have had such an effect upon her that she has been taken seriously
ill. The doctor fears brain fever unless she is kept absolutely
quiet. She is at present in bed, and nothing must be said to her
on the subject."
"And what does Sir Joshua propose to do?"
"He is beside himself with terror and grief, and has placed himself
absolutely in my hands, to do whatever I think best."
"And what have you done?"
"I have been first of all to No. 17, Wellborough Street. It is a
small tobacconist's shop, kept by a man named Winter and his wife.
"From what I can gather the tobacco business is a blind, and Winter
is a betting man. I suspect he is really something a good deal less
respectable than that.
"The plans of the blackmailer are well laid, and I can see exactly
how it will work if the money is sent there in an envelope addressed
to Thomson.
"If the police should be watching they will see plenty of people pass
in and out, and they won't be able to discover which of them is the
customer for the letter.
"If they tell Winter they are police--which would be unlikely and
foolish--he will say he knows nothing of the matter; he often has
letters and parcels left there for customers, and he doesn't know
who Thomson is.
"If there is any delay in asking, then he will say that the letter
came and Thomson called and took it away, and he will describe
Thomson as someone exactly opposite to the real Thomson in
appearance.
"But my own idea is that neither Thomson nor Winter are afraid of
the police, and are convinced that Sir Joshua will be frightened
into paying blackmail.
"This charge against his wife, under the peculiar circumstances, is
not one which a wealthy and well-known man would care to give to the
scandal-loving public, who are always ready to say, 'Ah, you may
depend there's something in it!' His wife's beauty and her diamonds
made a sensation at the Drawing Room, and Sir Joshua would hardly
care to make her the heroine of a blackmailing case, and to inform
everybody that his second wife, the beautiful Lady Broome, was his
children's governess."
"Your arguments, my dear Dorcas, would be excellent supposing the
charge were untrue, but you have the strongest possible evidence that
the blackmailers have facts on their side. Margaret Grey _was_
imprisoned for theft, and the employer of Margaret Grey, who spoke
for her in court, was Mr. John Garrod, who six months later gave her
a reference to Sir Joshua Broome, and stated that he was her last
employer. What can possibly be urged against such evidence as that?"
"One thing, and one thing only," said Dorcas, as she handed
Toddlekins, the bulldog, the Spratt's biscuit which he always looked
for at supper-time.
"And that is?"
"This--that the governess recommended to Sir Joshua Broome by
Mr. John Garrod called herself Margaret Grey.
"If she was the Margaret Grey who was tried and sentenced at the
Old Bailey, it was an exceedingly foolish thing for her to start on
a new career in the old name.
"If Mr. John Garrod was willing to conceal the imprisonment from
Sir Joshua, he would certainly have been willing to consent to the
young lady assuming an alias.
"_Why didn't she ask him to?_"
_IX. THE ONE WHO KNEW_
A week had gone by since Dorcas had informed me of Lady Broome's
serious illness, and the only communication I had received with
regard to the terrible charge contained in the anonymous letter was
a little note from Dorcas herself, telling me that I had better not
come until I heard from her again, as the case would probably keep
her from home for some days.
On the morning of the eighth day, while I was smoking my
after-breakfast pipe and skimming the _Daily Telegraph_, there
was a sharp ring at the bell and presently my servant entered with a
telegram.
The telegram was as follows:
"Meet me, Charing Cross. First-class waiting room. Noon. You can
help me. Dorcas."
I was at Charing Cross Station at quarter to twelve. Punctually
on the stroke of noon, Dorcas entered the waiting-room.
"I'm so glad you've come," she said. "You can help me in the
Broome case."
"I shall be delighted. I have been expecting to hear something
about it from you every day."
"There has been nothing really satisfactory to report," exclaimed
Dorcas, "but I think we shall get on the right track to-day. I have
been rather hindered by the illness of Lady Broome."
"How is she?--not worse, I hope."
"No, she is better. Her husband has been able to convince her that
he has the most absolute faith in her innocence, and he has told a
little white story which under the circumstances is pardonable. He
has assured her that the blackmailers, finding no money has been sent,
are reducing their terms, which is practically a confession that they
dare not put their threat into execution."
"But what has really happened? Have they shifted their ground?"
"Not an inch. This morning, Sir Joshua received a letter informing
him that 'One Who Knows' would give him only one more day's grace.
