That evening, when I returned to Bolton Street, I found Eric awaiting
me.
Unseen, he had followed Winsloe to various places during the afternoon,
but his movements were in no way suspicious. At Harker's Hotel he had,
it appeared, lost all trace of Sybil, and had probably employed a
private detective to watch my movements.
The adjourned inquest had been held at Midhurst, for in the _Globe_
there appeared a four-line paragraph saying that in the case of an
unknown man found shot in Charlton Wood, a verdict of wilful murder had
been returned, and the matter had been left in the hands of the police.
A village tragedy attracts but little notice in London, and all the
papers dismissed it in a paragraph of practically the same wording.
That night we dined with two friends at the Trocadero, and next morning
I set forth again upon my inquiries, leaving Eric to act as he thought
best. My only promise to him was not to go near my pseudo wife.
My first visit was to the pawnbroker's in the Fulham Road, to whom I
presented the vouchers I had found upon the dead man, and received on
redeeming them a cheap silver Geneva watch and heavy antique gold ring,
in which a single ruby was set.
"You don't recollect the gentleman who pledged these, I suppose?" I
asked of the assistant.
The young man, a smart, shrewd fellow, reflected a moment, and
answered,--
"Well, yes, I do remember something of him. We had an argument about
the ring. He wanted five pounds on it, and I wouldn't give it."
"What kind of fellow was he?" I asked, explaining that I had bought the
tickets from a third person.
"Oh, youngish--with a short brown beard. Evidently a gentleman who was
hard up. We get lots of them in here."
A brown beard! Had he shaved and disguised himself before his interview
with Tibbie?
"Tall?" I asked.
"No. Not very."
The description did not answer to that of the dead unknown.
"A stranger?"
"Quite. I'd never seen him before. But the truth is I recollect him
because that ruby there is a valuable one. I had my doubts at the
moment as to its genuineness, and as there were a lot of people waiting
I had no time to examine it. So I lent him only a couple o' quid on
it."
"Then it's worth more?"
"Yes. If you bought the ticket cheap you've got a bargain. The guv'nor
here would give you eighty quid for it, and be pleased."
I looked at it, and saw that it was a very fine stone. To me it seemed
evident that the man who had pawned the watch and ring was not the man
who had lost his life in Charlton Wood.
"You think he was a gentleman?"
"Well, he spoke like one, and seemed very much afraid of being seen. He
hesitated when I asked him his name, so I wrote down the usual one--
Green."
"And the address?"
"I put that in also."
So finding I could discover nothing further, I carried away both watch
and ring to add to the strange collection of objects which the dead
man's pockets had contained.
Close to the corner of Park Lane I came face to face with Winsloe,
dressed sprucely as usual in silk hat and frock coat, and he at once
stopped and offered me his hand. Then, after greeting me, he turned on
his heel and walked by my side, saying,--
"I'm just strolling back to the Burlington. I'll come with you."
"You left the Scarcliffs earlier than you expected, didn't you?" I
remarked.
"Yes. I had some business in town," was his brief response.
"I see from the papers that they've discovered nothing regarding that
affair in Charlton Wood."
"No," he remarked in a mechanical tone. "And I don't expect they ever
will. The assassin, whoever he was, got away without leaving a trace,"
and then he cleverly diverted our conversation into a different channel.
I feared to discuss it further. The man was Sybil's enemy, and
therefore mine. He evidently knew that we had met on that evening of
her arrival in London, and was actively at work to trace her.
Indeed, when I afterwards reflected, I saw that in all probability he
had watched me that morning, and had purposely encountered me.
To each other we were outwardly still extremely friendly. Indeed I
invited him to my rooms that evening to smoke, and he accepted, for he
had a motive in so doing, while I, on my part, had resolved to watch him
carefully.
I lunched at the Bachelors', and though anxious to go and see Sybil, I
was compelled to content myself with sending her a telegram, saying that
I had been ordered by my foreman to go up to Manchester in connection
with some new linotype machinery, and must therefore be absent two or
three days. I sent the message so that she might show it to Mrs
Williams.
Soon after four o'clock I set forth upon another expedition, namely, by
train from Victoria to Upper Sydenham Station. The autumn dusk was
falling when I turned into Sydenham Hill, the wide winding road of large
detached houses leading from Forest Hill up to the Crystal Palace.
Essentially the residence of the wealthy City man, and an eminently
respectable district, the houses stand in their own grounds with big old
trees around, commanding fine views of South London. I was in search of
Keymer, and being directed by a postman, found it a little way higher up
than the turning known as Rock Hill, a large old-fashioned red brick
place, with fine old elms standing in the grounds. An oak fence divided
it from the footway, and as I passed I saw that the pink-shaded electric
lamps in the drawing-room were alight, while at the grand piano was
sitting a neat female figure in black.
A servant in a smart French cap was letting down the Venetian blinds,
and as I watched through the gate I saw that the lady had stopped
playing and turned upon the stool to speak to her.
At the same instant the figure of a man stole across the room, a tall,
shadowy figure, and came up behind the woman, causing her to start from
her seat, while at that moment the blind was lowered, and the artistic
interior was suddenly shut out from my view.
One thing caused me to remain there in wonder. Perhaps my eyes had
deceived me, but I could not help thinking that when that vague male
figure crossed the room the woman started up with a look of terror.
From where I stood I could not see distinctly, yet I felt certain that
the person who had entered was unwelcome and unexpected.
The other blinds had already been lowered, for it was now nearly dark,
and beneath the wide portico a light shone above the door. The grounds
were well kept, and the greenhouse beside the drawing-room showed
careful attention, while on the gravelled drive were the wheel-marks of
carriages. Mr John Parham was evidently well off, in all probability a
City man, like most of his neighbours. I sauntered past, wondering by
what means I could ascertain something about him.
