M. NICOL HENDRY
Franklin Marmion sat down and began to think the situation over. It was
not an easy one, for, as it appeared to him, it would be very difficult,
if not impossible, for Nitocris and himself to help in the elucidation
of the Zastrow mystery, and the prevention of any European complications
that might arise out of it, on both the higher and the lower planes of
existence. Of course, it would have been perfectly easy to do so in one
sense, for now, practically nothing in human affairs was impossible of
achievement to them; but, on the other hand, it would never do to allow
people on the lower plane to become aware of their extra-human powers.
This was out of the question for many reasons, not the least of which
was that they had their lives to live under the ordinary conditions of
time and space and among their fellow-mortals, every one of whom would
shun them in fear, perhaps even horror, if they knew their secret. What,
for instance, would happen to Nitocris in her temporal state if even
only Merrill came to know it? No, the idea was certainly beyond the
possibility of consideration.
At the same time, it was to some extent necessary that they should work
on both planes if they were to reap the full advantage of their recently
acquired powers, and out of this dilemma there appeared to be only one
way open to the Professor: he must have the assistance of others to do
on the lower plane the work that he would, as it were, direct from the
higher. The question was, who? Obviously it must be some one upon whose
discretion absolute reliance could be placed. He must be highly skilled
in police work, and have a reputation to enhance or lose as the result
might decide. Suddenly a name occurred to him. A short time ago his
friend the President had been telling him the inner story of a very
intricate case which had involved a scandal of two Courts. Only the most
meagre details had obviously been permitted to appear in the papers, but
His Lordship had told him that it had been solved and settled almost
entirely by the skill and diplomacy of a M. Nicol Hendry, who held the
little advertised but highly responsible position of Head of the English
Department of the International Police Bureau.
"That's the very man," he said, "the very man, and I shouldn't wonder if
he's engaged on this particular case. It's too late to wire, and,
besides, that would look suspicious. I could telephone to Scotland Yard,
but I don't want even the police to know I want him until I've seen him.
No, I'll write a note: it will go by the early post, and no one will
know where it comes from."
Just as lunch was over the next day the front door bell tingled, and
presently the parlour-maid knocked, and came in with a card on a silver
salver:
"I have shown the gentleman into the drawing-room, sir. He says that he
has an appointment with you for half-past two."
"Very well: I will be up in a moment, Annie." Then, as she closed the
door, he gave Nitocris the card, and continued: "Our ally on the lower
plane that may be. You say you wouldn't care to be present and help me
with your opinion?"
"Oh no, Dad. I don't want any one to know that I am taking any part in
this little adventure. But if you will introduce him afterwards, I'll
tell you what I think. You know, women generally judge other people that
way."
"Very well," laughed her father, as he turned to the door, "that will be
best. If everything goes right and I think I can work with him, I shall
bring him upstairs and you can give him a cup of tea. If I don't, you
will know that he won't do."
"Good-bye, then, for the present," she smiled, "and don't frighten the
poor man, if you can help it. I dare say he's only an exaggerated
policeman, after all."
But it was a very different sort of person whom Franklin Marmion greeted
in the drawing-room. M. Nicol Hendry was a slimly but strongly-built man
of about forty. His high, somewhat narrow forehead was framed with
close-cut, crinkly, reddish-brown hair. Under well-defined brown
eyebrows shone a pair of alert steel-grey eyes of almost startling
brilliancy. His nose was a trifle long and slightly aquiline. A
carefully-trained golden-brown moustache half-concealed firm, thinly-cut
lips, and a closely-trimmed, pointed beard just revealed the strength of
the chin beneath. He was dressed in a dark grey frock-coat suit, and
wore a pinky-red wild rose, which he had plucked on the Common, in his
button-hole. As he shook hands with him the Professor made a mental note
of him as an embodiment of strength, keenness, and quiet inflexibility:
a summing-up which was pretty near the truth.
"Good afternoon, M. Hendry," he said, as the hands and eyes met.
