THE BOARDING-HOUSE
The establishment of Miss Louisa Grison was by no means aristocratic as
her house was not situated in a fashionable quarter of London and she
charged extremely moderate prices for board and lodging. Petty clerks
and shop-girls formed the greater portion of those who dwelt under her
humble roof, but occasionally people in better circumstances came to
the place. Young men learning to become lawyers, students in various
metropolitan colleges, actresses in or out of employment, reduced
ladies, who had just sufficient income to keep body and soul together,
literary aspirants and adventurers down in their luck, were to be found
at 2Z Thimble Square, Bloomsbury. It was a fluctuating population which
came and went throughout the year. Sometimes the house would be full,
at other times it was almost empty but in one way and another Miss
Grison always contrived to satisfy her landlord and pay her taxes. She
never complained of her lot, or lamented her poverty, but met
everything, good, bad and indifferent, in her hard way, without emotion
of any kind. Misery seemed to have turned her into stone.
The house was a large corner one, with a vast drawing-room, a vast
dining-room, and a sitting-room for Miss Grison on the ground floor,
together with a kitchen of no great size and servants’ cubicles in the
basement. All the rest of the building was given over to bedrooms, so
small and so many that they resembled the cells of bees. And the
lodgers were exactly like bees, for the greater part of them swarmed
out to their various employments in the early morning and swarmed back
again late in the evening. Sometimes they had spare money for
amusements, but more often they had not, and seemed to be incessantly
working like the bees aforesaid to gather honey for other people. Yet
as they were generally young and hopeful and healthy, on the whole they
contrived to enjoy themselves in a meagre way, their standard of
pleasure not being very high. Sometimes the men made love to the women,
or the girls flirted with the boys, and so long as these philanderings
were innocent Miss Grison did not forbid them. But in her hard way, she
was rigorously moral, and any boarder, male or female, who overstepped
the line was banished from this penny Eden. However, the inmates of the
Establishment—as Miss Grison called it—behaved very well and she rarely
had cause for complaint. They were all a trifle afraid of the landlady
with her hard blue eyes and stiff manners, and she ruled them after the
manner of a schoolmistress, making allowance for youthful spirits yet
keeping them in strict order. Some objected to these limitations, but
the food was so good and the bedrooms so comfortable and the price of
both so moderate that they put up with the lesser evil to enjoy the
greater good.
In her reply to Fuller, bidding him come to dinner on a certain day,
Miss Grison mentioned that evening dress was unnecessary, an
observation which seemed rather superfluous to the young man when he
learned the quality of the establishment. He entered the large
drawing-room to find the men in their workaday clothes, although the
ladies had certainly done their best to smarten themselves for the
evening function. Miss Grison, for instance, received him in a worn
black silk dress, trimmed sparsely with jet and set off with cheap
lace. She still looked as though carved out of wood and still stared
with an unwinking gaze which somewhat confused the young man. There is
nothing so embarrassing to even a tired man or woman of the world as a
steady look, and although Alan was conscious of being a perfectly
proper person he yet winced at Miss Grison’s hard greeting.
The visitor’s good looks and unusually smart clothes—although he simply
wore a suit of blue serge—caused quite a sensation. Girls in cheap
blouses, cheap skirts and still cheaper jewellery giggled and blushed
when he was presented to them, and elderly dames with careworn faces
and of antiquated garb, straightened themselves with conscious dignity.
There was something pathetic in their assumption of society manners,
considering the dire poverty to which they were condemned. The men—they
were an ordinary lot as regards looks and brains—were disposed to be
hostile as they thought that the female portion of the establishment
paid too much attention to the newcomer. But they were civil on the
whole and the dull quarter of an hour before the seven o’clock meal was
announced by a seedy man-servant—termed grandiloquently the
butler—passed off fairly well. Fuller was quiet and observant, and
chatted mostly to his hostess, although for politeness’ sake he had to
address a few observations on safe topics to ladies, old and young and
middle-aged.
The dinner was plentiful and nourishing, if not particularly dainty,
consisting of Scotch broth, Irish stew, rice pudding with tinned
apricots and American cheese. The boarders provided their own liquid
refreshments, as Miss Grison merely supplied water in large glass jugs.
Consequently there were many private bottles on the table, ranging as
to their contents from pale ale to whisky: some of the better-off
lodgers even indulging in cheap claret. Miss Grison drank water, and
her guest, since she offered him nothing better, followed suit.
