Gimblet was late for the inquest, which had been fixed for two o'clock.
By the time he arrived the evidence of Higgs and the policeman he had
fetched, and that of Brampton, the artist, and the house agents' clerk
had been already taken, and there only remained his own and the doctor's
to be heard.
Nothing new was brought to light, and the jury returned a verdict of
"Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown."
Gimblet did not judge it expedient to disclose the theories he had
formed on the subject of the crime. As he walked away from the house in
the company of Jennins, whom he had found there when he arrived, the
inspector said to him:
"An old-clothes dealer in Victoria Street has communicated with us. They
have bought what they think, from the published description, to be the
dresses and cloaks worn by Mrs. Vanderstein and Miss Turner on Monday
night. I am going to get that French maid of theirs to go down to the
place with me and see if the people are right in their assumption. They
say they bought the things from a young woman who gave an address in
Pimlico and the name of Julie Querterot. Can she be the Madame Q. of the
note? If she is, it is strange that she should not give a false name;
but everything about this case is mysterious."
"It is not she," said Gimblet, "it was her mother. I have just been
to their house and seen her. As for mysteries, there is only one left
as far as I am concerned, and that is the whereabouts of West, and the
question whether he has not by this time exchanged his disguise of a
black beard for another in which it will be harder to identify him.
Everything else, I think, is quite clear, with the exception of a few
trifling details, and I do not think it will be long before we may hope
to lay our hands on Mr. West himself."
Gimblet refused, however, to impart his lately acquired information to
Jennins, telling him, much to the inspector's disgust, that he would
know all about it soon enough.
"And a tangled web you'll find it, Jennins," said he.
They were interrupted by a messenger, who informed Jennins that Miss
Turner was conscious and anxious to make a statement.
Gimblet and the inspector went together to the hospital, where they
found Barbara looking very much better than the day before. She was
recovering wonderfully, they were told, but must not excite herself more
than could be avoided. Indeed, she would not have been allowed to see
them yet, if she had not been fretting so much to tell her story that it
was thought best to let her do it. She must not, however, be made aware
of the death of her friend if it were possible to conceal it from her
for the next few days.
She greeted the two men with a feeble smile. "I hear that I was rescued
by one of your men," she said to Jennins, "and I am more grateful to him
than I can say, though I do not remember very much after I realised that
that man was trying to tie his spade round my neck."
"It's lucky you were seen in time," replied Jennins. "We don't want to
bother you to-day, but at the same time we are, of course, anxious to
hear anything you can tell us about the scoundrel you were with."
"Oh, I want to tell you all about it so that you may be able to catch
him--and the woman too. I suppose you haven't got them yet?"
Jennins shook his head.
"I thought perhaps Mrs. Vanderstein had been able to put you on the
track. How glad I am that she escaped. I was afraid--but no matter now.
Has she told you how she managed to get away?"
"Mrs. Vanderstein went abroad immediately," said Gimblet evasively;
"we have not heard any details from her yet. But will you not tell us
your adventures from the beginning? How was it you found yourselves in
Scholefield Avenue?"
Barbara looked at him blankly. "Scholefield Avenue," she repeated,
"where is that?"
"The house in which you were imprisoned is there," said Gimblet; "have
you forgotten? You went there with Mrs. Vanderstein on Monday night
after the opera. I want you to tell us why you went to it."
"I didn't know where it was," said Barbara, "but I don't think I can
tell you why we went. I don't think Mrs. Vanderstein would like me to do
that."
"As you wish," replied Gimblet; "but this will show you that I already
know something of your friend's private affairs." He took out the sheet
of notepaper bearing the arms of Targona, and handed it to her.
"She gave you this!" cried the girl, and as Gimblet remained silent:
"Then she cannot mind my speaking of it. Yes, it is true that we went to
that house to meet Prince Felipe, but I don't know if he came there or
not."
"No, he did not go."
"Then the whole thing was false! I thought so at the beginning,
but afterwards I was not sure. It was on Monday morning that Mrs.