"Good afternoon, Professor," returned the other in a gentle voice, and
almost perfect English. "May I ask to what happy circumstance--at least,
I hope it is a happy one--I owe the honour of making the acquaintance of
the gentleman who has succeeded in mystifying all the mathematicians of
Europe?"
"Well," said Franklin Marmion with a smile, "I don't know whether there
is so very much honour about that, but I do know that your time is very
valuable and that I have already taken up a good deal of it by bringing
you all the way out here, so I will come to the point at once. But wait
a moment. Come down into my study. We can talk more comfortably there."
When the Professor had given his guest a cigar and lit his pipe, he
said quite abruptly: "It is about the Zastrow affair."
If he had said it was about the last Grand Ducal plot in the Peterhof,
M. Hendry could not have been inwardly more astonished. Outwardly the
Professor might have mentioned the last commonplace murder. Only his
eyelids lifted a little as he replied:
"Ah, indeed? Well, really, Professor, you must forgive me for saying
that that is about the very last matter I should have expected you to
have brought up. All the world knows you as one of its most
distinguished men of science, now, of course, more distinguished than
ever; but I hardly think any one would have expected you to interest
yourself in political mysteries. I have a recollection of hearing or
reading somewhere that politics were your pet aversion."
"So they are," replied Franklin Marmion, with a short laugh. "I consider
ordinary politics--juggling with phrases to delude the ignorance and
flatter the prejudices of the mob, and bartering principles for place
and power--to be about the most contemptible vocation a man can descend
to, but those are low politics in more senses than one. Now high
politics, as a psychological study, to an outsider are a very different
matter. But I am digressing. I did not invite you here to discuss
trivialities like these. I want to ask you--of course, you will not
answer me unless you like--whether you are connected, professionally or
otherwise, with the Zastrow affair?"
M. Hendry looked down at the toes of his perfectly-shaped boots for a
moment or two. Then he raised his head and said good-humouredly:
"Professor, I know that there is no more honourable man in the world
than you, but even from you I must ask frankly your reasons for asking
that question?"
"You have a perfect right to do that, my dear sir," was the quiet reply.
"If you say 'yes,' I am anxious to help you: if you say 'no,' I should
like you to help me: if you don't care to answer, there is an end of the
matter. Those are my reasons."
It took a good deal to astonish Nicol Hendry, but he was considerably
astonished now. Yet it was impossible to have the remotest doubt of
Franklin Marmion's absolute earnestness. But why should he of all men on
earth want to unravel the Zastrow mystery? What interest save the merest
curiosity could he have in the matter? And yet he was by no means the
sort of man to be merely curious. The very strangeness of his
proposition half-convinced him that there must be some other very strong
reason underlying those which he had given. Again, he was to be
perfectly trusted, so no harm could be done trying to discover if this
was so, since if he could help he would do so loyally. So he told him.
"Yes, Professor," he said, looking keenly into his eyes, "I am
interested in the _affaire_, professionally interested, and, I may add,
very deeply interested, to boot."
"I am glad to hear that," said Franklin Marmion with unexpected
earnestness. "Now, the next question is: Will you accept my assistance,
whatever it may be, under my own conditions, which are these: No one but
yourself shall know that I am helping you, and you yourself will not ask
me how I help you."
Once more a puzzle. Nicol Hendry thought for a few seconds before he
replied slowly:
"Yes, Professor. As long as you do help us I don't care either why or
how, for, as I may now be quite frank with you, we certainly want help
of some sort very badly. The papers are quite right for once. Neither
here nor on the Continent have we found a single clue worth picking up.
It is humiliating, but it is true."
"Then before you go I hope I shall be able to give you some that will be
worth picking up, and keeping too," said the scientist with a faint
smile; "at any rate, I think I can put you upon certain lines of enquiry
which you will find it profitable to trace out."
Nicol Hendry was an ambitious man, and he would have given a good deal
to have known what was passing in the other's mind just then, but his
expression betrayed nothing more than interested anticipation.
"We shall be entirely grateful to you if you will, Professor," he
murmured.
"I have no doubt of that, my dear sir. Now, to begin with: I presume
that there are photographs of the persons mentioned in the newspapers
as being in the Castle of Trelitz with the Prince on the last day that
he was known to be there?"
