The first night of his sojourn in Paris was spent at the residence of a
friend who was also a well-known Stamp Collector. They dined at a
Restaurant together, and spent the remainder of the evening at a Café
discussing matters connected with their joint hobby. Had one looked in
upon Jacob Burrell then, as he sat sipping a glass of brandy and water,
it would have been difficult to imagine that this man who was so
emphatic and precise about Water Marks, Bâtonné Papers, Misprints, and
Fudges, was in Paris for the sole reason of elucidating a terrible
crime, and in the hope of bringing the criminal to justice.
Next morning he was up early and, as soon as was compatible with calling
hours, was on his way to the office of which Zevenboom had given him the
address. Sending his name in to the head of the firm, he asked for an
interview. This was promptly granted him and he was ushered into the
proprietor’s office, a charming little apartment fragrant with the odour
of the divine weed. Now Burrell’s French is not particularly good, but
Monsieur Zacroft’s English was certainly a good deal worse. However,
they managed after a fashion, and with the help of a clerk, to make each
other understand, and that was perhaps all that was wanted. Zacroft
inquired with much solicitude after the bodily welfare of his good
friend Zevenboom, and on being assured that the latter enjoyed excellent
health, so far as Burrell was aware, proceeded to ask in what way he
could be of service to the Englishman. The latter immediately commenced
to explain, speaking in a louder tone than usual and using many
gesticulations, as an Englishman so often does, in the hope of making
his meaning clearer to his auditor. Later on Burrell produced the
charred remnant of the cigarette. The Frenchman admitted that the
cigarette shown to him was of the same brand as that manufactured by
Messrs. Kosman & Constantinopolous of Cairo, of which wealthy firm, he
took care to point out, he was the Parisian representative. He was also
acquainted with Mr. Victor Fensden, and admitted that he had supplied
that gentleman with cigarettes of the brand mentioned for some years
past.
Burrell admitted to himself that so far this was very good. He hoped
that there would be still better news to follow.
“Perhaps you can tell me when he obtained his last consignment from
you?” he said, after a short pause.
The manager begged Burrell to excuse him while he went into his shop to
ask the question. When he returned he laid a piece of paper before the
other. The latter took it up and examined it carefully, though he was
not at all prepared to find that the information would be of much value
to him. The surprise he received, however, almost took his breath away.
It was the work of a moment to whip out his pocket-book and to open it.
He turned the leaves until he arrived at the entry he wanted.
“And am I to understand you to say that Mr. Fensden wrote to you from
England for them? Are you quite sure of it?”
“Quite sure,” replied the other, and intimated in exceedingly poor
English that he was prepared to show his customer’s letter in proof of
the genuineness of his assertion. He did so, and Burrell examined it
carefully. Ultimately he prevailed upon the other to permit him to keep
the letter.
“I wouldn’t lose it for a thousand pounds,” he said to himself. “Good
gracious, this is nothing less than a stupendous piece of luck. It’s the
last thing in the world I should have thought of.”
He thanked the little tobacco merchant for his courtesy, and bade him
farewell, promising to remember him most affectionately to Zevenboom
when next he should see him. After that he went off to make arrangements
about his journey from Paris to Naples.
It was at a late hour of the night when he reached that famous Italian
city. Tired out he betook himself to his hotel, slept the sleep of the
just, and rose in the morning with the pleasant feeling that the day
before him was likely to prove a busy and also an exciting one. After he
had breakfasted, which he made a point of doing in the solid English
fashion, he smoked a contemplative cigar, and interested himself after
his own fashion in the billings and cooings of a young newly married
couple, who were staying at the hotel awaiting the arrival of the
out-going Australian Mail Boat. Then, having discovered the interpreter
whom the hotel manager had found for him, he set off for the street in
which he had been told Teresina Cardi and her mother had dwelt.
“‘See Naples and die’ they say,” he muttered to himself, as he made his
way out of one into another tortuous and unsavoury street. “It should
have been ‘_smell_ Naples and die.’ A connoisseur could discover a
hundred fresh unsavouries in every hundred yards.”
At last they found themselves in the street in question, and, after some
little hunting, discovered the house in which the murdered girl had
resided with her mother. The interpreter questioned the head of the
family who lived on the ground floor. With many flourishes and bows, the
latter, whose only work in life, it would appear, was to smoke
cigarettes upon the doorstep, informed him that the Signora Cardi was
dead and that the funeral had been a most imposing one.