“I would banish alcohol of every description from my table,” she
whispered, with stern apology, “for it was my dear dead brother’s
curse. But if I kept a temperance hotel I doubt if the business would
pay so well.”
“Then it does pay,” remarked Fuller with a side-glance at her worn
dress.
“Oh, yes,” she responded indifferently, “I manage to keep my head above
water and to save a trifle against rainy days, and old age. Ah, there
is our usual late comer, Mr. Bakche. Now his soup will have to be
brought back, which puts the servants out. These Orientals have no idea
of time, Mr. Fuller.”
Alan politely agreed and glanced carelessly at the newcomer, only to
give a more earnest look later on, for Mr. Bakche was decidedly out of
place amongst that shabby assemblage. He was perfectly arrayed in a
well-cut evening dress, with pearl studs and patent leather shoes. Tall
and slim, he was yet sinewy in his looks and possessed an admirable
figure, which the close-fitting clothes set off to great advantage. He
had clearly-cut features, a dark complexion, as became an Eastern, and
wore a small black mustache, well twisted over very red lips and very
white teeth. On the whole he was a handsome fellow and his air was
somewhat haughty and reserved. As Alan observed, he ate only plain
boiled rice, uncooked fruit, and drank water; just as if he were an
anchorite. The looks of the man and the abstinence of the man aroused
Fuller’s curiosity, and he thought that he would like to talk to Mr.
Bakche as well as to Miss Grison. Meanwhile he asked for information.
“He is an Indian prince, so he says,” replied Miss Grison in a whisper.
“I understand that his full name is Mr. Morad-Bakche, which he told me
means, in his own language, ‘Desire accomplished.’ He is only in
England for a few months on some mission connected with the recovery of
his family property lost during the Mutiny, and my house was
recommended to him by a former boarder who went out to Ceylon.”
“He has a striking personality,” said Fuller when this information was
given, and then asked his hostess about Jotty. “Mr. Latimer told me
that you intended to give the boy a chance in life, Miss Grison. It is
very good of you to do so.”
She shrugged her sloping shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know,” she answered,
sinking her metallic voice. “I want a page-boy to open and shut the
door, so as to save the servants’ legs. Jotty does as well as another
and since my poor Baldwin took an interest in him, of course I feel
that it is my duty, to do what I can. I have had him washed and dressed
and fed and have given him the more Christian name of Alonzo. The
boarders do not know his real name, if indeed it can be called one, and
they are not aware that he is the boy who appeared at the inquest.”
“They know, I presume, that it was your brother who was murdered?”
“Oh yes, the name appeared in the newspapers, and I had to give
evidence at the inquest, so there was no keeping the relationship
quiet. But I beg of you, Mr. Fuller, to call Jotty by his new name of
Alonzo, as I don’t want it generally known that I am helping my poor
brother’s protégé. As the head of the Establishment,” Miss Grison drew
up her spare form proudly, “I do not like scandal to be connected with
my name.”
“But, my dear lady, your behavior calls for nothing but praise.”
“Human nature is more prone to blame than praise,” answered the hostess
bitterly, and gave the signal to the ladies for departure. “We will
leave you to smoke with the other gentlemen, Mr. Fuller, and afterwards
you can come and talk to me in the drawing-room. Alonzo you will
probably see when he opens the door for your departure,” and with a
stiff bow she left the room at the head of the shabbily-dressed
females, who thus followed the customs of the west end.
For a time Alan was left severely alone, and smoked his cigarette in
silence, since the men seemed to be too shy to venture on conversation,
and had many matters to discuss among themselves. But after a time Mr.
Bakche left his seat and moved to a chair at the young man’s elbow,
offering, as he sat down, his cigarette-case, which was well filled.
“You will find these particularly good,” said Mr. Bakche in a deep and
mellow voice, which accorded well with his grave dignity. “I received
them from a friend of mine in Constantinople.”
“Thank you,” answered the solicitor readily, and anxious to respond to
this politeness, “you are very kind.”
“The kindness is on your part, Mr. Fuller.”
“You know my name, Mr. Bakche?”
“And you know mine, I observe. We have made mutual inquiries about one
another, no doubt. Mr. Potter informed me about you; and Miss Grison, I
presume, gave information about me.”
“Yes,” assented Fuller easily. “She tells me that you are an Indian
prince!”