"Certainly; we should scarcely leave a simple preliminary like that
neglected," smiled Nicol Hendry. "With the exception of the Fraülein
Hulda von Tyssen, the Princess' Lady of the Bedchamber, all have been
photographed for publication, and hers we have got through a private
source. The Chief of each of our Departments has a copy of them, and I
happen to have mine in my pocket now, if you would like to see them. The
Princess, of course, you must have seen. She is in every photographer's
window in the West End."
"Oh yes, I have seen her. Who has not? She is a singularly beautiful
woman. But I should very much like to see the others, if I may."
The Chef de Bureau looked at him sharply as he took a small square
morocco case out of his inner pocket and opened it. Going to a little
table he spread out five small unmounted photographs upon it. He put two
of them on one side, saying:
"Those, of course, you know; they are the Prince and Princess. This one
is Count Ulik von Kessner, High Chamberlain of Boravia; this, Captain
Alexis Vollmar; and this is Fraülein von Tyssen."
Franklin Marmion looked at them with much more than ordinary interest,
for he recognised all five as clearly as though he had just left them in
his own dining-room.
"There are no suspicions attaching to any of these people, I suppose?"
he said carelessly.
"My dear Professor," replied Nicol Hendry a little coldly, "those who
write stories about our profession always say that it is our invariable
rule to suspect everybody, but we have a little common-sense, and we
know the records of these ladies and gentlemen in the minutest detail
from the Prince himself to Fraülein Hulda. We have not the slightest
reason to suspect any of them."
"Ah, just so," said the other musingly; "no, of course you wouldn't
have, and, unfortunately, I cannot tell you why you should. But I'll
tell you this: if you ever do find cause to suspect any of these
persons, you will find that this group is not complete. It ought to
contain the photograph of Prince Oscar Oscarovitch."
"Prince Oscar Oscarovitch!" exclaimed Nicol Hendry, staring at him this
time with wide-open eyes. "Why on earth should you----"
"Pardon me, my dear sir," interrupted Franklin Marmion gently, "remember
that you are not supposed to care anything about the why or the how. I
have already explained that I cannot explain."
"A thousand pardons, Professor. I don't often forget myself, but I did
then. You took me so utterly by surprise."
"I fancy that you will be a good deal more surprised before you have
come to the end of this affair," was the smiling but almost exasperating
reply; "but, as I implied, I can only give you clues. I cannot even
tell you how I get them, and it is for you to follow them or not as your
judgment dictates. Now, here are one or two to go on with. Try and find
out whether or not there was a four-funnelled Russian destroyer anywhere
in the neighbourhood of Trelitz on the night of the 6th. Trace as
closely as you can the movements of Prince Oscarovitch on that and the
two preceding days. Try and find out whether or not a large closed
chariot something like a barouche, drawn by four black horses, went from
anywhere in the direction of the Castle on that day. And lastly, keep a
very close eye upon the Egyptian Adept, as he calls himself--his name is
Phadrig Amena--who worked those alleged miracles at my daughter's
garden-party the other day. The Prince practically invited himself, and
brought this fellow with him. If you can find out the true relationship
between them I think you will have found out enough to keep you rather
busy for the present. If you do think anything of these little points
and examine them, let me know how you get on. We are going abroad for a
bit of a holiday, but I will send you my address every now and then.
Now, let us go back into the drawing-room, and my daughter will give us
some tea."
When Nicol Hendry left "The Wilderness" that afternoon he was about the
most mystified man in London. After he had gone, Franklin Marmion said
to Nitocris:
"Well, Niti, what do you think of our gimlet-eyed friend? Will he do?"
"Yes, Dad; I like his manner, and he seems very clever in his own way.
Quite a gentleman, too," she replied.
"I'm glad you think that," he added; "but what a pity it is that we
could not get the world to accept fourth dimensional evidence without
turning the said world inside out. We could clear up the whole _affaire_
Zastrow in a week then."
"But we shouldn't enjoy our holiday as much, I'm afraid, it would be too
exciting," concluded Nitocris.