Although the Señor Guffanta had not, as yet, in answer to many
questions put to him, been able to say positively that he was on the
immediate track of the murderer of Walter Cundall, he still continued
to inspire confidence in those by whom he was surrounded; and it had
now come to be quite accepted amongst all whom he met at Occleve House
that, although he was working darkly and mysteriously, he was in some
way nearing the object he had in view. It may have been his intense
self-confidence, the outward appearance of which he never allowed to
fail, that impressed them thus, or the stern look with which he
accompanied any words he ever uttered in connection with the assassin;
or it may have been the manner he had of making inquiries of all
descriptions of every one who had known anything of the dead man, that
led them to believe in him; but that they did believe in him there was
no doubt.
In the time he had at his disposal, after transacting any affairs he
might have to manage for the merchant who had appointed him his agent
in London, he was continually passing from one spot to another,
sometimes spending hours at Mr. Cundall's house in Grosvenor Place,
and sometimes a long period of time each day at Occleve House; but to
no one did he ever say one word indicative of either success or
failure. And, when he was alone in either of these places, his
proceedings were of a nature that, had they been witnessed by any one,
would have caused them to wonder what it was that he was seeking for.
He would study attentively every picture that was a portrait, whether
painting or engraving, and for photograph albums, of which there were
a number in both houses, he seemed to have an untiring curiosity. He
would look them over and over again, pausing occasionally a long time
over some man's face that struck him, and then would turn the leaf and
go on to another; and then, when he had, for the second or third time
exhausted one album, he would take up another, and again go through
that.
To Dobson, who was by the outside world regarded as the man who had
the whole charge of the case, the Señor's actions, and his absolute
refusal to confide in him, were almost maddening. To any question that
he asked, he received nothing but the regular answer, "Patience, my
good Dobson, patience," and with that he was obliged to be content.
For himself, he had done nothing; he was no nearer having any idea now
as to who the murderer was than he had been the morning after the deed
had been committed, and as day after day went by, he began to doubt
whether Guffanta was any nearer finding the man who was wanted than he
was.
"But if he doesn't do something pretty quick," he said to one of the
men who was supposed to be employed under him in investigating the
case, "I shall put a spoke in his wheel."
"Why, what will you do, Mr. Dobson?" his underling asked.
"I shall just go up to the Home Office, and when they ask me, as they
do regular, if I have got anything to report in connection with the
Cundall case, I shall tell them that the Señor professes to know a
good deal that he won't divulge, and ask them to have him up before
them, and make him tell what he do know."
"And suppose he won't tell, Mr. Dobson? What then?"
"Why, he'll be made to tell, that's all! It isn't right, and it isn't
fair that, if he knows anything and can't find the man himself, he
should be allowed to keep it a secret and prevent me from earning the
reward. I'll bet I'd soon find the man if I had his information--that
is, if he's really got any."
"Don't it strike you, Mr. Dobson," the other asked, "that there is
some mystery in connection with Occleve House that he knows of? What
with his having the garden locked up, and his always being about
there!"
"It did once, but I have thought it over, and I can't see how the
house can be connected with it. You see, on that night it so happened
there was no one in the house but the footmen and the women servants.
His lordship and the valet had gone off to stay at the hotel, and Mr.
Smerdon had gone down in the morning to the country seat, so what
could the murderer have had to do with that particular house? And it
ain't the house the Señor seems to think so much about--it's the
garden."
"I can't make that garden business out at all," the other said; "what
on earth has the garden got to do with it?"
"That's just what he won't say. But you mark my words, I ain't going
to stand it much longer, and he'll have to say. If he don't tell
pretty soon what he knows, I shall get the Home Office to make him."
Meanwhile the Señor, who had bewildered Lord Penlyn and Mr. Stuart by
the connection which he seemed to feel certain existed between the
garden of Occleve House and the murder in the Park, excited their
curiosity still more when he suddenly announced one evening that he
was going down, with his lordship's permission, to pay a visit to
Occleve Chase.