Bakche laughed in a silent manner. “She places me too high, Mr. Fuller,
I assure you,” he responded quietly. “I come of a princely family, but
I am not of princely rank. You can look upon me as a plain Mahometan
gentleman of Tartar descent.”
“Of Tartar descent,” echoed Fuller, who found his companion
interesting.
“Yes. Did Miss Grison tell you my full name?”
“Morad-Bakche! Indeed she did and gave me its meaning.”
“‘Desire-accomplished,’” said the other, with half a sigh, “although I
fear that my desire will never be accomplished. However, that is by the
way. I wonder, Mr. Fuller, if you have read the ‘History of the
Moguls.’”
“I regret to say that I have not.”
“Well, it is rather an unusual book for anyone to read unless he is a
student. But you will find mentioned therein my ancestor, after whom I
am called. He was also Morad-Bakche, the youngest son of Shah Jahan,
who was descended from Timur the Tartar. My family were rich and famous
when the Mogul emperors ruled at Delhi, but everything belonging to us
was swept away in the Mutiny, as you English call it.”
“I can quite understand that you give it a different name,” said Alan
sympathetically. “You naturally desired to be free.”
“Naturally, but injudiciously, Mr. Fuller. If the British Raj ended, my
unhappy country would become the cockpit of contending hosts. We are
too divided in India to rule ourselves, and the great powers would
interfere, so that we should only exchange King Stork for Queen Log, or
the reverse, as I forget the exact details of the fable. But what I
mean is that England is a better ruler of our country than Germany or
Russia would be.”
“Your sentiments are very liberal, Mr. Bakche.”
“I have read history,” replied the other. “Believe me, Mr. Fuller, that
if people only read history more carefully so many mistakes would not
be made in this world. The past life of nations is more or less only
what the future will be, making reasonable allowance for development.”
Bakche talked on this strain for some time, and displayed a great
knowledge of history, and betrayed a shrewd observation of men and
manners, so that Alan found the conversation very enjoyable. Later on,
his companion became particular after general, and gave a few hints
about his family.
“At the time of the Mutiny my grandfather was the Rajah of Kam, which
was a little-known state which is in the Madras presidency. That is, it
was.”
“Was,” repeated Fuller, surprised, “a state cannot vanish out of
existence, Mr. Bakche, since it is land and——”
“Oh, the land is still there and the villages and towns. But the name
has been changed and my family have been turned out. I am the sole
member left alive, Mr. Fuller. But I have no ambition to get back our
former royalty.”
“But I understood from Miss Grison that you had come to England on a
mission of that sort.”
“The good lady is wrong again. I want no forfeited title, but I do want
certain property.”
“I see. So you are applying to the Government?”
“No,” said Mr. Bakche unexpectedly and somewhat grimly, “my property
cannot be recovered by the Government. I have to search for it myself.
It is——” Here he checked himself. “But I don’t see why I should trouble
you with all this dry talk.”
“It is most interesting, I assure you,” Alan assured him quite
truthfully.
“Then we must resume it on another occasion,” said Bakche, rising. “I
have to keep an appointment. Perhaps I shall see you again here.”
“Possibly, but if I do not come again here is my card.” Fuller passed
along his business address. “I shall be glad to see you at any time.”
Bakche glanced at the card ponderingly. “You are a solicitor, I see. It
is probable that I may want a solicitor.”
“I am at your service.”
“You may not be when you know what I want,” said the Indian dryly, and
with a sudden gleam in his dark eyes. “However I am glad that I have
met you, and perhaps I may call and see you. Good-night, sir,” and with
a grave bow Morad-Bakche took his departure from the room which was now
almost empty.
Fuller drew a deep breath as he rose to go to the drawing-room. His
late companion being of an unusual kind had interested him not a
little, but in spite of his suave manners and gentle voice there was
something dangerous about him, betrayed for the moment by that sudden
gleam of ferocity. Alan felt as though he had been playing with a tiger
who had been careful for reasons of its own not to scratch, but would
do so when the appointed time came for it to reveal its true nature. He
half hoped that Bakche would not come to the Chancery Lane office, and
regretted momentarily that he had given his card. But reflection made
him laugh at his nervous dread, since he was well able to look after
himself and need have no fear of Bakche or of any man. Besides he
wanted to get all the business he could so as to make money and marry
Miss Inderwick, therefore it would have been foolish to lose sight of a
prospective client. Wondering what the precise nature of the man’s
business could be, Alan sauntered towards the drawing-room, when in the
passage he came across a diminutive urchin with a peaked face, arrayed
as a page.