Vanderstein spoke to me about it. For a week she had been looking
strange: excited, pleased--I don't know what exactly--happier, younger,
somehow different from her usual look. And on Monday she came to my room
and told me, blushing and smiling, that it was her happiness to be loved
by Prince Felipe of Targona, and that in all probability she was going
to marry him. They had only seen each other in the distance, she said,
but it had been love at first sight for both of them, and she was so
happy, so happy! And wouldn't I say I was glad? I asked her how she knew
what he felt for her, if they had never met, and she said she had had
letters from him and had written to him herself, and that she was going
to meet him that very night after the opera, at the house of a friend
of his. She said they could not meet in public, or at his hotel, or in
her own home, as he was surrounded by his suite, and his mother, who was
also with him, watched his every movement, so that all his comings and
goings were seen and marked.
"They were staying at Fianti's Hotel just opposite to us in Grosvenor
Street, you know, so it would have been rather difficult for the Prince
to come to our house without being noticed. It was intended that he
should marry for political reasons, and at any sign of his affections
being bestowed on a private individual an outcry would have been raised,
which would have been hard to ignore. It was Prince Felipe's plan, so
Mrs. Vanderstein told me, that they should be married quietly and that
he should then abdicate; to which less objection would be made when it
was known that he was irretrievably disposed of from a matrimonial point
of view. The whole story appeared to me so improbable and fantastic that
I couldn't help laughing at it, which offended my friend very much, and
in order to convince me she finally showed me some of the Prince's
letters, including the one you have there. I could not doubt any longer
after I had seen them, though I was surprised and, I must say, shocked
to hear that the go-between in the affair and the bearer of all the
notes was a Frenchwoman, a hairdresser employed by Mrs. Vanderstein, and
also, it seemed, by one of the suite of Prince Felipe.
"When I heard that Mrs. Vanderstein had no idea where the house to which
she was to go that night was situated, but had left all details to
Madame Querterot and the Prince, I tried to convince her of the folly of
such an arrangement, but nothing I could say had any effect. At last I
told her that I should accompany her on this escapade; and, though she
didn't like the idea and even grew quite angry with me about it, I stuck
to my point, and was so firm on the subject that in the end she gave in
and said I could come if I liked. It was, all the same, with serious
misgivings that I set forth with her that evening for Covent Garden,
where we were first to attend the gala performance. We had hardly
entered the theatre when Mrs. Vanderstein told me to run back and tell
the motor not to come to fetch us. We were to go away in a carriage sent
by the Prince, she said.
"I was too much worried to enjoy the opera. I don't know whether Mrs.
Vanderstein did or not, but she kept looking at her watch and fidgeting,
so I think her thoughts were elsewhere. Before the last act was nearly
over we left the box and went down into the hall, which was nearly
empty, and told a man to call Mr. Targon's carriage, for so it appeared
the Prince was to be alluded to on this occasion. In a few minutes a
brougham drove up, drawn by a dun coloured horse, which dished badly and
had an odd white blaze across its nose and one eye. I noticed, too, that
it was driven by a very odd-looking man, who wore a hat much too large
for him crammed down over his eyes and a great scarf wrapped round his
neck and high over his chin and ears; though even so I could see that he
wore a beard, which is, to say the least of it, unusual in a coachman."
"One moment," Jennins interrupted; "do you think you could recognise the
horse, Miss Turner, if you should see him again?"
"I am nearly sure I should," Barbara replied. "There can't be many with
a blaze like that. I am more sure of it than I am of the driver. He
drove very badly," she went on, "pulling up under the arch with a jerk
and throwing up his hands, each of which clutched at a rein, nearly
over his head. 'Surely there is some mistake,' I said. 'Are you from
Mr. Targon?' 'I am from Mr. Targon,' he answered hoarsely, 'but I think
there is a mistake, as you say; I was to fetch one lady, not two.' 'Oh,
that's all right,' said Mrs. Vanderstein hurriedly. 'Jump in, Barbara.'
And she got into the brougham herself, so that I had no choice but to
follow her, and we drove off.
