It had been such plain sailing up to the present, that Duberry’s
chagrin was very great when he realized that he had been duped at the
last moment. He hung about the station for the best part of an hour in
the hope that Ramon would come on by a later train. But he waited in
vain.
He distinctly had heard him ask for a ticket to the city. What was the
cause of this sudden change of plan? Had Ramon, and his friend the
butler, suddenly sensed the true significance of that action in
offering his cigarette case, and arranged hastily to throw him off the
track for the present? Did Ramon, all the time he was limping along to
the station at Dalston, guess that he was being followed? Duberry
blamed himself for having acted in a somewhat maladroit manner.
Knowing that he was bent on a shadowing expedition, he should have
thought it all out better. He and Webber had presented too prosperous
an appearance to be in keeping with the environment of that shabby
public house. Ramon was handicapped by his evident weak vision from
spotting the incongruity, but a sharp fellow like Dicks would be
likely to have his suspicions aroused. Whether they would have to
follow their quarry east or west, he and Webber ought to have
disguised themselves as much as possible, have dressed themselves in
shabby clothes, have passed themselves off as belonging to a lower
class.
As he walked away from the station, he comforted himself with the
reflection that Ramon had scored only a momentary triumph over him.
“He can’t escape me for long,” so ran his thoughts. “He puts in a
daily appearance at his office, I suppose, and I have only to hang
about till he comes out and follow him to his real home. Besides,
after all, it may be quite untrue that they had any suspicion of us.
That getting out at some intermediate station may not have been
premeditated when he took his ticket. He evidently has friends who
live in peculiar places. It may suddenly have occurred to him to pay
one of them a visit.”
It also occurred to him that if Ramon actually was going back to his
own home, he would hardly like to enter the house in the clothes he
had worn at the public house, the cheap clothes which gave him the
appearance of a not over-prosperous clerk. He certainly was carrying a
suitcase with him. Had he gone to some place on the route in order to
change, and come back to town by some other method of conveyance?
The next morning Duberry spent at Somerset House, searching certain
files. The result of this investigation, along with others, was
communicated to Aylmer a few days later, when the young man appeared
at the offices in Bloomsbury in answer to a request for an interview,
in which progress was to be reported.
“As you can guess, this sort of investigation takes a fair amount of
time,” remarked Duberry as soon as the two men had exchanged
greetings. “But in the few days I have been on the job, I flatter
myself I have amassed a fairly valuable amount of information. I have
had the assistance of a great friend of mine, a retired Scotland Yard
official, who is kind enough to act as my honorary adviser when I
solicit his help. And in one instance, of which I will tell you
presently, he has rendered me incalculable service. Now I will narrate
everything in proper order.”
He mentioned first the fact that, having ascertained from one of the
tradespeople at Hampstead the name of Quentin’s bank, he had put
through the medium of his own bankers an inquiry as to that
gentleman’s position.
“My manager showed me the report he received. As I dare say you know,
bankers use very guarded language in reference to inquiries about
their customers, but it is always easy for another banker to read
between the lines. The report, interpreted by an expert, comes to
this--that Quentin is not the man of substance he appears to be; that
no man doing business with him would be justified in trusting him
beyond a very moderate extent. It’s a good thing, therefore, that he
did not entrap you into letting him have any of your money.”
“You surprise me, I confess,” exclaimed Aylmer. “Of course, I did not
look upon him as a man of considerable wealth, his inability to raise
ten thousand pounds on his own went far to negative that. But I should
certainly have said he was very well off. He paid heavy hotel bills at
Ostend, and his style of living at Hampstead must have cost him a good
deal. Everything was on a lavish scale.”
“He may be a spendthrift, lightly come, lightly go,” was Duberry’s
answer. “Or, for all I know, he may deal with another bank, two or
three perhaps, and only uses this one for his household expenditures.
However, this particular manager doesn’t think much of him, and men of
his profession are shrewd judges of financial standing. Anyway, that
particular report would not justify you in lending him five hundred
pounds, much less ten thousand.”
Duberry next gave him a detailed account of his proceedings with
regard to the man Ramon, how he and Webber had tracked him to an
obscure house in a mean street in Dalston, from thence to a dingy
public house where Dicks, the butler, had joined him, of the ruse
played with the aid of the cigarette case.
“It was here that my good old friend Webber proved of such inestimable
service, through his long connection with Scotland Yard. But of this
later. Following events in their proper sequence, I may tell you that
I spent the next morning searching the files at Somerset House. You
will probably guess my reason--to find the date on which the Quentins
were married.”
Aylmer drew a deep breath. He would have preferred that Duberry’s zeal
had not led him in this particular direction. “And you found it?” he
asked in as careless a tone as he could assume. “About three years
ago, speaking from my recollection of what she said.”
Had the carelessness of his manner been a little overdone, he
wondered, and failed to impress this exceedingly sharp person? He
fancied that Duberry gave him a very searching glance as he answered
him.
