|When Hugh reflected over that interview in the drawing-room before
dinner, he came to the conclusion that he had not played his cards very
well, that he had been a little too precipitate. Whether she was Norah
Burton or not, she was a very clever young woman, and he had just put
her on her guard by that rather indiscreet allusion to Tommy Esmond. If
he had no further evidence to go on than that incident, she would give
her husband a plausible explanation of it. And Hugh believed his old
friend Guy was still deeply in love enough with his wife to believe
anything she told him.
He could imagine her telling that convincing story to Guy, probably with
her arms round his neck, and her pretty eyes looking up to his with the
love-light in them. Esmond had been a kind friend to her, had done her
many a good turn. Much as she deplored his baseness, she could not bear
the thought of his slinking out of the country, a branded fugitive,
without a forgiving hand stretched out to him.
Backwards and forwards he revolved the matter in his mind, till he came
to the conclusion that the problem was one he could not solve himself.
And then he suddenly thought of his old acquaintance, Davidson of
Scotland Yard, the tall man of military aspect who had arrested George
Burton on that memorable night at Rosemount.
He went round to Scotland Yard, presented his card, and inquired for Mr.
Davidson. His old acquaintance was dead; a man named Bryant had taken
his place. Would Major Murchison care to see him?
In a few seconds Hugh was ushered into Bryant's room. To his surprise
and relief Bryant was the man who had accompanied Davidson to
Blankfield. It was pretty certain he would recall to the minutest detail
the circumstances of that visit.
"Good-day, Mr. Bryant. You know my name by my card, of course, but I am
not so sure you remember anything of the time and place where we last
met."
But the detective was able to reassure him on this point.
"In our profession, sir, we remember everything and everybody, and we
never forget a face. It is some years ago, it is true, but I recall
the incidents of our meeting as if they had happened yesterday. Poor
Davidson and I came down to collar that slim rascal George Burton,
who, by the way, got off with a light sentence. Davidson saw you in the
afternoon and gave you the option of staying away. You talked it over,
and came to the conclusion that, for certain reasons, you would rather
be in at the finish. Those reasons were connected with your young friend
Mr. Pomfret, who was infatuated with the young woman."
"You remember everything as well as I do, Mr. Bryant. I must
congratulate you on your marvellous memory, for I suppose this is only
one out of hundreds of cases."
Mr. Bryant smiled, well pleased at this tribute to his capacity.
"We cultivate our small gifts, sir, in this direction. Well, we took the
slim George. The girl fainted. You dragged Mr. Pomfret out of the house,
and he shot himself in the small hours of the morning. It came out that
he had married the young woman a day or two before, and could not face
the exposure." Hugh paid a second tribute to the detective's marvellous
memory. "And now, Mr. Bryant, have you any knowledge of what has
become of them? People like that are never quite submerged: some day or
another, like the scum they are, they will be found floating on the top
again."
Bryant shook his head. "No, sir, I cannot say I have. They have not
come under our observation again. Probably they are abroad under assumed
names, engaged in rascally business, of course, but doing it very much
_sub rosa_."
"Mind you, at present I have very little to go on," said Hugh. "I
may have been deceived by a chance resemblance. But I have a strong
intuition I am on their track."
Bryant's attitude became alert at once. "You say you have no evidence.
well, tell me your suspicions, and I will tell you what weight I attach
to them."
"First of all, before I do that, let me know if you would recognise
Norah Burton and George Burton again, in spite of the passage of years.
Norah had fair hair; the one I am on the track of has dark hair. The man
I have not seen; this time he is a cousin, not a brother."
"Ah!" Mr. Bryant drew a deep breath. "If they are the people you think,
sir, and I once saw them, no disguises would take me in. Now tell me all
you know."
Thus exhorted, Murchison launched into a copious narrative. He explained
that on the night of the dinner with the Southleighs at Carlton House
Terrace, he had met for the first time the wife of his old friend Guy
Spencer, that he had detected in her an extraordinary likeness to Norah
Burton. The marriage had been hastily contracted; next to nothing was
known about the young woman's antecedents, apart from the very vague
details with which she furnished them.
In the background was a cousin, by all accounts a very common fellow,
who had never visited the house since the marriage. Then there was the
episode of Tommy Esmond being found cheating at cards at the L'Estrange
flat, and Stella Keane's farewell meeting with him at Charing Cross
Station.
Mr. Bryant made copious notes. When the narrative was finished he made
his comments.
"There are, of course, coincidences that may mean nothing or a great
deal, Major Murchison. However, assuming that the lady in question is
not our old friend Norah Burton, she is evidently not a very estimable
member of society. She was in a shady set at Mrs. L'Estrange's, and
Tommy Esmond must have been a pretty close pal."
"Well, I want you to take this case on for me, and find out what you
can."
But Bryant shook his head. "Sorry, sir, but in my position I can't take
on private business. It is not a public matter, you see, unless you can
accuse them of anything." Hugh's face fell. "I forgot that. What am I to
do? Can you recommend me to a private detective?"
"Half a dozen, sir, all keen fellows. But you can't stir very much
without me, in the first instance. You want me to identify them. Well,
I will go so far as that, in memory of the time when we were together
in the original job. Mrs. Spencer, you say, lives in Eaton Place. I will
keep a watch on that house till I see her coming out or going in. If I
agree that she was Norah Burton, we have got the first step. Now, what
do you know about this cousin, Dutton?"