"Oh dear, how badly that man drove! Luckily there was hardly any traffic
about, but we bumped into three things before we got to the top of
Regent Street, and went over the curb at the corners I don't know how
often. Once the carriage stopped and the driver leant down and called
through the window that he had orders to fetch one lady, and that I
must get out. This I absolutely refused to do, and by this time Mrs.
Vanderstein was so much alarmed by the reckless way in which he drove
that I don't think she would have allowed me to leave her even if I had
wished to do so. After a heated dispute a small crowd began to gather
round us, and the coachman seeing, I fancy, the shadow of an approaching
policeman, suddenly abandoned the contest, and whipping up his horse we
lurched forward again as the animal started with a bound.
"It was a long drive, and towards the end of it I lost all notion of
direction and had no idea where we were going. At last, with a final
bump and jolt, we drove in at the gate of a little house, which seemed
to stand back from the road in a tiny garden, and pulled up with a jerk
before a flight of steps, at the top of which a door was flung open
the moment we stopped, and I recognised the figure of Madame Querterot
standing back from it in the half light of the passage.
"We got out, and Mrs. Vanderstein, who is timid driving at any time,
began to abuse the man in a very angry tone. She had been thoroughly
frightened, poor dear, and had sat holding my hand with a white face
all the way, as I could see from time to time in the light of a passing
lamp. 'What do you mean by driving like that?' she called out from
the pavement. 'I think you are drunk. A nice thing, indeed. I shall
complain of you, do not fear. It is most disgraceful to be in such a
state. Never, never have I been driven like that! It is a wonder we
were not all killed!' The man flicked at the horse and drove away, but
Mrs. Vanderstein was so angry with him that she actually made as if to
follow. She only went a step or two, however, and then with a laugh
turned back, and we went up the steps, into the house.
"We were received by Madame Querterot, looking, I must say, more tidy
than usual, in a neat black dress and a large apron, put on, I suppose,
in keeping with her part of parlourmaid. I was struck by the strange
expression on her face when she first caught sight of me, and she
murmured something to the effect that Mrs. Vanderstein had promised to
come alone; but my friend, who was still flushed from her encounter
with the coachman, did not answer her at all and marched on with her
chin in the air. Madame Querterot recovered her usual amiability in a
moment, and with many smiles and blandishments conducted us up to the
drawing-room, where she left us, saying that His Highness had not yet
arrived.
"There we waited for what seemed a long time; twenty minutes perhaps, or
half an hour. My friend was very nervous and could not sit still, but
walked up and down, up and down, restlessly, the whole time. Now she
would plump down on a sofa and arrange herself in a graceful attitude;
a minute later she would jump to her feet and run to the looking-glass
to pat her curls into place, or dab her nose with powder. 'How do I
look?' she asked me more than once, and hardly seemed to hear me when I
answered her.
"At last there was a slight noise downstairs; the front door shut, and
I could catch the mumble of voices talking low. After what seemed again
an interminable delay the door opened and Madame Querterot came in. 'If
Mademoiselle will come with me into another room for a short time,' said
she. 'His Highness has just arrived.' I only hesitated a second. There
was such an imploring look in Mrs. Vanderstein's eyes that I could not
refuse to go, much as I disapproved of the whole thing. I took her hand,
and kissed her encouragingly, and then left the room without a word; for
indeed there was something pathetic about her emotion, and I was too
much moved by it myself to trust my voice.
"Madame Querterot led me down to a small back room that seemed to be
a library, and left me, shutting the door behind her. I heard feet
ascending the stairs, the drawing-room door open and shut, and then all
was still for a moment.
"Suddenly, however, there came a noise from above. Something seemed
to have been knocked over, then came a sound of running footsteps and
finally a dragging noise as if a heavy object were being pulled across
the floor overhead. I started up in alarm. What was happening upstairs?
Surely there was something wrong! Without waiting to think, I rushed
into the hall and tore upstairs and in at the drawing-room door. I
found myself confronted by a tall man with a thick black beard and a
pale, blotchy face. Behind him at the further end of the room I caught
a glimpse of Mrs. Vanderstein, apparently lying on a sofa, and Madame
Querterot bending over her. 'What is it. Is she ill?' I cried. 'Take her
away, take her away,' exclaimed Madame Querterot, looking up over her
shoulder, and before I had time to speak again I was hustled out of the
room by the tall man and dragged downstairs again to the library. I was
so infuriated at his daring to touch me that I could scarcely speak, but
I managed to stammer again: 'Is she ill? Is Mrs. Vanderstein ill?' 'She
is not feeling quite well,' he replied, 'she will be best without you.'