“Ask him what has become of the daughter,” said Burrell, who was anxious
to discover whether or not the man were aware of the murder.
“Gone,” was the laconic reply. Eventually he condescended to add, “An
Englishman came to see her, and the signorina went away with him. I can
tell you no more.”
He manufactured for himself another cigarette, with the air of a man who
has done everything he could to prove himself hospitable, and is not
quite certain whether he has succeeded in the attempt. At this juncture
Burrell rattled the money in his pocket.
“Ask him if he thinks he would know the man again if he were to see
him,” he said. “Tell him also that I will pay him well for any
information he may give me.”
A vehement debate ensued--which might have lasted from three to five
minutes. At the end the interpreter translated.
“He says, your Excellency, that he could pick the man out from a
hundred.”
“He’s been a jolly long time saying it,” said Burrell, and as he spoke
he took from his pocket half-a-dozen photographs which he had brought
with him for that purpose. “However, he shall try!”
Among the number were likenesses of Fensden and Henderson. There were
also others of men who had nothing whatsoever to do with the case. The
proprietor of the ground floor rooms picked them up one by one and
examined them critically. When he reached Fensden’s portrait he held it
up immediately.
“That is the man,” he said to the interpreter. “I need look no farther.
I should know him anywhere.”
Burrell replaced the photographs in his pocket.
“Ask him if he has any idea where the man he speaks of stayed when he
was in Naples,” Burrell remarked to the man, but upon this subject it
appeared that the other could give no sort of information, though he
volunteered for a reward to find out. This help, however, Burrell
declined. After rewarding him, he retraced his steps to the hotel.
“It should not be difficult,” he thought as he went along, “to discover
the Englishman’s abode during the time he was in Naples. He is not the
sort of man to put up anywhere but at a good hotel.”
Foreseeing for this reason that the number of the hotels at which the
man he was inquiring about would be likely to stay, were limited, he
resolved to institute investigations that afternoon. He was very soon
successful. At the second at which he called he discovered that Fensden
had resided there and that he had left again on the 3rd of February. The
manager knew nothing of any _liaison_ with a girl of the city, nor could
he say where his guest went after he left Naples. His servants were
equally ignorant, though one of them believed Signor Fensden’s
destination to have been Rome. Thanking the manager for his courtesy,
Burrell left the hotel more than a little disappointed, to spend the
remainder of the afternoon securing affidavits as to dates and generally
verifying the discoveries he had made.
“Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it but to try Rome,” he said to
himself, when he had considered the matter in all its details.
Early next morning he accordingly shook the highly scented dust of
Naples from his feet, and in due course reached the Italian capital. He
had been there many times before, and in consequence he was a great
favourite at the hotel where he usually resided. The owner welcomed him
effusively, somewhat as he would have done a long-lost brother of whom
he stood in some little awe, and trusted that he had come to make a long
stay.
“I am afraid not,” said Burrell. “I have got an important piece of
business on hand just now which must be completed as quickly as
possible. I am trying to hunt up the doings of an Englishman, who I have
reason to believe came here from Naples with a Neapolitan girl, in
February last. Possibly he may have stayed with you. Here is his
photograph. See if you can recognise him!”
He thereupon produced the photograph of Fensden, and laid it on the
table for the manager’s inspection. The latter, however, shook his head.
He could not remember the face among his guests.
“In that case I must begin my rounds of the hotels again, I suppose,”
said Burrell.
After luncheon he did so. The result, however, was by no means
satisfactory. He made inquiries at every hotel of importance, and at
many that were not, but try as he would he could glean no tidings of the
pair whose doings he was so anxious to trace.
“It’s evident I’ve gone wrong somewhere,” he said to himself. “I don’t
think I will waste any more time in this place, but go straight on to
Vienna and look about me there. We know that the box hailed from the
Austrian capital and that the wedding ring was manufactured in the same
country. For my own part I don’t believe they came to Rome at all.”
Once more he resumed his journey and at length had the satisfaction of
finding himself in Francis Joseph’s famous city. He was very fond of
Vienna, partly because he had made two important captures there, and
possibly more so for the reason that one of the best deals in stamps he
had ever effected was brought to a head in that delightful city. On this
occasion he lost no time, but set to work immediately on his arrival. In
this town, however, the search was not destined to prove a difficult
one. He had not been more than twice unsuccessful when he tried the
Hotel National in the Käarntner Strasse. The manager himself admitted
that he had a bad memory for faces, but he was quite sure of one thing,
if they had stayed at his hotel, his head waiter would be sure to
recollect them. That functionary was immediately summoned to the
council, and the photograph was placed before him. He had no sooner
looked upon it than he recognised it as being the likeness of the
gentleman who had stayed there with an Italian girl. They had come to
Vienna to be married it was said.