"Certainly," Penlyn replied, "you have my full permission; I shall be
glad if you will always avail yourself of anything that is mine. But,
Señor Guffanta, you connect my houses strangely with this search you
are making--first it was this one, and now it is Occleve Chase----; do
you not think you should confide a little more in me?"
"I cannot confide in you yet, Lord Penlyn. And, frankly, I do not know
that I have much to confide. Nor am I connecting Occleve Chase with
the murder. But I have a wish to see that house. I am fond of old
houses, and it was Walter's property once though he never possessed
it. I might draw inspiration from a visit to it."
For the first time since he had known the Señor, Lord Penlyn doubted
if he was speaking frankly to him. It was useless for Guffanta to
pretend that he was not now connecting Occleve Chase in his own mind
with the murder, as he had certainly connected the old disused garden
previously--but whom did he suspect? For one moment the idea flashed
through his mind that perhaps, after all, he still suspected him; but
another instant's thought served to banish that idea. Whatever this
dark, mysterious man might be working out in his own brain, at least
it could not be that. Had he not said that, by some strange chance, he
had once stood face to face with the assassin? Having done so, there
could be no thought in his mind that he, Penlyn, was that assassin.
But, if it was not him whom he suspected, who was it?
"Well," he said, "you must take your own way, Señor Guffanta, and I
can only hope it may land you aright. Only, if you would confide more
in me, I should be glad."
"I tell you that at present I cannot do so. Later on, perhaps, you
will understand my reason for silence. Meanwhile, be sure that before
long this man will be in my power."
Then the Señor asked for some directions as to the manner of reaching
Occleve Chase, and Lord Penlyn told him the way to travel there.
"And I will give you a letter to my friend, Philip Smerdon, who is
down there just now," he said, "and he will make your stay
comfortable. He, of course, has also a great interest in the affair we
all have so much at heart, and you will be able to talk it over with
him; though, I must tell you, that he has very little hopes of your
ultimate success."
"Ah! he has no hopes. Well, we shall see! I myself have the greatest
of hopes. And this Mr. Smerdon, this friend of yours, I have never yet
seen him. I shall be glad to know him."
So when the letter of introduction was written, the Señor departed,
and on the next day he started for Occleve Chase.
He travelled down from London comfortably ensconced in a first-class
smoking compartment, from which he did not move until the train
deposited him at the nearest station to Occleve Chase. The few
fellow-passengers who got in and out on the way, looked curiously at
the dark, sunburnt man, who sat back in the corner, twisting up
strange-looking little cigarettes, and gazing up at the roof or at the
country they were passing through; but of none of them did the Señor
take any notice, beyond giving one swift glance at each as they
entered. It had become a habit of this man's life now to give such a
glance at every one with whom he came into contact. Perhaps he thought
that if he missed one face, he might miss that of the man for whom he
was seeking.
At the station nearest to the "Chase" he alighted, and taking his
small bag in his hand, walked over to the public-house opposite, and
asked if a cab could be provided to take him the remainder of his
journey, which he knew to be about four miles.
"I beg your pardon, sir," a neat-looking groom said, rising from a
table at which he had been sitting drinking some beer, and touching
his hat respectfully, "but might I ask if you're going over there on
any business?"
"Who are you?" Señor Guffanta asked, looking at him.
"Beg pardon, sir, but I'm one of Lord Penlyn's grooms, and I thought
if you were going over on any business you might like me to drive you
over. I have the dog-cart here."
"I am a friend of Lord Penlyn's," the Señor answered, "and I am going
to stay at Occleve Chase for a day or so. I have brought a letter of
introduction to Mr. Smerdon."
"That's a pity, sir," the man said, "because Mr. Smerdon has gone up
to London by the fast train. I have just driven him over from the
Chase."
"He is gone to London?" the Señor said quietly. "And when will he be
back, do you think?"
"He did not say, sir."
"Very well. If you will drive me there now, I shall be obliged to
you."
