WAYS AND MEANS
The afternoon of that same day there arrived at the village of Strathorn
from London a discreet-looking little man who, descending at the Golden
Lion, was shown to a private sitting-room on the second story. Calling
for a half-pint from the best tap and casually surveying the room, he
settled himself in a chair with an air of nonchalance, which a certain
eagerness in his eyes seemed to belie.
"Any mail or message for me, landlord?" he inquired, giving his name,
when that worthy reappeared with the tankard.
"No, sir."
"Nor any callers?"
"None that I've heard of--" A sound of wheels at that moment
interrupted; the landlord went to the window. "Why, it's his lordship,"
he remarked. "And such weather to be out in!" as a sudden gust of rain
beat against the pane. "Lord Ronsdale who is staying at Strathorn
House," he explained for the stranger's benefit. "And he's coming in!"
The host hurried to the door but already a footstep was heard on the
stairway and the voice of the nobleman inquiring for the new-comer's
room.
"Right up this way! The gentleman is in here, your Lordship," called
down the landlord. Lord Ronsdale mounted leisurely and entered the room.
"I didn't expect to have the honor of a call from your lordship," said
the guest of the Golden Lion, bowing low. "If your lordship had
indicated to me his pleasure--"
The nobleman whipped a greatcoat from his shoulders and tossed it to the
landlord. "Was coming to the village on another little matter, and
thought I might as well drop in and see you," he observed to the guest,
"instead of waiting for you to come to Strathorn House. You have the
stock-lists and market prices with you?" he queried meaningly. The other
answered in the affirmative. "Very good, we will consider the matter,
and--you may go, landlord."
But when the innkeeper had taken his departure no further word was said
by the nobleman of securities or values; Lord Ronsdale gazed keenly at
his companion. Without, the wind swept drearily down the little winding
street, and sighed about the broad overhanging eaves.
"Well," he spoke quickly, "I fancy you have a little something to tell
me, Mr. Gillett?"
"'A little something?'" The latter rubbed his hands. "More than a
little! Your lordship little dreamed, when--"
"Spare me your observations," broke in the nobleman. "Come at once to
the business on hand." His voice, though low, had a strident pitch;
behind it might be fancied strained nerves.
"As your lordship knows, good fortune or chance favored me at the start;
that is, along one line, the line of general investigation. The special
inquiry which your lordship mentioned, just as he was leaving my office,
proved for a time most illusive."
"You mean the object of John Steele's visit to the continent?"
"Exactly. And the object of that visit solved, I have now a matter of
greatest importance to communicate, so important it could only be
imparted by word of mouth!" The police agent spoke hastily and moved
nearer.
"Indeed?" Lord Ronsdale's thin, cold lips raised slightly, but not to
suggest a smile; his eyes met the police agent's. "You have reached a
conclusion? One that you sought to reject, perhaps, but that wouldn't be
discarded?"
Mr. Gillett looked at him earnestly. "You don't mean--it isn't possible
that you knew all the while--?"
The white, aristocratic hand of Lord Ronsdale waved. "Let us start at
the beginning."
"True, your Lordship," Mr. Gillett swallowed. "As your lordship is
aware, we were fortunate enough in the beginning to find out through our
agent in Tasmania that John Steele came to that place in a little
trading schooner, the _Laura Deane_, of Portsmouth; that he had been
rescued from a tiny uncharted reef, or isle, on December twenty-first,
some three years before. The spot, by longitude and latitude, marks,
through an odd coincidence, the place where the _Lord Nelson_ met her
fate."
"A coincidence truly," murmured the nobleman. "But at this stage in your
reasoning you recalled that all on board were embarked in the ships'
boats and reached civilization, except possibly--"
"A few of my charges between decks? True; I remembered that. A bad lot
of ugly brutes!" Mr. Gillett paused; Lord Ronsdale raised his head. "The
story of John Steele's rescue," went on Mr. Gillett, "as told by
himself," significantly, "was well known in Tasmania and not hard to
learn. A man of splendid intellect, a lawyer by profession, he had been
passenger on a merchant vessel, the _Mary Vernon_, of Baltimore, United
States. This vessel, like the _Lord Nelson_, had come to grief; after
being tossed about, a helpless, water-logged wreck, it had finally been
abandoned. All of those in John Steele's boat had perished except him;
some had gone mad through thirst and suffering; others had killed their
fellows in a frenzy. Being of superb physique, having been through much
physical training--" the listener stirred in his chair--"he managed to
survive, to reach the little isle, where, according to his story, he
remained almost a year."
"A year? Then he set foot in Tasmania about four years after the _Lord
Nelson_ went down," observed the nobleman, a curious glitter in his
eyes. "Four years after," he repeated, accenting the last word.
"Such were the details gathered in Tasmania," answered the police agent.
"Go on," said Lord Ronsdale. "You subsequently learned with more
definiteness the actual circumstances of his rescue?"
"From the mate of the _Laura Deane_, the schooner that rescued him from
the isle, and one of her crew whom I managed to locate at Plymouth, as I
have informed your lordship by letter," answered Mr. Gillett. "These men
now furnish lodgings to seamen, and incidentally shanghai a few of them
for dubious craft! Both of them, the mate and the sailor, recalled the
man of fine bearing and education whom they found on the little isle, a
sort of Greek statue, half-clothed in rags, so to speak, who made his
personality felt at once on these simple, ignorant fellows!" Mr. Gillett
paused to look at Lord Ronsdale, seemed waiting for the latter to say
something, but the nobleman only leaned forward and pushed at the coals
with a poker.