“To be married?” said Burrell in astonishment. “What do you mean by
that? Weren’t they married when they arrived?”
Before the waiter could answer, light had dawned upon the manager, who
thereupon chimed in.
“Ah, my friend, I remember now,” he said. “That was the gentleman who
was married at the Church of Funfhaus in the Gurtel Strasse. Now I can
recall the pair perfectly.”
“The Church of Funfhaus in the Gurtel Strasse, you said, I think,” said
Burrell, making a note of the name in his pocket-book for future
reference. “Pray how long did the happy couple remain with you?”
“For upward of a fortnight,” the manager replied, consulting a book.
“But they were not happy all the time!”
“What do you mean by that? Why were they not happy?”
“For a very simple reason,” the manager replied. “I mean that toward the
end of their stay it was becoming plain to most of us that the gentleman
was a little neglectful of his bride. Yet she was a beautiful girl! Ah!
a beautiful girl!”
“It was the waning of the honeymoon,” said Burrell cynically. “Poor
girl, it didn’t last long.” He paused for a while to pursue his own
thoughts, then he continued aloud, “Have you any idea where they went
after they left here?”
The manager reflected for a moment.
“To Munich, I believe. But of that I am not quite certain. We will ask
Adolphe.”
The head waiter was once more consulted, and corroborated his superior.
The couple had left for Munich with the intention of proceeding later to
Paris. He was sure of this for the reason that he had heard the
gentleman talking to the lady on the subject on the morning of their
departure.
The next day was spent by Burrell in collecting further evidence. He
interviewed the worthy clergyman who had married them, obtained certain
necessary documents from him, discovered the jeweller who had sold them
the wedding ring, and when he had learned all he wanted to know, took
the train and started for Munich.
In Munich he discovered the hotel at which they had stayed and sundry
other particulars which might, or might not, prove useful later on.
Thence he continued his journey to Paris, where more discoveries awaited
him. At last, and none too soon, he boarded the steamer which was to
carry him to England. Even this short voyage was not devoid of interest,
and by the time he reached London once more, he felt that there was not
very much standing between him and the end. But what remained was in all
probability more important than the beginning. There was a blank to be
filled in, and filled in it must be, somehow or another, before the
trial commenced.
His first act on reaching home was to write out a true and complete
record of his doings since he had left London. This done he consulted
the memoranda he had received from the representative of Messrs. Kosman,
Constantinopolous & Co., in Paris, and then set off by train to the
little town of Staines. From Staines to the charming little village of
Laleham is a comparatively short and a most charming walk. It was almost
mid-day by the time he reached the village and began to look about him
for Laburnum Cottage. When he discovered it it proved to be a pretty
little thatched building standing in a garden which in summer would be
bright with hollyhocks, nasturtiums and other homely flowers. A card in
the window proclaimed the fact that apartments could be had within, but
at that particular season of the year this announcement would be little
likely to attract attention. Pushing open the gate, Burrell made his way
up the garden path to the neat little porch where he gave a smart
rat-tat with his stick upon the door. The sound had scarcely died away
before it was opened to him by a stout, matronly person, dressed in
black, and wearing a cap and a neat white apron.
“Mrs. Raikes?” asked Burrell, to make sure she was the person he desired
to see.
“That is my name, sir,” said the woman. “Perhaps you will tell me what I
can do for you.”
“I want you to give me some information,” Burrell answered. “I have come
down from London on purpose to see you.”
“From London, sir,” she exclaimed, as if that were rather a remarkable
circumstance. “Will you be pleased to step inside?” So saying, she held
the door open for him to enter. He did so to find himself in a neat
little sitting room, unostentatiously yet comfortably furnished. Three
cases of stuffed birds decorated the walls, together with some pictures
on religious subjects, a bookcase, the latter scantily furnished, and
last, but not least, a Chippendale sofa, and two or three chairs that
would not have disgraced a ducal drawing-room.
“Kindly take a seat, sir,” said Mrs. Raikes, dusting one of the
aforementioned chairs with her apron as she spoke. “If it’s apartments
you want I am quite sure I can satisfy you. Of course it’s a bad season
of the year, but at the end of the month we shall begin to fill up.