“No, that is just what I did not do. Quentin is not a very common
name, we know, still there were Quentins there. You gave me to
understand that the lady mentioned three years as the date. To be on
the safe side, I searched for five years. During that period no two
people with ages corresponding to theirs--he is old enough to be her
father, you say--were married.”
As he did not very well know what to say, having regard to his promise
to Eileen, Aylmer remained silent.
He thought a look on Duberry’s face showed increased suspicion. “Are
you surprised?” he asked blandly.
Aylmer roused himself to speak. “They gave me the impression, in
common with others, of being fairly and squarely married. But, after
all, it does not seem to me to be a matter of very great importance.”
Duberry smiled. “Excuse me, but I think it is in this respect, that it
is evidence as to character, or, I should rather say, the want of it.”
There was no disputing this, and Aylmer did not attempt to do so.
Duberry went on in his calm, logical way.
“It seems to me to throw a very vivid light on the manner of man
Quentin is. If he is not married to this young woman, he is, to put it
mildly, an exceedingly loose fish. If he is her husband, the ceremony
must have been performed under another name. That would not help him
in the least, since, apart from authors and actors, men who go about
the world under two names are not reputable persons.”
The logic of this was inexorable. For a wild moment, it swept across
Aylmer’s mind that, since Duberry knew the actual facts, he might as
well tell the truth and acknowledge honestly that he knew as much as
the detective had just discovered. But the recollection of Eileen’s
tender voice, of her appealing eyes, when she had extracted from him a
promise of secrecy, kept him silent.
Duberry was a good fellow, a kindly fellow, and, within certain
limits, capable of understanding and sympathy. But he had not the
“sixth sense,” the faculty of vision which would enable him to deal
with a set of extraordinary and abnormal circumstances.
If he had told Duberry the truth, that Eileen had been entrapped into
this sinister connection, partly through poverty and unhappiness,
partly through gratitude, would that hardened man of the world credit
the story for a moment? Would he not pity the younger man’s ignorance,
and class the woman, whom he so adored, as a designing creature,
intent on doing the best for herself? Duberry was clever, in a way
subtle, but he lacked insight. Aylmer had inherited insight from his
Spanish mother, and it helped him now.
Quentin might be all that Duberry thought of him, he had very little
doubt that he was. But he was prepared to swear that Eileen was pure,
that she never had been smirched by companionship with this
extraordinary man, who, on the most merciful judgment, had been proved
to be the associate of some individuals very open to suspicion.
After a brief pause, Duberry resumed his remarks. “I told you that my
friend Webber, through his long connection with Scotland Yard, has
rendered me the most incalculable service. He took those finger-prints
in hand, had them developed. Through him we are able to get at some
interesting facts in connection with Ramon.”
“The man with the limp, whom I saw entering The Laurels in a furtive
way, and leaving the precincts in a way equally furtive,” interjected
Aylmer.
“Exactly. Well, it seems that our friend is not unknown to the
authorities. He is a Frenchman by birth. Ever since he has been under
observation, he has had that limp, which, of course, must have been a
tremendous handicap to him in his checkered career. His history, since
he left France, is pretty well known to the authorities. He landed in
this country when he was about seventeen years of age. He obtained a
situation as clerk in a City house, and six months later was
discharged for the embezzlement of small sums. They turned him loose
and did not take the trouble to prosecute.”
Aylmer experienced a certain feeling of nausea. This foreign
adventurer, who had started his commercial career by embezzling small
sums from his employers, was closely connected with Quentin, and with
Dicks, the butler.
“For three or fours years he was lost sight of. Then he was discovered
as a clerk in a financial establishment, of rather questionable
reputation--anyway, decidedly on the shady side. There was some
trouble here; but again there was no prosecution. Probably it was not
safe for them to prosecute, as he knew too much about them and might
make damaging revelations.”
“A criminal adventurer, in short,” remarked Aylmer.
“Quite so. Criminality in the blood. Another lapse of a few years; by
the way, I reckon him to be a man of about forty-five to fifty. This
time his activities take the form of a bucket-shop. And here, after
twelve months’ fairly successful trading, he comes into conflict with
the authorities. A clear case of fraud, of misappropriated money. The
judge remarks that it is a bad case and sentences him to three years.”
“In short, not only a criminal, but a hardened one,” cried Aylmer.
“Decidedly a hardened criminal, and, I should say, one of the type
that would rather make a hundred pounds on the crook, than a thousand
pounds on the straight. For, mark you, most of these high-class crooks
have first-rate brains, but they exercise them in the wrong direction.
Well, Ramon comes out, and very shortly after his release, sets up
another bucket-shop--but this time under an English name. He goes on
quite successfully for three years, keeping well within the limits of
the law. Then, I suppose, temptation comes again, and he gets caught a
second time. Not quite such a grave offense, but the previous
conviction tells against him. On this occasion it is five years. So
you see Scotland Yard has had excellent opportunities of getting his
record and his finger-prints.”
“I wonder why he came to Hampstead in that guise,” observed Aylmer,
perhaps a little irrelevantly. “Was he hiding from the police, do you
think? And did Quentin and Dicks keep him safe there till it was safe
for him to go?”