The groom put the horse to, and fetched the dog-cart round from the
stable, wondering as he did so who the quiet, dark gentleman was who
was going to stay all alone at the "Chase" for a day or so; and then
having put the Señor's bag in, he asked him to get up, and they
started for Occleve Chase.
On the road Señor Guffanta made scarcely any remark, speaking only
once of the prettiness of the country they were passing through, and
once of the action of the horse, which seemed to excite his
admiration; and then he was silent till they reached the house, a fine
old Queen Anne mansion in excellent preservation. He introduced
himself to the housekeeper who came forward in the hall, and said:
"I have a letter of introduction to Mr. Smerdon; I had hoped to find
him here. Perhaps it would be well if I gave it to you instead."
"As you please, sir, but it is not necessary. Lord Penlyn's friends
often come here, when they are in this part of the country, to see the
house. It is considered worth going over. If you please, sir, I will
send a servant up with your bag."
"I thank you," the Señor said, with his usual grave courtesy, "but I
shall not trouble you much. I dare say by to-morrow I shall have seen
all I want to."
"As you please, sir."
He followed the neat-looking housemaid to the room he was to occupy,
after having told the housekeeper that the simplest meal in the
evening would be sufficient for him, and then, when he had made some
slight toilette, he descended to the lower rooms of the house. The old
servant again came forward and volunteered her services to show him
the curiosities and antiquities of the place; but Señor Guffanta
politely told her that he would not trouble her.
"I am fond of looking at pictures," he said, "I will inspect those if
you please. But I am acquainted with the styles of different masters,
so I do not require a guide. If you will tell me where the pictures
are in this house, I shall be obliged to you."
"They are everywhere, sir," she answered. "In the picture-gallery, the
dining-room, hall, and library."
"I will go through the library first, if you please. Which is that?"
The servant led the way to a large, lofty room, with windows looking
out upon a well-kept lawn, and told him that this was the room.
"These pictures will not take you long, sir," she said, "it's mostly
books that are here. And Mr. Smerdon generally spends most of his time
here at his accounts; sometimes he passes whole days at that desk."
She seemed inclined to be garrulous, and Señor Guffanta, who wished to
be alone, took, at random, a book from one of the shelves, and
throwing himself into a chair, began to read it. Then, saying that she
would leave him--perhaps taking what he intended as a hint--she
withdrew.
When he was left alone he took no notice of the pictures on the walls
(they were all paintings of long-past days), but, rising, went over to
the desk where she had said that Mr. Smerdon spent hours. There were a
few papers lying about on it which he turned over, and he pulled at
the drawers to see if they would open, but they were all locked fast.
"This room is no good to me," he said to himself, "I must try others."
Gradually, as the day wore on, the Señor went from apartment to
apartment in the house, inspecting each one carefully. In the
drawing-room he spent a great deal of time, for here he had found
what, both at Occleve House and at Mr. Cundall's house in Grosvenor
Place, had interested him more than anything else--some photograph
albums. These he turned over very carefully, as he had done with the
others in London, and then he closed them and went to another room.
"Did he ever know," he muttered once, "that the day would come when I
should be looking eagerly for his portrait--did he know that, and did
some instinct prompt him never to have a record made of his craven
face? And yet, he shall not escape me! Yet, I will find him!"
Later in the evening, when he had eaten sparingly of the dinner that
had been prepared for him, and had drunk still more sparingly of the
choice wine set before him, confining himself almost entirely to
water, he sent for the housekeeper and said:
"I think I have seen everything of importance here in the way of art,
and Lord Penlyn is to be congratulated on his treasures. Some of the
pictures are very valuable."
"They are thought to be so, sir," the woman answered. In her own mind,
and after a conversation with another of the head servants, she had
put Señor Guffanta down as some foreign picture-dealer, or
_connoisseur_, who had received permission from her master to inspect
the collection at the "Chase," and, consequently, she considered him
entitled to give an opinion, especially as that opinion was a
favourable one. "They are thought to be so, sir."