There’s some splendid boating on the river, as perhaps you know, and at
night, when the houseboats are all lit up, well, it’s quite lively.”
Her desire to impress him with the gaieties of the place was almost
pathetic, and Burrell felt that he was acting meanly in permitting her
to go on, without acquainting her with the real object of his visit.
“I am sorry to say that I am not in search of lodgings,” he said. “My
business is of an altogether different nature. In the first place, I
think I ought to tell you that I am a detective.”
“A detective?” she cried in horror. “Lor’, I _do_ hope, sir, there’s
nothing wrong?”
“Not so far as you are concerned, you may be sure,” he answered. “I have
come down here to make some inquiries regarding a gentleman who was
known to be staying in your house some time back. His name was Fensden.”
The woman shook her head.
“I haven’t had a gentleman in my house of that name,” she answered. “In
fact, the only gentleman I have had since the beginning of the year was
a Mr. Onslow. The name of Fensden I don’t remember at all.”
Burrell consulted his pocket-book before he went further.
“And yet the information I received was most complete,” he continued.
“Victor Fensden, Esq., c/o George Onslow, Laburnum Cottage,
Laleham-on-Thames. There couldn’t be anything plainer than that, could
there?”
“It seems all right, sir,” said the woman. “There is only one Laburnum
Cottage, and Mr. Onslow was certainly staying with us. He had his wife
with him, a sweet young thing, which was more than could be said of the
gentleman, I can assure you.”
It was plain from this that she and Mr. Onslow had not been on the best
of terms. Burrell took from his pocket the photograph of Fensden, and
handed it to her. He was beginning to have an inkling of the truth.
“Is that the likeness of Fensden or of Mr. Onslow?” he inquired.
“Mr. Onslow, sir, to be sure,” she replied, “and a very good one of him
it is too. I hope he’s not a friend of yours, because I couldn’t abear
him. The way he treated his poor foreign wife of his was enough to make
an honest woman’s blood boil.”
“So he had a foreign wife, had he?” said Burrell. “That’s interesting.
Tell me all you can about him.”
“There’s not much to be told, sir, except about his bullying and nagging
that poor young thing. She was a foreigner, as I have just said, but as
nice a young lady as ever stepped in at my door. When they first came
she told me that Mr. Onslow was an artist, and that they wanted to be
quiet and away from London. They didn’t mind putting up with the
roughness of things, she said, so long as they could be quiet. Well,
sir, they had this room and the bedroom above, and for the first few
days everything went as smooth and as nice as could be. Then I noticed
that she took to crying, and that he went away day after day and once
for two days. At last he disappeared altogether, leaving her without a
halfpenny in the world. Oh! I’d have liked to have seen the brute and
have given him a bit of my mind. It would have done him good, I’ll
promise him that. I shall never forget that poor young thing in her
trouble. She waited and waited for him to come back, but at last when
there was no sign of him, she came to me in my kitchen there to know
what she should do. ‘I know you have not had your money, Mrs. Raikes,’
she said in a kind of piteous foreign way, that went to my heart. ‘I can
not stay here any longer, and so, if you’ll trust me, I’ll go away to
London and try to find my husband. Even if I do not, you shall not lose
by us.’ I told her I didn’t want the money, and that I was as sorry for
her as a woman could be. Poor dear, I could see that her heart was
nearly broken.”
“And what happened then?”
“Nothing, sir, except that she went away, and she hadn’t been gone a
week before the money that was owing to me was sent in a Post Office
Order. From that day to this I’ve heard nothing of either of them and
that’s the truth. Whether she found her husband I can not say, but if
she’d take my advice she’d never try to.”
“You are quite sure that you’d know the man again?”
“I am certain I should,” the woman replied. “I hope, sir, in telling you
all this, I’ve been doing no harm?”
“You have been doing a great deal of good,” Burrell replied. “Shortly
after she left you, poor Mrs. Onslow, as you call her, was most brutally
murdered, and I have been commissioned by the friends of the man who is
wrongfully accused of the crime to endeavour to discover the real
criminal.”
“Murdered, sir? you surely don’t mean that?”
“I do! A more abominable crime has not been committed this century.”
The good woman was honestly overcome by the news and during the
remainder of the interview scarcely recovered her composure. Before he
left, Burrell cautioned her most strongly against saying anything about
the case to her neighbours, and this injunction she promised faithfully
to observe.
“By the way,” said the detective, before he left, “do you remember
whether this man Onslow received any letters while he was staying with
you?”