"I looked at him curiously. I had seen Prince Felipe, and this was not
he. Indeed I thought I recognised the driver of the brougham. He was
a strange-looking man, dressed in ordinary day clothes, and I noticed
with astonishment that he wore thick brown leather gloves on both hands.
'I think she will be better with me,' I said defiantly, and advanced
towards the door, but he barred the way. 'You must stay here,' he said.
'Must!' I said; 'what do you mean? Let me go this instant.' He didn't
answer, but just stood with his back to the door, grinning in a foolish
way. 'Let me out, let me out,' I exclaimed, on the point of tears by
this time, I am afraid. 'Let me out or--or--I'll set fire to the house!'
"I caught up my scarf and held it towards the gas, but the man leapt
forward and, before I knew what he was doing, had turned out the flame
altogether, leaving us in the dark. As I still stood, bewildered, I
heard the door open and in an instant he had vanished through it and the
key was turned in the lock outside.
"This was followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and in the
silence that succeeded it is no exaggeration to say that the noise of
my pulses throbbing in my ears sounded as loud as the tramp of a whole
army on the march. I felt my way to a chair, and for a time sat in a
trembling silence, shaken and unstrung by terror the most unnerving, if
of the vaguest nature.
"Why would they not let me go to Mrs. Vanderstein if she was ill? What
was the matter with her? Why had Madame Querterot looked as she did when
she saw me on the doorstep? What was she doing, kneeling by the sofa?
And, above all, what was the meaning of the man's behaviour to me? It
was, I think, the touch of his hand, as he dragged me downstairs, that
took away my courage altogether.
"I sat for a long while, immovable in the darkness. From time to time
sounds came from the room above, but they did not convey any meaning to
me. At last I grew calmer, and indignation began to take the place of
my fears. I got up and moved about the room, feeling my way as I went.
In this manner I soon had an idea of the position and character of the
furniture, even of the fire-place and the coal scuttle; and I must have
blacked my fingers nicely in the process. I had a wild notion that it
might be useful to me to know where the poker was, though I had no
definite idea what I would do with it. Still, in one way or another I
was determined to escape from this imprisonment. What did they mean by
shutting me in this room? They must, they should, let me out!
"I began to cry for help. I felt my way to the door and beat against it
with my hands, but no answer came. Then I had a brilliant thought--the
room was on the ground floor, surely I could get out of the window. I
reached it and tried to open it, but it was stiff and heavy. In spite of
all my efforts I could not raise the sash. I groped for the poker again
and, standing back for fear of the splintering glass, I aimed a blow
at the place where I knew the window to be and heard with delight the
crash of a shattered pane. Even as I delivered the blow, it struck me as
curious that no light came into the room from the night outside; and,
thrusting the poker through the hole I had broken, I found to my dismay
that there were strong wooden shutters beyond it. But the noise I had
made seemed to have attracted some attention at last, for I heard a door
open and the sound of some one running down the stairs.
"A moment later the key was turned, and the door opened just enough to
let in the tall man, who shut it behind him again as soon as he was
inside. He had a little electric torch, which he turned in my direction,
so that the glare blinded me and I couldn't see him at all. 'It's no
good making all this row, Miss Turner,' he said, 'no sort of earthly,
kicking up such a shindy as a young lady like you ought to be ashamed to
raise. Besides,' he said, and now there was something in his tone that
turned me sick, 'it isn't _safe_. Do you understand? It is not _safe_.
Now, you see I don't mean you any harm or I simply shouldn't bother to
warn you. But no, I like the look of you, and I'm sorry to see you in
this house, where I tell you again it's dangerous to stay. But be a
sensible young lady and do as I tell you, and I'm blowed if I don't help
you to escape when the time comes. What do you say to that? I can't say
fairer, can I?'
