THE BLONDE LADY
On Monday morning Darrel lingered over his breakfast, considering the
woful issue of his Saturday night's adventure. The alarm having been
given by Bike, the cabman, the police had taken charge of the body
and of the case and had requested Darrel to hold himself in readiness
to be called as a witness. But the novelist, although willing to give
evidence, wished to take a more active part in the matter. He desired
to learn the motive for the crime, to discover the criminal, and
ascertain by what means the murdered man had been lured to his death
in Mortality-lane. In a word, Darrel wanted to change from spectator
into actor, and to turn detective for the unriddling of this
extraordinary enigma. To him the experience as he conceived, would be
a liberal education in literary work.
While thus meditating, a card was brought to him inscribed, rather
abruptly, with the curt name, "Torry." Who he might be Darrel could
not guess, but the owner of this baronial appellation seemed to think
that it was sufficient to introduce him, as one not unknown to renown.
Somewhat amused by this hinted vanity, Darrel gave orders that the
visitor should be admitted, and speedily found himself face to face
with a short little man, smiling and voluble. Mr. Torry was extremely
stout, with a plump, red-cheeked face, clean-shaven; very white teeth,
and a fringe of scanty brown hair encircling a polished bald head. At
first sight he looked a kindly, frivolous creature, but a closer
inspection shewed that his eyes contradicted this opinion. These were
of a greyish-blue, keen and penetrating, and changed colour in
accordance with the emotions in their owner's mind. A man with such
eyes could not be a fool, and, with characteristic caution, Darrel
held his peace until the visitor should explain his business.
This was done in a moment.
"I have called," said Mr. Torry, taking a chair uninvited, "to see you
about this Mortality-lane affair."
"From Scotland Yard?"
"From New Scotland Yard, to be precise. I am Torry the detective, and
the case I spoke of has been placed in my hands for elucidation."
"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Torry," cried Darrel eagerly, "and any
evidence I can give is at your disposal. But I have a favour to ask of
you."
"A favour!" cried Mr. Torry, in his turn, "Granted. I love doing
favours."
"Then do me this one," said Frank. "Let me assist you in the conduct
of this case."
Mr. Torry's eyes flashed like steel, and his mouth shut with a snap on
the curt query: "Why?"
"Well," said Darrel slowly, "you see, I am a novelist who tries to set
forth things as they are, for the benefit of the B. P. I have written
one or two detective novels, and have explained the mysteries of
divers crimes, simply because, in the first instance, I invented those
crimes. To parody Gilbert's song, I made the crime fit the discovery,
and, so to speak, built up a house of cards, to be knocked down in the
final chapter. Now here, Mr. Torry," pursued the young man with
uplifted finger, "here is a crime in actual life, of chance's own
making, which I, not having conceived, cannot elucidate. I, therefore,
wish to set my wits to work, in order to learn if they will serve me
as well in fact as they have done in fiction. I desire to take an
active part in the working out of this real problem, to see if my
literary method of detective analysis is correct. On these
grounds--purely selfish ones, I fear--I ask you to let me assist you."
Mr. Torry, who had listened to this long speech with his head on one
side like an elderly bird, nodded at its conclusion. "I need not take
time to consider your request," said he briskly; "you shall be my
right hand if you will; but"--more gravely--"on one condition."
"And that is?----"
"That you let me guide you in every way, and that you take no step
without consulting me."
"Surely! I am only too glad to bow to your experience and judgment."
"Then that settles it; we are partners. Your hand, Mr. Darrel," and
novelist and detective shook hands on their agreement.
After coming to this conclusion, they settled themselves to discuss
the important matter which had brought them together.
"Our task is to find out who killed this red-haired man, I suppose?"
said Darrel slowly.
"Well, not exactly, sir. You see, I know who killed him," replied the
detective, nodding.
Frank jumped to his feet. "You know who killed him?" he cried in
amazement.
"Yes. A lady with fair hair."
"Are you sure?"
"Going by circumstantial evidence, I am.
"But are you sure? How do you know? Is she arrested?" The questions
poured out of Darrel's mouth until Torry stopped him with a gesture.
"She is beyond the power of the law," said he.
"She is--dead."
"Dead!" cried Darrel, recoiling.
"Murdered."
"Another crime?"
"Precisely; and committed within an hour of the other. Red-hair was
murdered, presumably, between the hours of twelve and one o'clock.
Fair-hair was stabbed between one and two, also presumably."
"It seems all presumption, Mr. Torry."
"Naturally," replied the detective, "and must continue so, until the
post-mortem examination, which takes place to-morrow at three."