Unless the money was sent to the address given by ten o'clock this
evening the particulars of Lady Broome's trial and conviction would
be sent to the Lord Chamberlain's office without fail."
"And have you discovered who the person is who 'knows,' and who is
willing to have a thousand pounds in bank-notes entrusted to this man
Winter?"
"Yes, I have been keeping observation on No. 17, Wellborough Street,
and my assistant, the sergeant, has been helping me. I don't think
there is the slightest doubt that the writer of the letter is Winter's
wife--or at least the woman who passes as Mrs. Winter. She is a
good-looking woman of about two or three and thirty, well educated,
and in every way I should say the man's superior. But she is a heavy
drinker. The people in the neighbourhood through whom inquiries have
been made for me say that Mrs. Winter, when sober, is a well-mannered,
lady-like person. She speaks like a woman of education, but with a
slight American accent."
"That doesn't tell you much about her."
"Is there nothing that strikes you as peculiar in the description
I have given?" said Dorcas quietly.
"No," I replied, "except that it is peculiar that a lady-like woman
of education should be living with a man who, if your suspicions
are correct, must be a very disreputable person."
"That has no bearing on the case," replied Dorcas. "What _I_ think
is peculiar is that she has a slight American accent."
"Why should that be peculiar in connection with this case?"
"The reason that _I_ think so is this. Mr. John Garrod, who gave
evidence in favour of Margaret Grey, and at the expiration of
Margaret Grey's sentence, recommended a Margaret Grey to Sir
Joshua Broome, was an American."
"Yes, of course--that is so. But there are thousands of American
women in London."
"Yes--but there is still a coincidence which may be the first
finger-post on the high road to the Truth. If my suspicion that
this woman is the writer of the letter is correct--and I can't
conceive anybody else allowing a thousand pounds to be entrusted to
Winter--then we have these two facts to consider side by side. The
only person who appeared to know anything about Margaret Grey in
court was an American. The person who is now using the knowledge of
the trial of Margaret Grey for the purpose of blackmailing Margaret
Grey's husband speaks with an American accent."
"But one was a man and the other is a woman."
"Exactly," said Dorcas, "and so my next step must be to see if the
man _knows_ the woman."
"You have found Mr. Garrod?"
"Yes--late last night--that is why I telegraphed to you this morning.
I cabled to New York a week ago for information. Yesterday my
correspondent cabled that a John Garrod, a well-known citizen of New
York, had left for London a month previously. Last night I succeeded,
through the kindness of the _New York Herald's_ London agency, in
tracing Mr. John Garrod to the Hotel Métropole. We are going to call
on him now."
"But how do you know that it is the same John Garrod?"
"I gave my correspondent a full description of the gentleman I
wanted from the information Sir Joshua furnished me with. You forget,
Sir Joshua saw him at the Langham Hotel."
We had been talking as we walked and I had been too interested in
the conversation to notice which way we were going. It was therefore
with something like a start that I heard Dorcas exclaim, "Here we are
at the Métropole. Now for Mr. John Garrod."
"But will he see us?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," said Dorcas, "I think so. I made an appointment last
night with an introduction from the London correspondent of the
_Herald_, who is a friend of mine."
"Does he know you are a private detective?"
"No, he only knows that my name is Mrs. Dene, and that I am calling
upon him with an introduction from the _Herald._ That is a pass-word
with all good Americans."
"And why have you brought me?"
"Because I want a witness to our conversation. When you are
cross-examining anyone the presence of a third party is invaluable.
It is the presence of an audience that worries a witness in a
cross-examination in a court of law. If the witness and the counsel
were fighting their duel alone in a room, half the counsel's
advantage would be gone."
Dorcas went to the Inquiry Office and sent up her name to
Mr. Garrod, and in a few minutes the page returned with a request
that we would follow him.
We were shown into a sitting-room on the second floor, and found
Mr. John Garrod, a tall, grey-haired, military-looking American of
the best type.
He received us courteously, but I thought somewhat suspiciously,
and at once asked Dorcas to what he was indebted for the pleasure of
the interview.
"I will tell you in a few words, Mr. Garrod," said Dorcas, shifting
her chair a little, so that her back was to the window, the light
from which fell full on the American's face.