Duberry shook his head. “I don’t fancy so. Since he came out the
second time, he appears to have been running fairly straight. Anyway,
they have got nothing against him, although, of course, they don’t
trust him. For a few years he lay fallow, proving one of three things:
that he had put by a fair amount of money, that he had friends who
assisted him, or that he was engaged in other profitable activities.
His latest development is that he has blossomed out into a financial
agent, with small offices and three clerks, of whom a typist is one.
Scotland Yard is keeping a mildly observant eye upon him, no doubt in
the expectation that one day he will fall into their clutches again.”
Apart from his general concern with the whole affair, Aylmer’s
leanings towards the study of criminology caused him to take a deep
interest in the career of this persistent wrong-doer.
“And to think that this has all come about from your visit to that
little dingy public house in Dalston, and getting his finger-prints on
the cigarette case. How I wish I had been with you!” he said
fervently.
Duberry smiled. “It was a good thing you were not. Dicks would have
smelt a rat at once. Even now I can’t make up my mind whether they
tumbled to it or not. Well now, I have to come to the last thing of
all, my tracking Ramon the following evening to his own home. There
were no twistings and turnings as on the previous occasion. I followed
him to a substantial residence, a little off Barnes Common, the sort
of place a man would require a very decent income to keep up,
something like twelve to fifteen hundred a year. A nice bit of ground
attached to the house, and a good-sized garage.”
“Evidently, then, he has struck a good thing in the financial agency,”
interjected Aylmer.
“It would appear so. I have since made discreet inquiries in the
neighborhood. Nothing very definite seems to be known about him or his
occupation, but he spends money freely and pays his tradespeople
promptly. He has a wife, a quiet, lady-like little woman, who does the
ordering and discharges the weekly bills. One child, a boy of about
ten, who is a partial cripple. This is as far as I can get with
Ramon.”
“He was sentenced in his own name on the first of those two occasions
when he came into conflict with the law?” asked Aylmer. “In the second
venture he carried on business under an English name. Now it appears
he has reverted to his proper one. My friends the Peytons know him as
Ramon.”
“Quite true,” replied Duberry. “The first conviction was many years
ago, and the trial created no stir, was reported very briefly in the
newspapers. Not one out of a hundred, perhaps a thousand people, would
have noticed it. He is quite safe therefore, as regards the world at
large, in reverting to the name of Ramon.”
“Well, as you say, we know all that there is to be known about this
fellow. And we can conclude from his meeting with Dicks, that that
apparently respectable person has some share in his present business
activities. Now, what about the Quentins? Have you been able to
discover their present whereabouts? The only clue we have is from
Dicks, who declared that they were bound for Paris, adding that they
did not intend to stay there for long. That might have been a
deliberate lie, of course.”
Here Duberry had to confess himself at fault. He had correspondents in
every capital, and he had given instructions to them to search the
hotel registers for a couple of the name of Quentin. But, up to the
present, the researches had been unsuccessful. He did not despair
absolutely of locating them, but he pointed out that the Continent was
a wide place, that Quentin appeared to have a very comprehensive
knowledge of it, and that if he wanted to hide himself, it would not
be a difficult task.
“Well, that is now the most important thing,” said Aylmer, feeling
that the present interview was concluded. “The information you have
got reflects the utmost credit on you. But my great aim is to find the
Quentins.”
Duberry promised to use his best efforts in this direction. When
Aylmer left the office, he found himself wondering if he had not acted
a little rashly in consulting Duberry on the strength of a mere club
acquaintance. The man lacked neither zeal nor intelligence. But, after
all, he was only an amateur, had never been through the mill. Had he
at his disposal the necessary machinery with which to put through an
investigation of this kind? What he had found out was, admittedly,
through the help of Webber. Would it not have been safer if he had
gone, in the first instance, to one of those retired sleuth-hounds who
had graduated in the experienced atmosphere of Scotland Yard? He had
an uneasy conviction that Duberry would not succeed in tracking the
Quentins.
When he reached home, his pulses beat as he saw a letter on the table,
on the envelope the well-remembered handwriting of Eileen. Eagerly he
tore it open, and devoured the contents, which were brief, despairing,
and vague.
“My Dearest,--By now you will know of our sudden departure from
England. You must believe me when I tell you that this is the first
opportunity I have found of writing even this brief note. Martyn did
see us that day, after all, and kept his knowledge up his sleeve for a
time. Richard has gone back on the promises he made me, and there is
now no hope of our coming together again. There is a barrier between
us which cannot be removed. There is nothing left you but to forget
our brief dream, so sweet while it lasted, but unsubstantial, like all
dreams. And yet, I would not have you wholly forget. Think of me as
one who loved you very truly, whose love for you will never grow cold,
and whose heart is broken by the knowledge that we are separated
forever. Do not try to seek me out, that would only add to my misery;
for nothing can alter the inevitable.
“Your unhappy
“Eileen.”