"Only that he is an outside stockbroker, with an office, or offices, in
the City."
"Good." Mr. Bryant opened a telephone book and rapidly turned over
the pages. "Here he is, right enough--George Dutton--George, mark
you--share- and stock-broker, Bartholomew Court. Well, sir, to oblige
you, I will run down to the City and get a peep at Mr. George Dutton.
If my recollection agrees with yours, I will put you on to one of my
friends, and you can have the precious pair watched. If they are the
persons you think they are, you may depend upon it they won't keep long
apart; they will make opportunities of meeting each other. Anyway,
they must be pretty thick together, or he would not put up with being
excluded from the house."
Hugh left with a great sense of relief. He felt that the matter was
in very capable hands. If Bryant told him that he was following a
will-o'-the-wisp, then the whole matter could drop. The fact of Mrs.
Spencer's relations with Tommy Esmond were hardly important enough to
justify him in disturbing his friend's domestic felicity.
At the end of three days the detective rang him up. The message was
brief: "Come and see me."
Bryant received him in his room. "Well, Major Murchison, your suspicions
are quite correct. I have been very close to the interesting pair. Mrs.
Spencer has camouflaged herself very well, but beyond doubt she is Norah
Burton. Our gaol-bird, George Burton, has been less particular. He
has not disguised himself at all; the few years have made little or no
impression on him. He has hid himself in the City, trusting that nobody
he ever knew would come across him."
"Then I was right, after all, Mr. Bryant. And now what would you advise
me to do? This woman is the worst type of adventuress card-sharper all
through--at least a confederate, in Paris with Burton, in London with
Tommy Esmond. To be fair, we cannot say how much or how little she knew
of his forgery business."
"Your idea is to turn her out of her husband's house, with or without
scandal?" queried the detective.
"Without scandal, if possible. I would prefer that. I suppose you would
back me up by saying that you have recognised her and this scoundrel who
was yesterday her brother and is to-day her cousin?"
"If you push me to it, I will, Major Murchison, for the sake of our old
acquaintance. But, for reasons which I stated last time we met, I don't
want to mix myself up in a purely private affair. The woman caught hold
of a fool in your friend Pomfret; she has caught hold of another equally
silly fool in your friend Mr. Spencer. Please forgive my blunt language,
but it is so, is it not?"
"You are quite right, Bryant," groaned poor Hugh. "I seem fated to be
mixed up in these matters. At the present moment I have a little stunt
on, in which I don't require any help. A younger brother of mine has got
mixed up with a young harpy in the chorus of a third-rate theatre. The
young fool has written compromising letters to her. I am trying to buy
these letters. I need hardly tell you she is asking a high price. I
can't see her at my own place, for fear of my brother popping in. I have
taken rooms in a suburb where I see her to carry on the bargaining."
Mr. Bryant raised his hands. "Well, sir, when a woman once begins to
twist a man round her little finger there is no knowing to what length
he will go."
"Profoundly true, Mr. Bryant. Well, what do you advise me to do?"
"For the moment, nothing. Get a little more evidence. When I watched
this couple, I took my old friend Parkinson with me. He knows them now.
Get him to watch them. He will tell you where they meet, and how often.
Here is his card. He will wait on you at your convenience."
"I quite see," said Hugh, as he took the proffered card. "If I can prove
that they are meeting on the sly it will strengthen my hands, eh?"
"That is the idea. Of course, at the moment, I don't know which you are
going to tackle first, the husband or the wife."
"I can't say myself, my mind is in such a whirl. But I feel I must
avenge poor Jack Pomfret's death."
Mr. Bryant rose. "You will excuse me, Major Murchison, but I have a very
busy day. Make use of Parkinson; he is as keen as mustard. And if it
comes to this, that you want me for purposes of identification, I am at
your disposal, in Eaton Place or elsewhere."
Murchison left, but not before he had pressed a substantial cheque into
Bryant's somewhat reluctant hand.
The next day he interviewed Parkinson, a lean, ascetic-looking man of
the true sleuth-hound breed. He took his instructions.
"Give me a fortnight, if you please, sir; a week is hardly long enough.
I'll warrant, from what our friend Bryant has hinted to me, I will have
something to report."
And he had. At the end of the fortnight he appeared. He produced a small
pocket-book.
"I'm glad you didn't stipulate for only a week, sir; it was rather
a blank one--only one meeting. I expect the lady couldn't get away
comfortably. But the week after I was rewarded. Three meetings in that
second week."
"Ah! where do they meet?"
"At quite humble little restaurants and queer places in the City. I
fancy the bucket-shop business is not very flourishing just now. For on
the last two occasions when I followed them in, and sat at a table
where I could observe them, I saw Mrs. Spencer slip an envelope into his
hand."
"Good Heavens!" cried Murchison in a tone of disgust. "She is keeping
this criminal with her husband's money."
Mr. Parkinson shrugged his shoulders. "A common enough case, sir, if you
had seen as much of life as I have."
Hugh shuddered. The woman was depraved to the core. She could leave her
house in Eaton Place, where she had been installed by her devoted and
trustful husband, and journey down to some obscure eating-house in the
City to meet this criminal who lived upon her bounty.
Well, the chain of evidence was complete. Bryant would swear to the
identification, and Parkinson would swear that Mrs. Guy Spencer, once
Norah Burton, had met George Burton clandestinely four times in a
fortnight, and had supplied him with money.