"I suppose you will think me a dreadful coward, but there was something
about the man which frightened me horribly. I think it was that he
seemed to be himself in the extremity of fear. How I gathered that
impression I am not sure. It may have been the low, hurried agitation
of his voice, or the way in which his hand was shaking, so that the
light behind which he was concealed danced and wavered between us like
a will-o'-the-wisp; or perhaps it was the mere telepathic infection of
fear. At all events I was ready to agree to anything he said, and jumped
at the idea of escape. 'I'll do anything, I'll be as quiet as a mouse,'
I cried beseechingly, 'if you'll only let me go away.' 'That's right,'
he said approvingly. 'I'll help you, never fear. And to show that I
mean it,' he went on, 'here's a change of clothes for you. You'd never
escape in that white and red costume, you know.' He threw down a bundle
on the table. 'Make haste and get into these togs, and let me take away
your own things. I'll leave you the lamp to change by, but you must look
sharp, and mind you change every single thing, down to your shift.'
"So saying he put down the lamp and left the room again. No sooner was
the door shut than I caught up the lamp and ran to the window. Peering
through the glass, I tried to make out the fastening of the shutters and
to see if I could get at it by putting my arm through the broken pane;
but it was quite out of reach and I realised that I could do nothing
without smashing more glass, and I did not dare do that now. So I put
down the lamp again, and fell to changing my clothes as the man had
suggested.
"They were horrible clothes he had brought, and it made me sick to put
them on; but I felt he was right in saying that I could not escape in my
evening dress. So, though I didn't see why I should change all my under
things, I thought there might be some reason for that also, and anyhow
I think I was too much frightened not to do as I was told. It was soon
done, but not too soon, for without so much as a knock the wretch walked
in again as I was fastening the last button of the shabby coat over a
chemise so rough that my skin prickled all over. He looked at me with
some satisfaction. 'You must alter your hair,' he said; 'do it up tight
and plain, so that it won't show more than can be helped.'
"With that, he gathered up my clothes and went away, taking the lamp
with him this time, and I saw no more of him for a long while. There was
no need to twist my hair up so hurriedly, for after that was done I sat
down and waited for what seemed like days. It was terrible, waiting,
waiting, waiting in the darkness, which my fears peopled with invisible
presences, so that I found myself holding my breath lest the door handle
should turn again, and some one, or some thing, enter unheard by me. At
the thought, I got up and dragged a heavy chair across the room, where
I sat down on it with my back against the door, my anxiety to get out
quite forgotten and overwhelmed in the awful possibility of not being
certain whether or not I were alone.
"If only Mrs. Vanderstein had still been with me. But, believe me, it
was not only selfishly that I longed for her: the vision of her, ill,
and no doubt in danger equal to mine as an inmate of this dreadful
house, sat on me like a nightmare; and, if I was frightened by the peril
of my own position, I trembled still more at the danger to which my
friend might be exposed. Why was the man afraid? It was the recollection
of his terror that cowed me, so that I sat there rigid, paralysed by the
fear of I knew not what. From time to time noises broke the silence,
the noise of people moving in the room above; and presently some one
descended the stairs and approached the door against which I crouched.
"A violent trembling fit seized me and my teeth chattered so
convulsively that I could hardly hear the footsteps outside; but they
passed on, and I heard a door opened at the end of the passage. A
minute later they returned, sounding loud on the linoleum of the hall
and muffled as they went up the stairs; only to come down again in a
few moments. Over and over again this process was repeated: some one
apparently walking down the stairs, down the passage, and through a door
at the back of the house, then retracing his steps, and in a minute or
two beginning all over again. This went on, I should think, for more
than an hour, and then after an interval I heard two people come down
and go to the door; soon it was gently shut and only one pair of feet
returned.