"Yes; no doubt. But I have seen them all now, and I will leave
to-morrow."
"Very well, sir."
"So, if you please, I will have that young man to drive me to the
station. I will go by the train that he told me Mr. Smerdon travelled
by."
That night, as Señor Guffanta paced up and down the avenue leading to
the house and smoked his cigarettes, or as he tossed upon his bed, he
confessed that he was no nearer to his task.
"Everything fails me," he said; "and yet, a week ago, I would have
sworn by San Pedro that I should have caught him by now. There is only
one chance--one hope left. If that fails me too, then I must lose all
courage. Will it fail me?--will it fail?"
"It is strange, too," he said once to himself in the night, when,
having been unable to sleep, he had risen and thrown his window open
and was gazing from it, "that I cannot meet this man Smerdon, this man
who believes that I shall fail--as, _por Dios!_ I almost now myself
believe! Strange, also, that he should have left on the very day I
came here. I should like to see him. It may be that I shall do so in
London to-morrow."
He left Occleve Chase at the time fixed, and by his liberality to the
housekeeper and the other servants who had waited on him he entirely
dispelled from their minds the idea that he was a picture-dealer.
"I suppose he is one of those foreign swells, after all," the footman
who had served him said to the housekeeper, as he pocketed the
_douceur_ the Señor had given him; "there is plenty of 'em in London
Society now."
He reached the London terminus late in the afternoon, and bade the
cabman he hired drive him to the Hôtel Lepanto; but, before half the
journey to that house was accomplished, the driver found himself
suddenly called on by his fare to stop, and to turn round and follow
another cab going in the opposite direction.
A hansom cab which had passed swiftly the one Señor Guffanta was in, a
cab in which was seated a young man with a brown moustache, and on the
roof of which was a portmanteau and a bundle of rugs.
"Quick!" the Señor said, speaking for the first time almost incoherent
English; "follow that cab with the valise on the top. Quick, I say! I
will pay you anything!"
"How can I be quick!" the man said with an oath, "when I can hardly
turn my cab round? Which is the one you mean?"
"The one with the valise, I say, that passed just now. I will give you
everything I have in my pockets if you catch it."
But it was no use. Before the cab could be turned and put in pursuit,
the other one had disappeared round a corner into a short street, from
which, ere Señor Guffanta's cab had reached it, it had again
disappeared.
"Blood of my father!" the Señor said to himself in Spanish, "am I
never to seize him?" Then he once more altered his directions to the
cabman, and bade him drive to Occleve House.
He walked into the room in which he heard that Lord Penlyn and Mr.
Stuart were seated, and the excitement visible upon his face told them
that something had happened.
"I have seen him," he said, going through no formality of greeting; he
was far too disturbed for that. "I have seen him once again, and once
again I have lost him."
"Where have you seen him?" Stuart asked.
"Not at Occleve Chase, surely!" Penlyn exclaimed.
"No--here, in London! Not half-an-hour ago, in a cab. And I have
missed him! He went too swiftly, and I lost sight of him."
"What will you do?" they both exclaimed.
"At present I do not know. I feel as though I shall go mad!" Then a
moment after he said: "Give me the keys of the garden; at once, give
them to me."
Penlyn took them from a drawer and gave them to Señor Guffanta, and
he, bidding the others remain where they were, opened the door leading
into the garden from the back of the house, and went out into it.
It was but a few minutes before he returned, but when he did so the
bronze had left his face and he was deathly pale.
"Lord Penlyn," he said, biting his lips as he spoke, and clenching his
hands until the nails penetrated the palms, "to whom have you given
those keys during my absence?"
"To no one," Penlyn answered. "I promised you I would not let any one
have them."
"You have given them to no one?" Guffanta said, while his eyes shone
fiercely as he looked at the other. "To no one! To no one! Then will
you tell me how the murderer of Walter Cundall has been in that garden
within the last few hours?"