"Where was the woman's body found?"
"On the Embankment, to be precise," added Torry using his favourite
phrase. "The corpse was discovered on the steps of Cleopatra's Needle
leading down to the water."
"Oh!" said Darrel thoughtfully; "then the presumption is that the
assassin tried to throw the body of his victim into the river?"
"I think so; but probably he was interrupted while dragging it down
the steps and was forced to fly."
"Who found the body?"
"A tramp who went to wash his hands in the river at six o'clock in the
morning. I was busy examining the clothes of the red-haired man, when
I heard of this new murder. Learning that it was a woman, I hurried
off to view the body."
"Had you any particular reason for this haste?" asked Frank.
"I had a theory," rejoined Torry reflectively. "Rather far-fetched, to
be sure; still a feasible theory. See here!"
From his breast the detective produced a narrow strip of black lace
much torn, and threw it on the white cloth of the breakfast-table.
Darrel looked at it casually, and then glanced inquiringly at Torry.
"That lace," explained Torry, "was in the left hand of the red-haired
man; therefore I judged that when stabbed by the assassin he put out
his hand to ward off the blow and mechanically clutched at the
garments of his assailant. Now men do not wear lace, so I naturally
concluded that the person who killed him was a woman. You follow me?"
Darrel nodded. "Yes, your theory is a natural one. But how did you
connect the one woman with the other?"
"Well," said Torry, smoothing his bald head in a puzzled manner, "you
have me there, for I don't exactly know how I can explain my idea. It
was a flash of genius, I suppose. I thought it peculiar that a man
should have been murdered by a woman, and then, on the same night,
that a woman should have been killed also. The man was stabbed to the
heart; the woman was stabbed to the heart. The first was killed in
Mortality-lane; the second on the Embankment, no very great distance
away. All these facts made me fancy that the one crime might be the
outcome of the other."
"I don't wonder at your fancy," said Darrel; "with coincidences the
same thought would have occurred to me. So you went to look at the
woman's body?"
"Yes; and I found lace on her mantle similar to that; also half a yard
torn off the front. There is about half a yard there," said Torry,
pointing to the lace on the table; "in fact, I have no doubt but that
the woman murdered the man."
"It seems like it," assented Darrel; "but who murdered the woman?"
"Ah! that is the problem we have to solve, Mr. Darrel. There is no
mark on the woman's linen, no letter in her pocket, no name on her
handkerchief. She seems to have been a well-to-do woman, in easy
circumstances, as her clothes are of good material and well made. How
to establish her identity I really do not know; there there is
absolutely no point whence one can start."
"Why not start from the red-headed man?" suggested Frank.
"Why," said Torry, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger, "I
might do that if he had not been disguised."
"Disguised?"
"Yes; the red hair is a wig, the red beard is false. The deceased is a
gentleman of some age nearer sixty than fifty. He has a plump face and
a bald head with a fringe of white hair--something like me," said Mr.
Torry in parenthesis, "only my hair is brown. The man is clean-shaven
and has several teeth stopped with gold."
"You think he is--or rather was--a gentleman?"
"I'm sure of it. His hands and feet are carefully attended to, and his
linen is beyond reproach."
"Ha! His linen. Is there no mark on it?"
"There is. He changed his outward garments, but not his linen or
socks--which shows that he was an amateur in disguising himself. A man
who was in the habit of masquerading for evil purposes would have
changed from top to toe. But this poor creature, not expecting to be
murdered, never thought it was necessary to change anything but his
outward aspect."
"Is there a name on his shirt, then?"
"No; there are initials. On his shirt, his undershirt, his pants, and
on his socks are two letters, 'J.G.'"
"The initials of his name."
"I should think so," replied Torry. "All his underclothes are in good
taste and of an expensive quality. I judge him to be a rich man."
"You speak of him in the present instead of the past," said Darrel
grimly. "He is not a man now, but a thing. Well, Mr. Torry, can't you
trace his identity by those initials?"
"Doubtless; especially as the name of the firm who made the shirt is
stamped on the neck of it--Harcot and Harcot, of Bond-street. Oh, I
don't think there will be any difficulty in identifying the man; but
it will be more difficult to discover the name of the woman."
"I don't think so," argued Darrel. "The one crime includes the other.
Find out the motive of the woman in killing the man, and you will
doubtless be led to discover the reason she was killed herself. I
should begin from the clue of the initials."
"Perhaps I will," said Torry thoughtfully; "and failing that clue,
I'll try the other."
"The other! What other?"
"Why," said the detective, looking directly at his companion, "the
clue of the Blue Mummy."