"Presently another noise began--rather a comforting, familiar noise--the
sound of sweeping and brushing, both on the stairs and in the room
overhead. It seemed as if a housemaid were about, beginning the
morning's work, for by now I could see through a tiny space in the
shutters that it was daylight. I called out once: 'Is there anyone
there?' at which the noise of sweeping ceased, and a warning 'Hush' was
breathed at me through the keyhole, close by my ear. After a time all
these sounds stopped altogether. The sweeper passed my door again, and
again went through the door at the end of the passage. This time it was
closed with a snap of the lock, and then silence settled on the house. I
don't know how long I sat there without hearing a sound. I think I must
have dozed. I know I began to feel so stiff and tired that fear seemed
a secondary consideration, and I didn't care what happened any more.
Heaven knows how long he left me there, dozing and waking, perhaps for
hours, perhaps for days. You know more about that than I do.
"It was after what seemed like a week that the storm began. It was that
which definitely roused me from the sort of stupor into which I had
fallen, and stirred me to rack my brains again for some means of escape.
It was dreadfully hot in that little room; the atmosphere was close and
stifling till it seemed to weigh one down with an unbearable oppression,
and if it had not been for the glass I had broken--through which an
occasional breath of air penetrated by way of a crack in the shutter--I
suppose it would have been even worse than it was. From time to time I
had been conscious of the distant rumbling of thunder, and hoped dimly
that it would clear the air, for before the storm actually burst my head
was like to split; and it was with a certain relief that I heard the
first large drops of rain begin to fall. Soon afterwards there was a
tremendous clap of thunder.
"I was appallingly hungry, and wondered if I were being purposely left
to die of starvation. With a vague idea that I might find something
edible I began feeling about again around the room and considering the
possibility, if the worst came to the worst, of eating my shoes, as
I had heard of starving men being forced to do. But I was not hungry
enough for that yet, and besides I wasn't sure if the soles of my satin
slippers were of leather, or only _papier mâché_. On the table my
fingers came across a stump of pencil, and that distracted my thoughts
for a little while. I had to feel it all over before I was sure what it
was; it was the point that made me almost certain, and I began at once
to ask myself whether I could not by some means send a message to the
outside world. I could think of no way of doing so, however, and even if
I could have, I had nothing to write on. Then the idea came to me of
writing on the wall. I thought to myself that if the man meant to play
me false, at least I could leave a token of my presence, which possibly
at some future day might lead to the punishment of these people. I knew
there were pictures on the walls, and feeling my way to the fire-place I
lifted up one hanging above it, so that by inserting my hand under the
frame I could write on that part of the wallpaper which, as far as I
could tell, lay behind.
"I had only written a few words, when the key was turned and the door
opened. A rumbling of thunder had prevented my hearing the sound of
approaching feet, and I had only just time to let the picture fall back
into its place and to move a few steps away from the mantelpiece before
the black-bearded man entered the room. Fortunately, the chair I had
pushed against the door retarded its opening for a moment, or he would
have seen what I was doing. 'Come,' he said, taking hold of my arm, 'now
is the time for you to escape to a place of safety.'
"Without further words he led me into the hall, and along it to the
front door. Here we paused, while he opened it very cautiously and
peered out. For my part, I was more nervous with regard to dangers that
might lurk in the house behind us; but his inspection of the outside
world seemed to satisfy him, for picking up, to my astonishment, a large
garden spade that was leaning against the wall he opened the door wide
and we passed through it together. I cannot tell you with what feelings
of gladness and thankfulness I hastened down the steps and out into the
street, nor with what joy I felt my unrestrained feet splashing into
the puddles, and the free air of the night blow freshly on my face. We
had gone some hundreds of yards and turned more than one corner before
I dared speak. 'What has happened to my friend?' I then said; 'has
she escaped too?' 'She has gone,' he answered evasively, and still
quickened his pace till I was half running to keep up with him.
"It was wild weather to be abroad: the storm was still at its height
and the flashes of lightning and the thunder claps succeeded each
other with increasing frequency; rain was falling in torrents, the
roads and pavements were like seething rivers, and the gutters ran a
foot deep at the edge of the kerb, as I discovered by stepping into
one when we crossed the street. There was not a soul to be seen except
the black-cloaked figure of an occasional policeman, and whenever we
approached one of these my companion gripped my arm more tightly, and
wheeled away in a new direction. It was thus, with many turns and by
circuitous routes, that we progressed on our way. And, though I asked
more than once where we were going, not another word did I extract from
the black-bearded man; and I soon fell the more readily into a like
silence, as the rapid pace at which we walked left me little breath for
speech.
