"He will have the entire management of everything, therefore it will be
difficult to know what goes on, or how much he puts into his own
pocket."
"But whatever could possess Blair to insert such a mad clause as that?
Didn't you point out the folly of it?"
"I did."
"And what did he say?"
"He reflected a few moments over my words, sighed, and then answered,
`It is imperative, Leighton. I have no other alternative.' Therefore
from that I took it that he was acting under compulsion."
"You believe that this foreigner was in a position to demand it--eh?"
The solicitor nodded. He evidently was of opinion that the reason of
the introduction of this unknown person into Mabel's household was a
secret one, known only to Burton Blair and to the individual himself.
It was curious, I reflected, that Mabel herself had not mentioned it to
me. Yet perhaps she had hesitated, because I had told her of my promise
to her father, and she did not wish to hurt my feelings. The whole
situation became hourly more complicated and more mysterious.
I was, however, bent upon accomplishing two things; first, to recover
the millionaire's most precious possession which he had bequeathed to
me, together with such an extraordinary injunction to recollect that
doggerel couplet which still ran in my head; and secondly, to make
private inquiries regarding this unknown foreigner who had so suddenly
become introduced into the affair.
That same evening at six o'clock, having met Reggie by appointment at
Mr. Leighton's office, we all three drove to Scotland Yard, where we had
a long consultation with one of the head officials, to whom we explained
the circumstances and our suspicions of foul play.
"Well," he replied at length, "of course I will institute inquiries in
Manchester and elsewhere, but as the medical evidence has proved so
conclusively that the gentleman in question died from natural causes, I
cannot hold out very much hope that out Department or the Manchester
Detective Department can assist you. The grounds you have for supposing
that he met with foul play are very vague, you must admit, and as far as
I can see, the only motive at all was the theft of this paper, or
whatever it was, which he carried upon him. Yet men are not usually
killed in broad daylight in order to commit a theft which any expert
pickpocket might effect. Besides, if his enemies or rivals knew what it
was and how he was in the habit of carrying it, they could easily have
secured it without assassination."
"But he was in possession of some secret," remarked the solicitor.
"Of what character?"
"I have unfortunately no idea. Nobody knows. All that we are aware is
that its possession raised him from poverty to affluence, and that one
person, if not more, was eager to obtain possession of it."
"Naturally," remarked the grey-haired Assistant-Director of Criminal
Investigations. "But who was this person?"
"Unfortunately I do not know. My client told me this a year ago, but
mentioned no name."
"Then you have no suspicion whatever of any one?"
"None. The little bag of wash leather, inside which the document was
sewn, has been stolen, and this fact arouses our suspicion of foul
play." The hide-bound official shook his head very dubiously.
"That is not enough upon which to base a suspicion of murder, especially
as we have had all the evidence at the inquest, a post-mortem and a
unanimous verdict of the coroner's jury. No, gentlemen," he added, "I
don't see any ground for really grave suspicion. The document may not
have been stolen after all. Mr. Blair seems to have been of a somewhat
eccentric disposition, like many men who suddenly rise in the world, and
he may have hidden it away for safe-keeping somewhere. To me, this
seems by far the most likely theory, especially as he had expressed a
fear that his enemies sought to gain possession of it."
"But surely, if there is suspicion of murder, it is the duty of the
police to investigate it!" I exclaimed resentfully.
"Granted. But where is the suspicion? Neither doctors, coroner, local
police nor jury entertain the slightest doubt that he died from natural
causes," he argued. "In that case the Manchester police have neither
right nor necessity to interfere."
"But there has been a theft."
"What proof have you of it?" he asked, raising his grey eyebrows and
tapping the table with his pen. "If you can show me that a theft has
been committed, then I will put in motion the various influences at my
command. On the contrary, you merely suspect that this something sewn
in a bag has been stolen. Yet it may be hidden in some place difficult
to find, but nevertheless in safety. As, however, you all three allege
that the unfortunate gentleman was assassinated in order to gain
possession of this mysterious little packet of which he was so careful,
I will communicate with the Manchester City police and ask them to make
what inquiries they can. Further than that, gentlemen," he added
suavely, "I fear that my Department cannot assist you."
"Then all I have to reply," remarked Mr. Leighton, bluntly, "is that the
public opinion of the futility of this branch of the police in the
detection of crime is fully justified, and I shall not fail to see that
public attention is called to the matter through the Press. It's simply
a disgrace."
"I'm only acting, sir, upon my instructions, conjointly with what you
have yourself told me," was his answer. "I assure you that if I ordered
inquiries to be made in every case in which persons are alleged to have
been murdered, I should require a detective force as large as the
British Army. Why, not a day passes without I receive dozens of secret
callers and anonymous letters all alleging assassination--generally
against some person towards whom they entertain a dislike. Eighteen
years as head of this Department, however, has, I think, taught me how
to distinguish a case for inquiry--which yours is not."
Argument proved futile. The official mind was made up that Burton Blair
had not fallen a victim to foul play, therefore we could hope for no
assistance. So with our dissatisfaction rather plainly marked, we rose
and went out again into Whitehall.
"It's a scandal!" Reggie declared angrily. "Poor Blair has been
murdered--everything points to it--and yet the police won't lift a
finger to assist us to reveal the truth, just because a doctor
discovered that he had a weak heart. It's placing a premium on crime,"
he added, his fist clenched savagely. "I'll relate the whole thing to
my friend Mills, the Member for West Derbyshire, and get him to ask a
question in the House. We'll see what this new Home Secretary says to
it! It'll be a nasty pill for him, I'll wager."
"Oh, he'll have some typewritten official excuse ready, never fear,"
laughed Leighton. "If they won't help us, we must make inquiries for
ourselves."
The solicitor parted from us in Trafalgar Square, arranging to meet us
at Grosvenor Square after the funeral, when the will would be formally
read before the dead man's daughter and her companion, Mrs. Percival.
"And then," he added, "we shall have to take some active steps to
discover this mysterious person who is in future to control her
fortune."
"I'll undertake the inquiries," I said. "Fortunately I speak Italian,
therefore, before we give him notice of Blair's death. I'll go out to
Florence and ascertain who and what he is." Truth to tell, I had a
suspicion that the letter which I had secured from the dead man's
blotting book, and which I had kept secretly to myself, had been written
by this unknown individual--Paolo Melandrini. Although it bore neither
address nor signature, and was in a heavy and rather uneducated hand, it
was evidently the letter of a Tuscan, for I detected in it certain
phonetic spelling which was purely Florentine. Translated, the strange
communication read as follows:--
"Your letter reached me only this morning. The Ceco (blind man) is in
Paris, on his way to London. The girl is with him, and they evidently
know something. So be very careful. He and his ingenious friends will
probably try and trick you.
"I am still at my post, but the water has risen three metres on account
of the heavy rains. Nevertheless, farming has been good, so I shall
expect to meet you at vespers in San Frediano on the evening of the 6th
of next month. I have something most important to tell you. Recollect
that the Ceco means mischief, and act accordingly. _Addio_."
Times without number I carefully translated the curious missive word for
word. It seemed full of hidden meaning.
What seemed most probable was that the person known as the "blind man,"
who was Blair's enemy, had actually been successful in gaining
possession of that precious little sachet of chamois leather that was
now mine by right, together with the mysterious secret it contained.