REVEALS A CURIOUS PROBLEM
THE countenance of Enid Orlebar had changed; her cheeks were deathly
white, and her face was sufficient index to a mind overwhelmed with grief
and regret.
"I asked you to explain, because I fear that my information may be
faulty. Captain Bellairs died--_died suddenly_, did he not?"
"Yes. It was a great blow to my stepfather," the girl said; "and--and by
his unfortunate death I lost one of my best friends."
"Tell me exactly how it occurred. I believe the tragic event happened on
September the second, did it not?"
"Yes," she replied. "Mother and I had been staying at the White Hart at
Salisbury while Sir Hugh had been inspecting some troops. Captain
Bellairs had been with us, as usual, but had been sent up to London by my
stepfather. That same day I returned to London alone on my way to a visit
up in Yorkshire, and arrived at Hill Street about seven o'clock. At a
quarter to ten at night I received an urgent note from Captain Bellairs,
brought by a messenger, and written in a shaky hand, asking me to call at
once at his chambers in Half Moon Street. He explained that he had been
taken suddenly ill, and that he wished to see me upon a most important
and private matter. He asked me to go to him, as it was most urgent.
Mother and I had been to his chambers to tea several times before;
therefore, realising the urgency of his message, I found a taxi and went
at once to him."
She broke off short, and with difficulty swallowed the lump which arose
in her throat.
"Well?" asked Fetherston in a low, sympathetic voice.
"When I arrived," she said, "I--I found him lying dead! He had expired
just as I ascended the stairs."
"Then you learned nothing, eh?"
"Nothing," she said in a low voice. "I have ever since wondered what
could have been the private matter upon which he so particularly desired
to see me. He felt death creeping upon him, or--or else he knew himself
to be a doomed man--or he would never have penned me that note."
"The letter in question was not mentioned at the inquest?"
"No. My stepfather urged me to regard the affair as a strict secret. He
feared a scandal because I had gone to Harry's rooms."
"You have no idea, then, what was the nature of the communication which
the captain wished to make to you?" asked the novelist.
"Not the slightest," replied the girl, yet with some hesitation. "It is
all a mystery--a mystery which has ever haunted me--a mystery which
haunts me now!"
They had halted, and were standing together beneath a great oak, already
partially bare of leaves. He looked into her beautiful face, sweet and
full of purity as a child's. Then, in a low, intense voice, he said:
"Cannot you be quite frank with me, Enid--cannot you give me more minute
details of the sad affair? Captain Bellairs was in his usual health that
day when he left you at Salisbury, was he not?"
"Oh, yes. I drove him to the station in our car."
"Have you any idea why your stepfather sent him up to London?"
"Not exactly, except that at breakfast he said to my mother that he must
send Bellairs up to London. That was all."
"And at his rooms, whom did you find?"
"Barker, his man," she replied. "The story he told me was a curious one,
namely, that his master had arrived from Salisbury at two o'clock, and
at half-past two had sent him out upon a message down to Richmond. On his
return, a little after five, he found his master absent, but the place
smelt strongly of perfume, which seemed to point to the fact that the
captain had had a lady visitor."
"He had no actual proof of that?" exclaimed Fetherston, interrupting.
"I think not. He surmised it from the fact that his master disliked
scent, even in his toilet soap. Again, upon the table in the hall
Barker's quick eye noticed a small white feather; this he showed me, and
it was evidently from a feather boa. In the fire-grate a letter had been
burnt. These two facts had aroused the man-servant's curiosity."
"What time did the captain return?"
"Almost immediately. He changed into his dinner jacket, and went forth
again, saying that he intended to dine at the Naval and Military Club,
and return to his rooms in time to change and catch the eleven-fifteen
train from Waterloo for Salisbury that same night. He even told Barker
which suit of clothes to prepare. It seems, however, that he came in
about a quarter-past nine, and sent Barker on a message to Waterloo
Station. On the man's return he found his master fainting in his
arm-chair. He called Barker to get him a glass of water--his throat
seemed on fire, he said. Then, obtaining pen and paper, he wrote that
hurried message to me. Barker stated that three minutes after addressing
the envelope he fell into a state of coma, the only word he uttered being
my name." And she pressed her lips together.