The doleful sound of the muffin-bell rang in the distance, and far up
the road I saw the lamplighter going his round, the street lamps
springing up from the darkness at regular intervals. I went towards
him, and stopping him, made inquiries regarding the tenant of Keymer.
"'E's a very nice gentleman, sir," replied the man. "Always gives good
Christmas-boxes."
"Married?"
"Yes, sir. But 'e has no children. They keep a carriage--one o' them
there open ones."
"Now I want to know something about him," I said, slipping a coin into
the man's hand. "Do you happen to know anybody who could tell me?"
The man looked at me suspiciously, and asked,--"Pardon me, sir, but
you're a detective, p'r'aps?"
"No," I laughed. "Not at all. It is merely private curiosity--over--
well, over a little matter of business. I'm a business man--not a
policeman."
"Well," he said, "there's 'Arry Laking, what keeps the gate of the
Crystal Palace grounds in Palace Park Road. 'E's their cook's brother.
'E'd tell you something, for 'e often goes there when the family are
out."
"Where's Palace Park Road?"
"Go up to the front of the Palace and keep round to the left till you
come to the gate. It's almost the other side of the grounds."
I acted upon his suggestion, and after walking some distance I came to
the turnstile in the wall dividing the Palace grounds from the road, and
there I found a middle-aged man in uniform idling over the evening
paper, for that gate was little used, save by season-ticket holders.
On inquiry I discovered that he was the man of whom I was in search, and
after a little judicious greasing of the palm I induced him to tell me
what he knew of his sister's master and mistress.
"Mr Parham is a wholesale jeweller in the city," he said. "He often
goes abroad for weeks at a time to buy. His wife is young, but Annie
tells me she leads a very lonely life. They're a wealthy, but an
unhappy pair, that's my opinion. Yet they know all the best people in
Sydenham, and Mr Parham gives grand at-homes and dinner-parties."
"She's unhappy, you say," I ventured, recollecting the curious scene I
had witnessed at the instant of lowering the blinds.
"Yes. Annie has overheard their quarrels. The master, she says, has
such a hold over the mistress that she dare not call her soul her own.
There was a scene between them about three weeks ago. They quarrelled
at the dinner-table, and Mrs Parham left the room, went upstairs, wrote
a letter and tried to commit suicide by drinking some sublimate. Her
maid got hold of the letter, and then succeeded in saving her mistress's
life, for fortunately the solution wasn't strong enough. But it made
her very ill, and she was in bed a week, while her husband took himself
off, and never inquired after her. The servants all pity poor little
Mrs Parham, and say that her husband's a brute to her. There was
another terrible row once, when her brother called and overheard Mr
Parham threaten her in the next room. They say that the two men came to
blows, and that he gave Parham a thorough good hiding, which he richly
deserved. Mrs Parham's brother is not a fellow to be trifled with,
they say, for Parham had to plead for his life. Afterwards, the beaten
dog vowed vengeance, and the poor wife had a terrible time of it."
"A rather unhappy household," I remarked.
"Very. Annie tells me a lot. She wouldn't stay there--nor would any of
the servants--only the wages are so good."
I saw that the man knew more than he cared to divulge. He was no friend
of Parham's, and was certainly on the side of the ill-used wife.
"Is Parham young or old?"
"Not very old--fat, fairish, rather bald, with a round face and a long
nose. Mrs Parham is quite young, about twenty-six, and people call her
good-lookin', but myself I'm no judge o' women. I've my missus, and
she's the best-lookin' of 'em all in my eyes. Of course, Mrs Parham
dresses smartly, and drives in a fine carriage. She comes to the
Saturday concerts sometimes."
"You don't like Parham," I said. "Come, tell the truth."
"No, I don't," he declared, after a slight hesitation. "He's a wrong
'un--I know that. Only, of course, that's strictly between you and me,"
he added in confidence.
"I'd like to know your sister," I said, quite frankly. "I'll make it
worth her while if she'll ask me in and let me see the house. She might
do it when her mistress is out."
He shook his head dubiously.
"I don't think she'd let a stranger see inside, sir."
"Well, there's no harm in trying. Will you take me and introduce me?"
I asked. "Take me this evening. When do you go off duty?"
"In about half an hour."
"Then we'll walk down there and call," I suggested. "Here's my card,"
and I handed him the card of a barrister friend of mine which bore an
address in the Temple.
He hesitated, but when he found another half-sovereign in his palm he
consented, not, however, without a good deal of curiosity as to my real
object.
What he had told me regarding the Parhams, in addition to that strange
scene I had witnessed from the roadway, aroused my suspicion. I somehow
felt confident that there was some connection between this man who
ill-treated his wife so brutally and the unfortunate victim of the
tragedy in rural Sussex I waited in a neighbouring bar until Laking came
off duty, and then we walked together down Sydenham Hill to the house
called Keymer.
My companion entered by the tradesmen's lych-gate, and going up to the
kitchen door, rapped at it, whereupon a big buxom woman in an apron
opened it, and recognising him, gasped,--
"Oh! 'Arry, I'm so glad you've come! They told you about it, I
suppose?"
"About what? I don't know anything," he replied, surprised at her
white, scared face and the terrified look of one of the maids who stood
behind her.
"Then go into the drawin'-room and look! It's awful. There's a curse
on this 'ouse. Go and see for yourself."
Startled, he hurried quickly through the kitchen and along the big,
well-furnished hall, I following closely behind him, eager and
bewildered.
And what we saw was amazing.