SOME CROOKED QUESTIONS.
During the week which followed the papers gave special prominence to
two items of news which interested their readers greatly. One was the
strange death of Levi Schomberg, with an account of events which had
immediately preceded it, and a record of his past career; the other was
the arrest of Yootha Hagerston on a charge of stealing a pearl necklace
owned by a woman named Marietta Stringborg, wife of Julius Stringborg,
described as “formerly of Shanghai, spirit merchant, but now of Upper
Bruton Street, London, and The Retreat, Maidenhead.”
Schomberg’s death, it seemed, was of rather a mysterious character, and
the inquest lasted a considerable time. In the opinion of the coroner
it had been due to natural causes, but Doctor Johnson strongly opposed
that theory and advanced several significant points in his endeavor to
disprove it.
First, there was the peculiarity of _de rigor mortis_ having set in
so soon; then the fact that all the organs were obviously healthy;
then the singular appearance of the eyes, which, the doctor declared,
had not resembled the eyes of a dead man when first he had examined
the body; and, lastly, the condition of the blood. Very emphatically
he maintained that the blood had an unusual tint. This might, he
admitted, easily have been overlooked; yet it undoubtedly existed, and
he was at a loss to account for it. He admitted that the condition of
the blood seemed healthy.
The coroner was one of those rather pig-headed men, who, having
expressed an opinion, are loth in any circumstances to alter it. In any
case, it was obvious to Preston and Blenkiron from the first that the
coroner was not favorably disposed towards Doctor Johnson, and that
every suggestion the latter made he endeavored to controvert.
“I confess,” he observed pompously, when Johnson had pointed out very
clearly why in his opinion death had not been due to natural causes,
“that I completely fail to follow your line of argument. Furthermore,
what possible reason could any person or persons have had for wishing
to hasten the death of so respectable a citizen as deceased appears to
have been, in spite of his unsavory calling? In my opinion the idea
that death was due to other than natural causes is preposterous. Had
the unfortunate man taken poison, or had poison been administered,
traces of it must have been found. As it is, no trace of any sort of
poison has been discovered, and therefore, if you will forgive my
speaking bluntly, Doctor Johnson, I consider that your speculations are
hypercritical--or let us say beside the mark.”
Johnson shrugged his shoulders.
“In that case,” he replied, “I have nothing further to say.”
“Quite so. I am glad to hear you say that.”
Johnson opened his mouth as if about to speak again; then changed his
mind and remained silent. “What is the use,” was his mental comment,
“of arguing with such a person?”
And so, after all, a verdict of “death from natural causes” was
returned, and Johnson, feeling extremely dissatisfied, left the Court
accompanied by Blenkiron and Captain Preston.
It was the second of these two incidents, however, which had interested
Preston far more than the first, had, indeed, engrossed almost the
whole of his attention since the night of the ball--the arrest of
Yootha Hagerston. Though finally acquitted, she had undergone intense
mental suffering during the time she had been kept under observation.
And naturally people had talked. Many, in fact, had not yet finished
talking. Among the latter was Jessica Mervyn-Robertson.
Perhaps the truth of the old saying that “if you throw mud enough,
some of it is sure to stick,” had never been better illustrated than
in connection with Yootha’s arrest on a charge of theft. Women in
particular discussed the affair, and during such discussions eyebrows
were raised significantly, and there were plenty of little smiles which
implied more than any spoken words could have done.
“Had she been a poor woman, instead of what we call a lady,” the
hackneyed observation was trotted out again, “she would be in prison
now, my dear,” a faded creature who had always toadied to rich people
observed to Jessica during a few moments’ conversation they had in Bond
Street one morning. “Mrs. Stringborg is a friend of yours, isn’t she?”
Jessica replied that she had known her for some years.
“And what does she think about it?”
Jessica raised her eyebrows. Then, after an instant’s pause, she said
cryptically:
“She doesn’t think.”
The faded woman nodded.
“I understand,” she purred. “She knows.”
Jessica smiled. It was one of the significant smiles referred to, more
deadly than spoken words.
And so they parted, Jessica with a smile upon her lips, and hatred
still in her heart, the other woman reveling in her good fortune at
having had this assurance, as she chose to consider it, direct from a
friend of Marietta Stringborg’s, that though Yootha had been acquitted
she was guilty.
And Yootha?
Already she began to feel the draught in the mental atmosphere. Plenty
of her friends remained true to her, of course, not giving a second
thought to the suggestion that the pearls had been taken by her, but
there were others....
Highly strung and extremely sensitive, she felt the difference in the
“atmosphere” at every turn. The quick glances towards her and then away
from her; the glances followed by whispers, and the whispers sometimes
by smiles; the slight _hauteur_ of folk who up till then had greeted
her always with effusion; the sudden crossing from her side of the
street to the other by acquaintances who noticed her approaching--these
and similar incidents affected her intensely, causing acute pain.
“It is too dreadful,” she exclaimed one night on her return with her
friend, Cora Hartsilver, to the latter’s house in Park Crescent after
the Opera. “I have been miserable to-night--miserable. I felt during
the whole performance as if all the audience was staring at me, saying
one to another: ‘There she is, that is the girl so much talked about
who was charged with the theft of the necklace at the Albert Hall
ball.’ And it was not all imagination, dear, for I distinctly heard
my name whispered twice by people a row or two behind us. And then,
did you see Jessica? She saw me directly we entered the theater, and I
saw her turn in her box and speak to her friends and at once they all
gathered nearer to hear what she had to say--while we walked down to
our seats they all stared at me as hard as they could.... I felt like a
criminal, Cora. I feel like a criminal still....” and throwing her arms
impetuously about her friend with her head on her shoulder she began to
cry bitterly.