“Oh,” said Mr. Fuller, stopping, “so you are Alonzo.”
“Yessir,” gasped the boy in one breath, and looked at the tall
gentleman from under light eye-lashes out of light eyes.
“You have another name?”
“Nosir,” said the urchin again in a breath and lying glibly, “never was
called anything but Alanzer.”
Fuller nodded, seeing that the lad was loyal to Miss Grison, and did
not try to wean him from his allegiance. All the same he wished to ask
him questions about the dead man, but did not think the present moment
a judicious one to do so. “Some day you must ask your mistress to let
you come and see me at my office,” he remarked carelessly, and passed
on.
In a moment Jotty was tugging his coat-tail. “What jer want ter arsk?”
“I shall tell you when the time comes. Do you know Mr. Latimer?”
Jotty nodded with bright inquisitive eyes. “Him with the big coat like
the bear them Italyains chivy about?”
“Yes. You see that I know something about you, Alonzo. But you are
quite right to say what you have said. I don’t want you to call and see
me unless Miss Grison permits you to.”
“Yer a lawr gent?” inquired Jotty, pondering.
“In Chancery Lane.” Fuller gave his number. “If you do happen to be
passing, Mr. Alonzo, just look in and earn a few shillings.”
“I’m game for that anyhow, if it doesn’t hurt her.” He jerked his head
towards the room where Miss Grison was supposed to be.
Fuller turned on him sharply. “Why should anything hurt her?” he
inquired.
Jotty did not answer directly. “She’s bin good t’ me, and he wos
good—him es died, sir. I don’t want no hurt t’ come t’ her anyhow,” and
with a flash of his light eyes the boy sprang down the stairs leading
to the kitchen, while Alan entered the drawing-room wondering what the
observation meant. It seemed impossible that any harm could come to
Miss Grison out of any inquiry into the death of her brother. Again it
struck Fuller that the woman’s reason for helping Jotty might not be
entirely philanthropic.
However he had no time to dwell on this particular point, but looked
about for Miss Grison, who was not to be seen. An elderly lady with a
simper informed him that the landlady was in her own room, and pointed
out the direction, so Fuller knocked at the door softly. The sharp
voice of Miss Grison invited him to enter, and he found himself in a
small apartment crowded with furniture.
“Oh, here you are, Mr. Fuller,” said his hostess, rising from a low
chair in which she was seated by the fire. “I thought you would find me
here. I cannot stay listening to the twaddle they talk in the
drawing-room, having much more serious things with which to occupy my
thoughts.”
“Very natural, after your great loss,” replied Alan, accepting the
chair she pushed towards him. “I suppose you wonder why I have come to
see you.”
“No,” said Miss Grison in her sharp, blunt way. “You mentioned at
Belstone that you would help me, and I am glad to have your
assistance.”
“I can give it, if you will be frank with me.”
“What do you wish to know?” Miss Grison took a fan from the mantelpiece
as she spoke, and used it to screen her sallow cheeks from the fire.
“Have you any idea who murdered your brother?”
“If I had, do you think I should invoke your assistance,” she asked,
evading his question dexterously.
“Two heads are better than one,” countered the solicitor.
“True enough, and yet one head may be able to bring the beast who
killed Baldwin to the scaffold.”
“Then I must apologise for troubling you,” said Alan, rising. “As I
told you at Belstone my only desire to unravel this case is one of
curiosity, and if you think that I am meddlesome I——”
“No no! no! You are really very good. Sit down and I shall answer what
questions you like. After all I should be glad to have the advice of a
solicitor for nothing, unless you expect six and eightpence, Mr.
Fuller.”
“I expect nothing but straight replies to my questions, Miss Grison.
“Go on, then. As to the one you have already asked, I can say nothing
at present. I don’t know for certain who murdered Baldwin.”
“But you have some suspicion?”
“Nothing that has tangible proof.”
Apparently she would not put her feeling against Sorley into words, so
Alan tried another tack. “Would you mind telling me your history?”
“And that of Baldwin, I suppose. Why should I?”
“Because I may then learn if there is anything in his life or in your
life which would cause his death.”
“I fear you will be disappointed, Mr. Fuller,” she replied coldly, “for
my history and that of Baldwin is uneventful on the whole. We are the
children of a doctor who practised at Canterbury, and who made money.
