is an influence which might have been brought about by normal
methods, but it is also one," Saul Arthur leaned over and tapped the
table emphatically with each word, "which might be secured by a very
clever chemist who had found a way of sapping the will of his victim."
"By the administration of drugs?" asked Jasper.
"By the administration of drugs," repeated Saul Arthur Mann.
Jasper Cole smiled.
"I should like to know the drug," he said. "One would make a fortune, to
say nothing of benefiting humanity to an extraordinary degree by its
employment. For example, I might give you a dose and you would tell me
all that you know; I am told that your knowledge is fairly extensive,"
he bantered. "Surely you, Mr. Mann, with your remarkable collection of
information on all subjects under the sun, do not suggest that such a
drug exists?"
"On the contrary," said "The Man Who Knew" in triumph, "it is known and
is employed. It was known as long ago as the days of the Borgias. It was
employed in France in the days of Louis XVI. It has been, to some
extent, rediscovered and used in lunatic asylums to quiet dangerous
patients."
He saw the interest deepen in the other's eyes.
"I have never heard of that," said Jasper slowly; "the only drug that is
employed for that purpose is, as far as I know, bromide of potassium."
Mr. Mann produced a slip of paper, and read off a list of names, mostly
of mental institutions in the United States of America and in Germany.
"Oh, that drug!" said Jasper Cole contemptuously. "I know the use to
which that is put. There was an article on the subject in the _British
Medical Journal_ three months ago. It is a modified kind of 'twilight
sleep'--hyocine and morphia. I'm afraid, Mr. Mann," he went on, "you
have come on a fruitless errand, and, speaking as a humble student of
science, I may suggest without offense that your theories are wholly
fantastic."
"Then I will put another suggestion to you, Mr. Cole," said the little
man without resentment, "and to me this constitutes the chief reason why
you should not marry the lady whose confidence I enjoy and who, I feel
sure, will be influenced by my advice."
"And what is that?" asked Jasper.
"It affects your own character, and it is in consequence a very
embarrassing matter for me to discuss," said the little man.
Again the other favored him with that inscrutable smile of his.
"My moral character, I presume, is now being assailed," he said
flippantly. "Please go on; you promise to be interesting."
"You were in Holland a short time ago. Does Miss Nuttall know this?"
Jasper nodded.
"She is well aware of the fact."
"You were in Holland with a lady," accused Mr. Mann slowly. "Is Miss
Nuttall well aware of this fact, too?"
Jasper slipped from the table and stood upright. Through his narrow lids
he looked down upon his accuser.
"Is that all you know?" he asked softly.
"Not all, but one of the things I know," retorted the other. "You were
seen in her company. She was staying in the same hotel with you as 'Mrs.
Cole.'"
Jasper nodded.
"You will excuse me if I decline to discuss the matter," he said.
"Suppose I ask Miss Nuttall to discuss it?" challenged the little man.
"You are the master of your own actions," said Jasper Cole quickly, "and
I dare say, if you regard it as expedient, you will tell her, but I can
promise you that whether you tell her or not I shall marry Miss
Nuttall."
With this he ushered his visitor to the door, and hardly waited for the
car to drive off before he had shut that door behind him.
Late that night the two friends forgathered and exchanged their
experiences.
"I am sure there is something very wrong indeed," said Frank
emphatically. "She was not herself. She spoke mechanically, almost as
though she were reciting a lesson. You had the feeling that she was
connected by wires with somebody who was dictating her every word and
action. It is damnable, Mann. What can we do?"
"We must prevent the marriage," said the little man quietly, "and employ
every means that opportunity suggests to that purpose. Make no mistake,"
he said emphatically; "Cole will stop at nothing. His attitude was one
big bluff. He knows that I have beaten him. It was only by luck that I
found out about the woman in Holland. I got my agent to examine the
hotel register, and there it was, without any attempt at disguise: 'Mr.
and Mrs. Cole, of London.'"
"The thing to do is to see May at once," said Frank, "and put all the
facts before her, though I hate the idea; it seems like sneaking."
"Sneaking!" exploded Saul Arthur Mann. "What nonsense you talk! You are
too full of scruples, my friend, for this work. I will see her
to-morrow."
"I will go with you," said Frank, after a moment's thought. "I have no
wish to escape my responsibility in the matter. She will probably hate
me for my interference, but I have reached beyond the point where I
care--so long as she can be saved."
It was agreed that they should meet one another at the office in the
morning and make their way together.
"Remember this," said Mann, seriously, before they parted, "that if Cole
finds the game is up he will stop at nothing."
"Do you think we ought to take precautions?" asked Frank.
"Honestly I do," confessed the other, "I don't think we can get the men
from the Yard, but there is a very excellent agency which sometimes
works for me, and they can provide a guard for the girl."
"I wish you would get in touch with them," said Frank earnestly. "I am
worried sick over this business. She ought never to be left out of their
sight. I will see if I can have a talk to her maid, so that we may know
whenever she is going out. There ought to be a man on a motor cycle
always waiting about the Savoy to follow her wherever she goes."
They parted at the entrance of the bureau, Saul Arthur Mann returning to
telephone the necessary instructions. How necessary they were was proved
that very night.