"This gentleman, Mr. Saxon, and myself are interested in a will, of
which Mr. Saxon is one of the executors. Among those to whom money is
left is a Miss Margaret Grey, formerly a governess in your employ."
Mr. Garrod's face flushed at the mention of the name of Margaret
Grey, and then became deathly pale.
"I--I certainly at one time had a person of that name in my house,"
he said, after a pause. "But it is a good many years since we parted.
Why do you come to me about her?"
"Because she is described in the will as residing with you."
"And how did you know that I was in London?"
"The _New York Herald_ people, to whom I went to inquire if you were
known in America, kindly informed me that you were here. I came to
you with their introduction."
"Yes, I remember--of course. Well, I am sorry that I am unable to give
you any information as to my former governess's present whereabouts."
He rose to emphasise the fact that the interview was at an end, but
Dorcas was by no means anxious to terminate it.
"I am sorry," she said, "because our inquiries in other quarters led
us to believe that you _would_ know something. After her release from
prison she returned to you."
The American stared at Dorcas open-mouthed for a moment, and then in
a trembling voice he exclaimed, "You know that! You know that she
was convicted!"
"Yes, we found that out. We got the details of the case from the
Central Criminal Court's Sessions Reports, which are published
regularly in book form. I suppose there was no doubt of the poor
girl's guilt?"
Mr. Garrod hesitated. "I--I don't wish to say anything. I did my
best to procure her acquittal."
"Oh, yes, you behaved most generously. And after her release----"
"She went away. I can tell you nothing. I have never seen her since.
It was a most painful affair to me then--it is most painful to me to
talk about now. I can give you _no_ information as to Miss Grey's
present whereabouts, and must beg you to excuse me--I have a business
appointment in the City."
Dorcas rose from her chair, but did not move towards the door.
"Well, then, I must be frank with you, Mr. Garrod, although you
won't be frank with me. I am determined to trace Margaret Grey's
subsequent movements. I am a private detective, acting in the
interests of Sir Joshua Broome, to whom you recommended Miss Grey.
Why did you not tell us that she left you to go to Sir Joshua?"
Mr. Garrod bit his lip, and his brow clouded.
"Why should I?" he said, defiantly.
"Because Sir Joshua Broome has a right to know how you justify
your conduct in recommending to him as a governess to his children
a woman whom you knew to be a convicted thief."
"I don't know how you have found all this out, or why after all
these years you have come here to charge me with it," exclaimed the
American, "but I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that when
I recommended Miss Grey to Mr. Broome--I didn't know he was Sir
Joshua--I recommended a young lady whom I believed to be an
honest woman."
"But she had just served a sentence of six months' imprisonment
for stealing rings from a jeweller's shop. Innocent or guilty, you
had no right to conceal that fact from a gentleman who came to you
for Miss Grey's character."
"I had not--but I did. I was in a terrible predicament, and I did
the best I could. I am quite sure that Miss Grey has done nothing to
disgrace the strong recommendation I gave her to Mr. Broome."
"Nothing--on the contrary, her employer found her such an amiable
and estimable woman that he married her. Your former governess is
now Lady Broome."
"Then, in Heaven's name, madam, why do you come to me with this
made-up story of a will? Why have you been cross-examining me as
to Miss Grey's past when you are well acquainted with it, and she
is now in an excellent position and beyond the reach of calumny?"
"That is where you are mistaken, Mr. Garrod. At the present moment
Lady Broome is being blackmailed by a person who has a knowledge of
the Old Bailey conviction."
"Blackmailed!"
"Yes. About a fortnight ago Lady Broome was presented at a Drawing
Room. A day or two afterwards her husband received this." Dorcas
handed him the anonymous letter.
Directly he glanced at it, he exclaimed: "My God!--it is too horrible!"
"What is horrible?" exclaimed Dorcas, starting forward and gazing
steadily in his face. "You have not read the letter. Is it the
handwriting you recognise?"
There was no answer.
"I know who wrote this letter," exclaimed Dorcas, "so probably do you."
"You know?--who is it then?" asked the American in a hoarse voice.
"A woman who calls herself Mrs. Winter--a woman who lives at 17,
Wellborough Street, Borough, and speaks with an American accent."
For a moment John Garrod stood silent. He was evidently a prey to
strong emotion.