Mr. Sorley was a patient of my father’s and took a fancy to Baldwin
when he came home from Oxford, where he was being educated. When
Baldwin finished his college career and got his degree——”
“Oh,” Alan was plainly surprised, “he got his degree, did he?”
“Baldwin was an extremely clever man,” cried Miss Grison impetuously,
and her hands trembled with emotion. “I don’t see why you should ask me
such a question in such a manner. He took his degree with great credit,
and came home to go in for the law. But Mr. Sorley, who was writing his
book on precious stones, offered to make Baldwin his secretary, and the
offer was accepted because my father had died and did not leave us so
well off as was expected. My brother went to The Monastery and I stayed
with my mother for some years, until she died. Then I paid a visit to
Belstone, and Mrs. Inderwick, who was then alive, asked me to remain as
her companion. I was with her for years, until she died, and managed to
gather enough money out of my salary to start this boarding-house.
Shortly after Marie was born her mother died, and she was left to the
grandmother of Henny and Jenny to look after.”
“Why not to you?”
“Because I had already left the place,” said Miss Grison, flushing, and
with sparkling eyes. “Sorley quarrelled with my brother as he
quarrelled with everyone, and it ended in Baldwin being dismissed.”
“But what reason was given for his dismissal?”
Miss Grison hesitated and looked at the fire. “I suppose I may as well
talk candidly to you, since so much rests on your knowing the exact
truth.”
“It will be just as well,” said Fuller positively.
“Well then,” she drew a deep breath, “although I loved Baldwin and
although he was clever and amiable, he had a weak character. He learned
to smoke opium and he took more drink than was good for him. In a
moment of madness, and because Mr. Sorley paid him so badly, he forged
his employer’s name to a small check for five pounds. Mr. Sorley found
this out and threatened to prosecute him, especially as Baldwin—I don’t
deny it—made himself objectionable to Mrs. Inderwick. However, Mr.
Sorley did not prosecute——”
“Why not? He doesn’t seem to me to be a merciful man.”
“He’s a cruel, hard beast,” said Miss Grison fiercely, “and you heard
my opinion of him at Belstone. It was no fault of his that Baldwin was
not put in jail. I managed to stop that.”
“In what way?”
“I sha’n’t tell you; there is no need to tell you, Mr. Fuller. It is
enough for you to know that I had the power to stop the prosecution and
did so. I had just started this boarding-house, and I brought Baldwin
here. But what with his drink and his smoking opium, he behaved so
badly that, dearly as I loved him, I had to find another home for him,
or be ruined. I got him a home with a doctor, who looked after him, but
Baldwin ran away and went to Rotherhithe, for there he was near the
opium dens. I begged and implored him to lead a better life. He always
promised, and he always failed to keep his promise. All I could do was
to allow him so much a week, which I did, as I stated in my evidence at
the inquest. He lived a degraded life at Mother Slaig’s house, which is
down a slum, and there he met with his death at the hands of——” She
stopped short.
“At the hands of the man whom you suspect,” finished Alan bluntly.
“I never said it was a man,” retorted Miss Grison abruptly.
“It couldn’t possibly be a woman.”
“I never said that either.”
“Then what do you say?”
“Nothing, because I am certain of nothing. You have heard the story you
wish to hear, so make what use you can of it.”
“I shall do so if you will answer one other question?”
“What is it?” She screened her face.
“Did your brother steal the peacock of jewels from The Monastery?”
The screen dropped. “Marie has been telling you about that.”
“She told me the legend of the jewels and the cryptogram. But of course
as she was a child when the peacock was stolen, she could say nothing
about the theft. But as Inspector Moon learned from Jotty, your brother
had the peacock in his possession.
“That is true.”
“And he was murdered on account of the peacock?”
“I believe so.” She clasped and unclasped her hands feverishly, not
giving him time to ask another question. “Do you know who stole it from
Belstone?”
“Your brother, since he had it at Mother Slaig’s.”
“No. He stole it from me and I stole it from Mr. Sorley.”
“You stole it!” Fuller started up in amazement. “Why did you?”
“Oh, I had good reason to, I assure you. I am not ashamed of my theft.
That peacock ruined Baldwin, and that peacock shall ruin——”
“Mr. Sorley,” broke in Fuller, keeping his eyes on her face.
“No! no.” She flung up her hands. “It will ruin me! me! me!”