"In this manner, and after we had hurried along for at least half an
hour, we made our way into an enclosure, which I guessed to be Regent's
Park. The first elation caused by leaving the house where I had been
imprisoned was wearing off and I had time to ask myself whither I was
being led, receiving in reply no very comforting assurances. Was I being
taken from one place of incarceration to another? I wondered, and at the
thought I tried to shake off the hand that lay upon my arm. 'If you will
let me go now,' I said timidly, 'I shall be all right by myself. I shall
never forget that you helped me to escape, but now, if you don't mind,
I--I had rather be alone.' But I got no answer, nor did the clutch on my
arm relax. In a fresh panic I made up my mind that the next time we saw
a policeman I would scream for help.
"It was not many minutes after I had taken this decision that my
companion paused in his rapid walk; and after looking about him
doubtfully seemed to recognise some landmark in the darkness, and came
to a sudden halt. 'Can you get over these railings?' he said. We had
been following the line of an iron fence that bordered the path, and I
could feel rather than see that it reached above the height of my waist
and was ornamented with spikes. 'I think it is hardly possible,' I
replied; 'but why should I get over?' He did not answer, but seemed to
consider. 'I think I can lift you over,' he said at length, and before
I could object he had his arms around me, and with a tremendous effort
swung me up in the air and across the railings. 'Now you must help me,'
he said, holding tightly to my arm as I landed safely on the other side.
And partly by my help, partly by holding on to a tree that leant up
against the fence near by, he managed to scramble over.
"Now, by the roughness of the ground under my feet, I knew we were
on the grass, even before a flash of lightning showed me that we
had wandered away from the fence and were standing on the top of an
embankment, at the bottom of which I caught sight of a high wooden
paling. With instinctive reluctance, I hung back as my companion began
to descend the bank, tugging me in his wake. At the bottom of the
hill we came to the high wall, which we followed for a little way,
and presently stopped before an opening through which I saw the gleam
of water. 'We must get through here,' said the man. 'There's plenty
of room where these two boards have been torn off.' There was, as he
said, a gap where some planks were missing and only the cross pieces
of wood remained. 'Why should we go this way?' I asked again, full of
misgivings. 'Where are you taking me?' 'Where you will be safe,' said
he. 'Come on,' and stepping before me through the gap he dragged me
roughly after him.
"Then, for the first time, he suddenly removed the hand that all this
while had clutched me by the arm; and as I stood there, bewildered,
not knowing what to do with my freedom, the scene was lighted up by a
tremendous flash, brighter than any that had gone before, and I saw that
he was fumbling with a cord that was attached to the handle of the spade
he carried. His arms were stretched towards me, and before the light had
faded from the sky I realised that he was trying to throw the end of the
rope round my neck, passing it from one hand to the other as he did so.
"Perhaps I leapt too suddenly to a conclusion, or perhaps--as I think
more likely--my understanding was quickened by fear, but in that instant
I became as certain of his intention as though he had explained it to
me in every detail. He was going to drown me in the canal, first tying
the heavy spade to me to make sure that I should sink, never to rise
again. I screamed aloud and pushed him away with all my strength. On
that steeply sloping bank he was at a disadvantage, the rain had made it
slippery, and for a minute I frustrated his purpose. Then came another
flash, and by it the man seemed to catch sight of something behind me,
which at the same time horrified and infuriated him, for I saw his
expression change, and with a snarl of frightened rage he lifted up
the spade and hit at me with it. Somehow I managed to jump aside, but
I saw him raise it for another blow, and after that--after that--I can
remember no more."
Barbara's story was finished. It had been told slowly, and at intervals
the girl lay back with closed eyes, too weak to continue. But on any
proposal to defer her account to another day she had roused herself,
and proceeded with it resolutely till she came to the end.
The shadows had time to grow long during the telling of it, so that
when at length, after they had finally taken leave of the invalid and
issued forth once more from the doors of the hospital, the two men found
themselves again in the open air it was already dinnertime.