"Madam," he said, "if you will leave this letter with me for six
hours I will undertake that no more shall be heard of this infamous
threat."
Dorcas shook her head.
"That may be," she said, "but that will not clear the matter up.
There can be no going back now. I must either prove that Lady Broome
is innocent of this foul charge, or I must repeat to Sir Joshua your
acknowledgement that you were present in court when she was
convicted and sentenced."
"If you will trust me with this letter I will give you my word of
honour that I will call upon Sir Joshua Broome this evening and tell
him all I know. Will you trust me?"
"No," said Dorcas. "I must keep the letter, but you may have this
telegram which contains the name and address of the sender. Here is
the telegram and here is Sir Joshua's address."
She scribbled the Wimbledon address on a card and handed it to him.
"I shall be there at nine this evening," he said.
"And I shall be waiting for you," replied Dorcas.
Directly we were outside in Northumberland Avenue Dorcas turned to
me and said, "I have brought the American man and the woman with
the American accent together, you see."
"Do you think Mr. Garrod is going to see Mrs. Winter?"
"Of course he is. He recognised the handwriting. I was certain of
it the minute his eyes fell upon the letter."
"Am I to come to Wimbledon to-night?"
"Certainly. Sir Joshua told the beginning of the story in your
presence--there is no reason you should not hear the end of it
in his."
"And you think that Lady Broome is innocent--that she was wrongfully
convicted?"
"On the contrary, I don't believe she was ever convicted at all.
But to-night will clear up the mystery one way or the other.
Good-bye till then."
"Are you going to Wellborough Street?"
"No," said Dorcas, "what's the good? If anybody has to pay that
thousand pounds now it won't be Sir Joshua Broome, but Mr. John
Garrod."
"But if it is a conspiracy, the conspirators may be warned by
Garrod's visit and escape."
"If they run away," said Dorcas, "I shall know where to find them
if I want them. The sergeant is running up Sir Joshua's bill to an
enormous extent. He is going into Winter's place and putting a
sovereign on almost every horse in every race, and Winter thinks
he has found what I believe is known in the language of the
fraternity as 'a first-class mug.'"
* * * * * *
At nine o'clock that evening Sir Joshua sat in the big library of
his house at Wimbledon, anxiously waiting to renew his acquaintance
with Mr. John Garrod. Dorcas, who had told the fine old fellow the
result of her day's work, was in the boudoir with Lady Broome, who
was now sufficiently recovered to be up, but much too unwell to risk
an interview with her old employer.
Sir Joshua had given me a cigar, and I had made myself comfortable
in a big easy chair. We were neither of us talking. We were both too
anxious and excited to do more than think.
At a few minutes past nine Mr. Garrod was announced and shown into
the library. Sir Joshua received him courteously and begged him to be
seated, and sent the servant for Mrs. Dene.
"Now, sir," said Sir Joshua, when our little party was complete
"Mrs. Dene informs me that she showed you the letter containing the
infamous charge against my wife, and that you promised to bring the
matter to a satisfactory conclusion, and to put me in possession of
the facts to-night. Is that the position?"
"It is, Sir Joshua," said Mr. Garrod, speaking slowly and with
evident emotion, "and I am here to fulfil my promise. I am going to
place the whole facts before you, and then leave you to decide how
you will deal with me. I shall place myself absolutely in your
hands.
"In the first place, let me at once ease your mind on one point.
When I sent Miss Grey to you I gave her the character she thoroughly
deserved."
"Then," said Dorcas, interrupting, "Miss Margaret Grey, who is at
present Lady Broome, could never have been a convicted thief."
"She never was. This is how it happened. I came to Europe with my
two children and my second wife for a stay of two or three years. I
had lost my first wife some years previously and had married again.
My second wife was a young lady of good birth, but, at the time I met
her, was, owing to family reverses, earning her living as a female
clerk in a big New York hotel.
"It was a marriage that made a good deal of talk among my friends
and acquaintances, and so I came to Europe with her, bringing my
children with me. In London I went to a scholastic agency and engaged
a governess. Miss Margaret Grey was sent to me and proved in every
way an acquisition.
"Soon after I came to Europe I made a terrible discovery. One day
to my horror, while out shopping with my wife, I noticed her pick up
something from the counter and conceal it in her muff. I instantly
exclaimed out loud, 'Wait a moment--let me ask the price,' and
when the shopman came back I pointed to the article and paid for
it.