“Only one, sir, so far as I know,” the woman replied.
“You’re quite sure of that?”
“Quite sure, sir, and why I happen to be so certain is that it caused a
bit of unpleasantness between them. I was brushing the stairs just out
there, when the letter arrived. It was Mrs. Onslow that took it in, and
when she saw the post-mark she asked him who it was that he knew at
Richmond. He snatched the letter from her and told her to mind her own
business. That afternoon he went out and never came back. It’s my belief
it was some woman at Richmond as enticed him away.”
“Have you any other reason for supposing that except the post-mark on
the envelope?”
“Well, sir,” returned the woman, “to be candid with you, I have, though
perhaps it’s a tale I shouldn’t tell. I was so sorry for that poor young
thing that I couldn’t get her trouble out of my head, and nothing would
serve but that I must watch him. I saw him sitting down at the head of
the table where you are now, sir, about half-an-hour after he had
spoken so cross to his wife, and she, poor dear, was upstairs crying,
and I noticed that he was writing a telegram. Presently he calls to me.
‘Mrs. Raikes,’ said he, ‘want to send a telegram at once, who can take
it for me?’ ‘There’s Mrs. Hawkins’s little boy next door, sir,’ says I,
‘he’s taken messages for gentlemen I’ve had in the house before now, and
always done it very well. I saw him playing in the field at the back of
the house only this minute.’ ‘Call him in to me, then,’ says he, ‘and he
shall have sixpence for his trouble.’ I called the lad in, and Mr.
Onslow gave him the message, and then off he went with it, but not so
fast but that I was able to run across to the corner of the field at the
back there, and catch him on the road. ‘Tommy,’ I said, ‘let me have a
look at that telegram.’ He was a good little boy, and handed it over to
me without a word. It was addressed to ‘Montgomery, 13 Bridgeworth Road,
Richmond.’ There was no other name to it, and the only other word was
‘yes.’ It didn’t seem to me that there was anything out of the common
about it, and so I thought no more of it, until you spoke of his having
letters just now.”
“I think I’ll make a note of the address in case it should be useful,”
said Burrell. “And now I’ll be off, thanking you again, Mrs. Raikes, for
the information you have given me.”
On leaving the cottage he walked back to Staines, caught a train to
London, and hastened to his house. Later on he made his way to Euston
Station. Another twenty hours elapsed before he was able to acquire the
information he wanted there--but he had the satisfaction of knowing,
when he had obtained it, that there remained now only one link to be
forged, and then the chain of evidence would be complete. That link was
forged at Richmond, and next day he handed in his report to the
astonished Codey.
“Good heavens, Burrell,” said that astute gentleman, “this is as
marvellous as it is horrible. What do you think?”
“I think, sir, that we shall be able to prove that Mr. Henderson is
innocent.”
* * * * *
At last, after all the weary waiting, the great day arrived. The
Sessions had commenced at the Old Bailey. For two or three days prior to
this, Godfrey had been busy with his solicitor and his counsel. It was
not, however, until the afternoon before the commencement that he could
elicit from Codey any information as to Burrell’s discoveries.
Immediately he was ushered into the room where Codey was awaiting him,
Godfrey saw from the expression upon the other’s face, that there was
something to tell.
“You--have good news for me,” he said, as they shook hands.
“The very best of news,” Codey replied. “My dear sir, you may rest
assured that your innocence is completely established. The whole plot
has come to light, and, when we give the word, the authorities will be
able to lay their hands upon the man who committed the deed.”
“But who is the man?” Godfrey hastened to ask, scarcely able to speak
for excitement. His pulse was beating like a sledge hammer inside his
head, until it seemed as if his brain must burst.
“Don’t ask me that now,” said Codey. “Put your trust in me until
to-morrow. Then you shall know everything. Believe me, I have my own
very good reasons for asking this favour of you. Rest assured of one
thing; at latest the day after to-morrow you will be at liberty to go
where and do what you please.”
“But why can not it be settled at once? Why must it be the day after
to-morrow? It is cruel to keep me in suspense!”
“Don’t you understand that we can not bring forward our witnesses until
the proper moment arrives?” said the lawyer. “The English law has its
idiosyncrasies, and even in a case of life and death, the formalities
must be observed. There is one thing, however, I can promise you; that
is, that when the truth comes out, it will be admitted that such a
sensation has not been caused in a Court of Justice before.”
And with this assurance, meagre as it was, Godfrey had perforce to be
content.