At nine o'clock May was sitting down to a solitary dinner when a
telegram was delivered to her. It was from the chief of the little
mission in which she had been interested, and ran:
Very urgent. Have something of the greatest importance to tell you.
It was signed with the name of the matron of the mission, and, leaving
her dinner untouched, May only delayed long enough to change her dress
before she was speeding in a taxi eastward.
She arrived at the "hall," which was the headquarters of the mission, to
find it in darkness. A man who was evidently a new helper was waiting in
the doorway and addressed her.
"You are Miss Nuttall, aren't you? I thought so. The matron has gone
down to Silvers Rents, and she asked me to go along with you."
The girl dismissed the taxi, and in company with her guide threaded the
narrow tangle of streets between the mission and Silvers Rents. She was
halfway along one of the ill-lighted thoroughfares when she noticed that
drawn up by the side of the road was a big, handsome motor car, and she
wondered what had brought this evidence of luxurious living to the mean
streets of Canning Town. She was not left in doubt very long, for as she
came up to the lights and was shielding her eyes from their glare her
arms were tightly grasped, a shawl was thrown over her head, and she
was lifted and thrust into the car's interior. A hand gripped her
throat.
"You scream and I will kill you!" hissed a voice in her ear.
At that moment the car started, and the girl, with a scream which was
strangled in her throat, fell swooning back on the seat.
May recovered consciousness to find the car still rushing forward in the
dark and the hand of her captor still resting at her throat.
"You be a sensible girl," said a muffled voice, "and do as you're told
and no harm will come to you."
It was too dark to see his face, and it was evident that even if there
were light the face was so well concealed that she could not recognize
the speaker. Then she remembered that this man, who had acted as her
guide, had been careful to keep in the shadow of whatever light there
was while he was conducting her, as he said, to the matron.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked.
"You'll know in time," was the noncommittal answer.
It was a wild night; rain splashed against the windows of the car, and
she could hear the wind howling above the noise of the engines. They
were evidently going into the country, for now and again, by the light
of the headlamps, she glimpsed hedges and trees which flashed past. Her
captor suddenly let down one of the windows and leaned out, giving some
instructions to the driver. What they were she guessed, for the lights
were suddenly switched off and the car ran in darkness.
The girl was in a panic for all her bold showing. She knew that this
desperate man was fearless of consequence, and that, if her death would
achieve his ends and the ends of his partners, her life was in imminent
peril. What were those ends, she wondered. Were these the same men who
had done to death John Minute?
"Who are you?" she asked.
There was a little, chuckling laugh.
"You'll know soon enough."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a terrific crash.
The car stopped suddenly and canted over, and the girl was jerked
forward to her knees. Every pane of glass in the car was smashed, and it
was clear, from the angle at which it lay, that irremediable damage had
been done. The man scrambled up, kicked open the door, and jumped out.
"Level-crossing gate, sir," said the voice of the chauffeur. "I've
broken my wrist."
With the disappearance of her captor, the girl had felt for the
fastening of the opposite door, and had turned it. To her delight it
opened smoothly, and had evidently been unaffected by the jam. She
stepped out to the road, trembling in every limb.
She felt, rather than saw, the level-crossing gate, and knew that at one
side was a swing gate for passengers. She reached this when her abductor
discovered her flight.
"Come back!" he cried hoarsely.
She heard a roar and saw a flashing of lights and fled across the line
just as an express train came flying northward. It missed her by inches,
and the force of the wind threw her to the ground. She scrambled up,
stumbled across the remaining rails, and, reaching the gate opposite,
fled down the dark road She had gained just that much time which the
train took in passing. She ran blindly along the dark road, slipping and
stumbling in the mud, and she heard her pursuer squelching through the
mud in the rear.
The wind flew her hair awry, the rain beat down upon her face, but she
stumbled on. Suddenly she slipped and fell, and as she struggled to her
feet the heavy hand of her pursuer fell upon her shoulder, and she
screamed aloud.
"None of that," said the voice, and his hand covered her mouth.
At that moment a bright light enveloped the two, a light so intensely,
dazzlingly white, so unexpected that it hit the girl almost like a
blow. It came from somewhere not two yards away, and the man released
his hold upon the girl and stared at the light.
"Hello!" said a voice from the darkness. "What's the game?"
She was behind the man, and could not see his face. All that she knew
was that here was help, unexpected, Heaven sent, and she strove to
recover her breath and her speech.
"It's all right," growled the man. "She's a lunatic and I'm taking her
to the asylum."
Suddenly the light was pushed forward to the man's face, and a heavy
hand was laid upon his shoulder.
"You are, are you?" said the other. "Well, I am going to take you to a
lunatic asylum, Sergeant Smith or Crawley or whatever your name is. You
know me; my name's Wiseman."
For a moment the man stood as though petrified, and then, with a sudden
jerk, he wrenched his hand free and sprang at the policeman with a wild
yell of rage, and in a second both men were rolling over in the
darkness. Constable Wiseman was no child, but he had lost his initial
advantage, and by the time he got to his feet and had found his electric
torch Crawley had vanished.