"My wife was a kleptomaniac!
"I spoke to her seriously when we got home. I flung myself on my
knees and begged her to think of what this would mean to me if it
were discovered. I pointed out to her that if she were arrested and
imprisoned the story would go to America, and that she would put a
lasting shame upon me and mine.
"She promised me with tears in her eyes that she would not do
anything of the sort again, and I believed her. I gave her all the
money she could want. I gratified her every wish that there might be
no temptation for her to steal again.
"After travelling about the Continent we came to London, and
eventually I took a furnished house at Richmond, where I lived with
my wife and children, with Miss Grey as their governess.
"One day my wife went to town alone in the morning. In the evening
I received a telegram from Bow Street. I hurried there and found that
my wife had been arrested for stealing a couple of rings from a
jeweller's tray. In her terror when asked for her name and address
she had at first refused it, but presently a diabolical idea entered
her head. She gave her name as Margaret Grey, said she was a
governess, and begged that I, her employer, might be telegraphed for."
"Then it was your wife who was convicted as Margaret Grey!"
exclaimed Sir Joshua, springing up in his excitement.
"Yes. Ah, you must not blame me too much for what happened afterwards
--think of the terrible position I was in. I was called to give
evidence on behalf of Margaret Grey, my governess. If I had said,
'This woman has given a false name--she is my wife,' my one hope of
getting her off would have been lost, and the case, which was now an
ordinary one of theft, and one briefly reported in the papers, would
have been written up and headlined all over the country, and would
have been cabled to America. I clutched at a straw, and let the
deception go on. After all, I might succeed in getting her acquitted
if I contended it was kleptomania. I know I ought to have told the
truth, but think what it would have meant to me. I still hoped that
even if the worst happened to my wife I might, when she was released,
reclaim her, and take her back to America without her shame ever
being known.
"My first care when I found what had happened was to send my children
abroad with Miss Grey. I knew that Miss Grey never read the papers,
and would not see the case, but at Richmond one or two people would
know her name, and she might be questioned as to the similarity.
Abroad, even if the case were fully reported--and I intended to do
my best to keep it out--Miss Grey would not be likely to hear of it.
"My wife was convicted, and sentenced at the Sessions to six months'
imprisonment. Then I joined Miss Grey and my children abroad. When
the sentence was nearly served, and the time was coming for my
unhappy wife to be liberated, I returned. I saw Mr. Broome's
advertisement in the _Times_, and answered it on behalf of Miss Grey,
who had declined to go with us to America. I told her that my wife
had gone home to see a relative who was ill. It was in that way I
accounted for her long absence.
"I hoped--and my hope was justified--that very few people would have
seen the case. The report was only a few lines, and recorded the fact
that Margaret Grey, aged twenty-five, had been convicted of theft. In
only one paper did the reporter give my name as having been called as
a witness to character. Mr. Broome had evidently not seen it, for when
I mentioned that the lady's name was Margaret Grey he made no remark.
"I was obliged to give her real name. How could I have asked her to
take another? It would have aroused her suspicions at once, and
possibly all would have been discovered.
"Mr. Broome was satisfied with my recommendation, and when I left
for America with my wife and children I had the satisfaction of
knowing that Miss Grey had found a comfortable home, and that she had
not suffered in any way from my unhappy wife's appropriation of her
name at the police-court.
"Unfortunately, after my wife's release, she gave way to habits of
intemperance. Our life was a most unhappy one. After two years of
misery she left me with a man who was coming to England, and from
that day I heard no more of her--until--until----"
"Until this morning," said Dorcas.
"Yes," replied Mr. Garrod, with a deep sigh. "Your conjecture is
correct. I recognised the handwriting, though it was disguised. I
went to the address you gave me, and there I found the wretched woman
whom I had married, and from whom after her flight I had obtained a
divorce.
"I insisted upon seeing her. I told the man Winter who I was, that
I knew the infamous conspiracy they had hatched between them, and
that unless my wife saw me I would go to the police and bring the
facts before them.
"Winter yielded to my threats, and I had an interview with my wife.
I insisted on a confession, telling her that if she refused it I
would go to Scotland Yard and tell the whole story, no matter what
the consequences might be to myself.