"It is evident, then, that he earnestly desired to speak to you--to tell
you something," her companion remarked.
"Yes," she went on quickly. "I found him lying back in his big arm-chair,
quite dead. Barker had feared to leave his side, and summoned the doctor
and messenger-boy by telephone. When I entered, however, the doctor had
not arrived."
"It was a thousand pities that you were too late. He wished to make some
important statement to you, without a doubt."
"I rushed to him at once, but, alas! was just too late."
"He carried that secret, whatever it was, with him to the grave,"
Fetherston said reflectively. "I wonder what it could have been?"
"Ah!" sighed the girl, her face yet paler. "I wonder--I constantly
wonder."
"The doctors who made the post-mortem could not account for the death, I
believe. I have read the account of the inquest."
"Ah! then you know what transpired there," the girl said quickly. "I was
in court, but was not called as a witness. There was no reason why I
should be asked to make any statement, for Barker, in his evidence, made
no mention of the letter which the dead man had sent me. I sat and heard
the doctors--both of whom expressed themselves puzzled. The coroner put
it to them whether they suspected foul play, but the reply they gave was
a distinctly negative one."
"The poor fellow's death was a mystery," her companion said. "I noticed
that an open verdict was returned."
"Yes. The most searching inquiry was made, although the true facts
regarding it were never made public. Sir Hugh explained one day at the
breakfast-table that in addition to the two doctors who made the
examination of the body, Professors Dale and Boyd, the analysts of the
Home Office, also made extensive experiments, but could detect no symptom
of poisoning."
"Where he had dined that night has never been discovered, eh?"
"Never. He certainly did not dine at the club."
"He may have dined with his lady visitor," Fetherston remarked, his eyes
fixed upon her.
She hesitated for a moment, as though unwilling to admit that Bellairs
should have entertained the unknown lady in secret.
"He may have done so, of course," she said with some reluctance.
"Was there any other fact beside the feather which would lead one to
suppose that a lady had visited him?"
"Only the perfume. Barker declared that it was a sweet scent, such as he
had never smelt before. The whole place 'reeked with it,' as he put it."
"No one saw the lady call at his chambers?"
"Nobody came forward with any statement," replied the girl. "I myself
made every inquiry possible, but, as you know, a woman is much
handicapped in such a matter. Barker, who was devoted to his master,
spared no effort, but he has discovered nothing."
"For aught we know to the contrary, Captain Bellairs' death may have been
due to perfectly natural causes," Fetherston remarked.
"It may have been, but the fact of his mysterious lady visitor, and that
he dined at some unknown place on that evening, aroused my suspicions.
Yet there was no evidence whatever either of poison or of foul play."
Fetherston raised his eyes and shot a covert glance at her--a glance of
distinct suspicion. His keen, calm gaze was upon her, noting the unusual
expression upon her countenance, and how her gloved fingers had clenched
themselves slightly as she had spoken. Was she telling him all that she
knew concerning the extraordinary affair? That was the question which had
arisen at that moment within his mind.
He had perused carefully the cold, formal reports which had appeared in
the newspapers concerning the "sudden death" of Captain Henry Bellairs,
and had read suspicion between the lines, as only one versed in mysteries
of crime could read. Were not such mysteries the basis of his profession?
He had been first attracted by it as a possible plot for a novel, but, on
investigation, had discovered, to his surprise, that Bellairs had been
Sir Hugh's trusted secretary and the friend of Enid Orlebar.
The poor fellow had died in a manner both sudden and mysterious, as a
good many persons die annually. To the outside world there was no
suspicion whatever of foul play.
Yet, being in possession of certain secret knowledge, Fetherston had
formed a theory--one that was amazing and startling--a theory which he
had, after long deliberation, made up his mind to investigate and prove.
This girl had loved Harry Bellairs before he had met her, and because of
it the poor fellow had fallen beneath the hand of a secret assassin.
She stood there in ignorance that he had already seen and closely
questioned Barker in London, and that the man had made an admission, an
amazing statement--namely, that the subtle Eastern perfume upon Enid
Orlebar, when she arrived so hurriedly and excitedly at Half Moon Street,
was the same which had greeted his nostrils when he entered his master's
chambers on his return from that errand upon which he had been sent.
Enid Orlebar had been in the captain's rooms during his absence!