Cora consoled her as best she could, while in her own heart fury
burned. It was fury at the thought, at the conviction she felt, that
this injustice was not the outcome of misfortune, but that the whole
thing had been deliberately planned, and that the person who had
planned it had been none other than Jessica. And why did Jessica hate
Yootha so? There could, she told herself be but one reason--it was
because Yootha was her friend. Jessica would, no doubt, have liked to
cast suspicion of the robbery on herself, but, unable to do that, she
had stabbed her through her friend. And, so thinking, Cora ground her
teeth. More determined than ever did she become at that moment to find
out everything about Jessica Mervyn-Robertson, and if possible shame
her in the eyes of the world forever.
“Don’t cry, my darling,” she said, as she gently stroked Yootha’s hair;
Yootha’s arm still encircled her. “I have had a letter to-night from
the house with the bronze face, and they are leaving no stone unturned
to run the thief to ground. They ask me to call with you as soon as
possible, as there are certain further questions they wish to put to
you. Also, they say, they have something important to show you.”
“Let us go to-morrow morning,” Yootha exclaimed, looking up, and
mopping her eyes. “And we might take Charlie with us; he will come if
we ask him, I am sure.”
“I was about to suggest that,” Cora answered. “We will ring him up now.
He said he would be back in town to-night, didn’t he? And it isn’t
midnight yet.”
But the telephone remained silent.
Consequently they went alone next morning to the office of the
Metropolitan Secret Agency.
The room into which they were shown was the office where Alix Stothert
and Madame Camille Lenoir had been working late on the night Lord
Froissart had so unexpectedly made his appearance; only now in
the rooms adjoining many clerks were at work, and typing machines
clattered. Only Stothert was in the room, and he looked up as they
entered. Then, as he rose, he removed the eyeshade from his forehead.
“Good morning,” he said solemnly. “Won’t you sit down?” and he waved
his hand in the direction of two chairs.
“I asked you to call,” he went on at once, coming straight to the
point, “because I wish to put one or two questions to Miss Hagerston
verbally. Will you tell me, please,” he turned to Yootha, “how long you
have been engaged to be married to Captain Preston?”
The girl started.
“Who told you we were engaged?” she exclaimed, coloring. “Our
engagement has not yet been announced in the papers.”
“I am aware of that, but it is our business to know things before they
are made public. How long, Miss Hagerston?”
“Ten days. But has this any bearing on the theft of the pearl necklace?”
“Indirectly--yes. And you made his acquaintance at lunch at the Ritz on
August the ninth of last year, I think?”
“Yes.”
“Since then you have met him frequently, I take it?”
“No, only of late.”
“And for some time you have been friendly with a young man named Harry
Hopwood, a newspaper correspondent?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘friendly.’ I have met him from time to time.”
“Now, there is a well-known Society woman with whom you and Mrs.
Hartsilver are both acquainted--Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson. A little while
ago you may remember, you and Mrs. Hartsilver came here to ask us to
make private inquiries about Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s past life. Since
then Mr. Hopford has called here on a similar mission, and Captain
Preston and a Mr. George Blenkiron have done the same. We have found
out certain things about the lady which we have reported to you all
separately; other things we have found out which for private reasons
we deem it inadvisable to tell you, at any rate for the moment. We
should like to warn you, however, that the lady referred to has many
influential friends, and we would venture to advise you to attempt as
little as possible to pry into her private life. She is a dangerous
woman, a very dangerous woman, though this, naturally I tell you in
strictest confidence.”
“Thank you,” Yootha answered. “And now can you throw any light at all
upon the mystery of the stolen pearls?”
“I am coming to that. You no doubt heard some time ago of a robbery of
jewelry and bank notes from a safe in Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s own house
in Cavendish Square, though nothing about it appeared in the papers?”
“Yes, everybody seemed to know about that at the time.”
“Everything stolen that night was covered by a special insurance. Now,
the pearl necklace with the theft of which you were unjustly charged
was also covered by a special insurance, and the policy was made out
by the Company which insured Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s jewelry. Madame
Marietta Stringborg, to whom the stolen pearl necklace found in your
possession belonged, is a friend of Mrs. Robertson--they met first
in Shanghai some years ago. These may have been coincidences, of
course----”
As Yootha did not answer, Cora said:
“Do you mean to imply that there may have been----”
“I imply nothing,” Stothert interrupted, “but----”
He pressed twice an electric button on the table, and almost at once a
handsome young woman with a Semitic caste of countenance entered. It
was Camille Lenoir.
“My partner,” Stothert said, by way of introduction. “Camille,” he
looked up at her from where he sat, while she remained standing,
“do you remember what Lord Froissart said to you the last time he
came here--it was the morning of the day on which he took his
life--concerning recent heavy insurances effected in respect to
diamonds with the insurance company of which he was a director?”
“Yes,” she replied, “he said he believed that some owners of valuable
jewelry were insuring such jewelry and then planning bogus robberies,
that is to say arranging for insured property to be ‘stolen’ by persons
who eventually would return the property to the insurer after the
insurance money had been paid.”
“Collusion, in short,” Cora said. “Mr. Stothert says he implies nothing
regarding Mrs. Robertson, yet--yes, I follow you both.”
“No, come here, please.”
As he spoke, Stothert unlocked and pulled open a drawer in the roll-top
desk at which he sat. From it he took a small sealed packet, broke the
seals, unfolded it, and revealed a splendid pearl necklace.
“This is Madame Stringborg’s necklace,” he said. “The necklace found in
your possession, Miss Hagerston, was made of imitation pearls.”