"Come back with me, Jennins, and have something to eat," said Gimblet,
as they walked away. "There is sure to be food of sorts ready for me at
the flat."
But Jennins was bound elsewhere.
"I'm going to have a try at hunting out that horse," he said. "Miss
Turner thinks she'd know it again and, as she says, the number of dun
coloured beasts with a decided dish and a peculiar crooked blaze of
white over the nose and one eye must be more or less limited. Then,
you remember, she thinks the driver was no other than our friend West,
and if, after he had set the ladies down in Scholefield Avenue, he was
less than half an hour in making his reappearance, one may argue that
the stables were not half a mile away from No. 13. Don't you think I am
right?"
"I think your reasoning is perfectly sound," said Gimblet. "You ought to
be able to find out something about the horse without much trouble; and
incidentally, I hope, about the driver. Let me know as soon as you have
news. For my part I will try and see if I can't get some information
about him also. In the meantime, I've eaten nothing since breakfast, and
exhausted nature calls. I'm off to get some dinner."
"I suppose," Jennins called after him, "from what you said to me this
afternoon, that you have ascertained that this Madame Querterot is
beyond our reach for the moment?"
"Yes," said Gimblet.
"And do you think the girl, her daughter, has any idea as to the woman's
whereabouts?"
"No," said Gimblet gently, "I am sure she has not."
In the flat Gimblet found a telegram awaiting him. It was from Boulogne,
and ran as follows:
"Murdered woman not my aunt Mrs. Vanderstein or anyone known to me
there is no clue to her identity.
"SIDNEY."
Gimblet crumpled it up and flung it into a waste-paper basket.
"A pity to squander five shillings," he murmured, "in telling me what I
already knew."
Then he hastened hungrily to the dining-room.
After a hearty meal he felt considerably better, and when he presently
pushed back his chair and strolled over to the open window he was ready
and eager for more work. His mind, which had been busy during the meal
with attempts to devise a plan that should bring him to closer quarters
with the person he most desired to meet, that should cause the phantom
figure of Mr. West of the black beard to materialise and become a solid
form discernible to the naked eye and capable of wearing handcuffs, had
not yet furnished him with a method by which this desirable object might
be attained.
"Surely," he said to himself, "I must be able to trace Madame
Querterot's meetings with this man. It is impossible that she can have
been on such terms of intimacy with him without some one knowing it."
He looked at his watch, helped himself to a sweet from a box which stood
on the shelf, and decided to go down to Pimlico and see if he could not
find out something more from Julie. It was half-past nine, but she was
not likely to have gone to bed yet, and he wanted a specimen of her
mother's handwriting.
He went out and took a taxi to Warwick Square, where he dismissed it,
and pursued his way on foot.
It was quite dark by now, with the soft blue darkness of summer, for
the weather had turned warm again and the sun had gone down in a clear
sky. There were plenty of people about, as it was Saturday night; many a
small coin was being carried snug in its earner's pocket that would no
longer be lying there in a couple of hours' time, and the tills of the
publicans were already flooded with the rise of the weekly tide.
As he drew near the little shop in the gloomy, sordid little street, the
door of it opened suddenly and a man came out and walked rapidly away.
After a few steps he paused; and, turning, gazed for a moment longingly
back at the window--from which a pale light shone forth, so that the
pavement beneath it was bathed in a gentle radiance--before he swung
round once more and made off up the street. It happened that, as he
stood for that instant, hesitating perhaps whether or no to return and
make a final appeal to the girl he worshipped, the light of the street
lamp fell full upon his white, haggard face; and Gimblet, with a start,
experienced the surprise of his life, as he realised that he and Bert
had met before.
Everything was clear to him now, and, with a sigh of something between
relief and regret, he abandoned his proposed visit to Julie and went
about the ordering of more important business.
* * * * *
An hour later, Albert Tremmels, clerk to Messrs. Ennidge and Pring,
house agents, was arrested in his lodgings for the murders of Mrs.
Vanderstein and Madame Querterot, and for the attempted murder of Miss
Turner.