"Which brings to my mind the one point," with emphasis, "that I haven't
been able so far to reconcile or to explain. Your lordship, who seems to
have divined a great deal, can, perhaps. A man of fine education and
bearing, as I said, yet the other had been--"
"It is your business, not mine, to explain," interrupted the listener.
"Tell all you know."
"At the spring on the little island the seamen filled their water-butts;
this kept them several days, mixing labor with skylarking, during which
time one of them picked up something, a pouch marked with a name."
"Which was--?"
Mr. Gillett leaned forward, spoke softly; Lord Ronsdale stared straight
ahead. "Of course," he said, "of course!"
"This, I will confess, startled, puzzled me," continued the police agent
after a pause. "What did it mean? I tried to explain it in a dozen
different ways but none of them seemed exactly to fit. Then it was that
the line of special investigation helped. John Steele's outing to which
you directed my attention was passed on the continent. What did he do
there; was it business; was it pleasure took him there? After a good
deal of pains, we discovered that he visited a certain large building,
centrally located. This proved a starting-point; why did he go there? At
the top was a studio; from the concierge we learned that he had asked
for the artist. From the artist we ascertained that John Steele had
bought a picture; that he had called several times to watch the painter
at his work. So far, so good, or bad! For was it likely John Steele had
come to Paris to buy a bit of canvas, or was his interest in art assumed
to cover his real purpose? When he left the studio, did he, without the
knowledge of the concierge, call on some one else in the building?
"This thought led to an inspection of the tenants. They proved of all
sorts and kinds; the place was a beehive; hundreds of people entered and
left every day. At this time I happened on an item in a periodical about
some remarkable work in a certain line by a high-class medical
specialist. Here is the paragraph."
Lord Ronsdale took the slip of paper the other handed him and briefly
looked at it. "You visited this person?"
"Yes, as his office address was mentioned as being in the large building
we were interested in. But at the moment I had no suspicion that John
Steele's pilgrimage to Paris could have been for the purpose of
consulting,--"
"An eminent specialist in the line of removing birth-marks," glancing at
the slip of paper, "or other disfigurements--"
"Such as I described to your lordship from the book that day in the
office," murmured the police agent.
For some moments both were again silent; only the sounds of the wind and
the rain, mingled with monotonous creakings, broke the stillness.
"You say this shipwrecked man was like a Greek statue, half clothed in
rags. Perhaps then," slowly, "since he was only half-clothed the
rescuers might have noticed--"
"I sought them at once," with sudden eagerness, "to verify what your
lordship suggests, and I have their full corroboration; what the
evidence of their eyes told them, that the rescued man bore on his arm
the exact markings described in my book."
"A coincidence not easily accounted for." The speaker's tones had a
rasping sound. "And now--"
"One question, my Lord. He is discerning--knows that you--"
"Knows? Yes; he found that out one day in Hyde Park, never mind how;
about the same time I, too, learned something."
"And yet he deliberately comes down here, dares to leave London where at
least his chances are better for--but why? It is unreasonable; I don't
understand."
"Why?" Lord Ronsdale's smile was not agreeable. "When does a man become
illogical, stray from the path good reasoning should keep him in? When
does he accept chances, however desperate?"
"When?" The police agent's tones expressed vague wonder. "Why,
when--there is a woman in the case!" suddenly.
"A woman, or a girl."
"Your lordship means--"
"One who is beautiful enough to enmesh any man's fancy," he spoke as to
himself, "whose golden hair is a web to draw lovers like the fleece of
old; whose eyes like the sunny heavens tempt them to bask in their
light."
The words were mocking yet seemed to force themselves from his lips.
"When you add that she has high position; is as opulent in the world's
goods as she is rich in personal--" abruptly he paused. "But this is
irrelevant," he added almost angrily. "Is there anything else you have
to tell me?"
"Only one thing, and it may have no bearing on the case; some one who
has not been seen in these parts in years, the red-headed son of the
landlady where the Gerard murder occurred has been back in London,
and--Steele's been looking for him. For what purpose, I don't know." The
nobleman moved quickly. "But he hasn't found him--yet; apparently the
fellow took alarm, knowing the police agent might want him, and vanished
again."
Lord Ronsdale moistened his lips; then got up, walked back and forth. A
brisker gust, without, and the tin symbol of the Golden Lion over the
entrance to the inn swung with a harsh rattle almost around the bar that
held it. The nobleman stopped short; from the dim corner where he stood
his eyes gleamed with animal brightness.
"And now?" suggested Mr. Gillett. "Your lordship of course knows what
this means, if your lordship uses the weapons you have in your hands?
The penalty for one transported returning to England is--"
"I know," interrupted the other. "He has, however, dared to come back,
to incur that risk. Any plea he could hope to make," Lord Ronsdale spoke
with studied deliberation, "to justify the act, he could
not--substantiate." The speaker lingered on the word then went on more
crisply. "He stands in the position of a person who has broken one of
the most exacting laws of the realm and one which has on all occasions
been rigorously enforced. He has presumed to trespass in the highest
circles, to mingle with people of rank, our gentry, our ladies--"
"Then your lordship will--"
"I have made my plans. And--I intend to act."
"Where?"
"Here."
"But would it not be better to wait until he returns to London, my
Lord?"
"And give him more time to--" he broke off. "We act here, at once!"
Lord Ronsdale again seated himself; his face had regained its hard mask;
he motioned the other man to draw his chair closer. "I'll tell you how
to proceed."
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