NO. 61 RALEIGH MANSIONS
Really, the maid deserved to have her ears pulled.
People in her walk in life should not ape their betters. Lady Dyke,
owing to her position, was entitled to some degree of oddity or mystery
in her behavior. But for a lady's maid to so upset the entire household
at Wensley House, Portman Square, was intolerable.
Sir Charles became, if possible, more miserable; the butler fumed; the
housekeeper said that the girl was always a forward minx, and the
footman winked at Buttons, as much as to say that he knew a good deal if
he liked to talk.
The police were as greatly baffled by this latter incident as by its
predecessor. The movements of the maid were quite unknown. No one could
tell definitely when she left the house. Her fellow-servants described
the dress she probably wore, as all her other belongings were in her
bedroom; but beyond the fact that her name was Jane Harding, and that
she had not returned to her home in Lincolnshire, the police could find
no further clue.
So, in brief, Jane Harding quickly joined Lady Dyke in the limbo of
forgetfulness.
Bruce, however, forgot nothing. Indeed, he rejoiced at this new
development.
"The greater the apparent mystery," he communed, "the less it is in
reality. We now have two tracks to follow. They are both hidden, it is
true, but when we find one, it will probably intersect the other."
The new year was a few days old when Bruce made his first step through
the bewildering maze which seemed to bar progress on every side. He
received a report from the man, a pensioned police-officer, who had
conducted a painstaking search into the history and occupation of every
inhabitant of Raleigh Mansions.
Two items the barrister fastened on to at once.
"At No. 12, top floor right, entrance by first door on Sloane
Square side, is a small flat occupied by a man named Sydney H.
Corbett. He passes as an American, but is probably an Englishman
who has resided in the United States. He does not mix with other
Americans in London, and is of irregular habits. He frequents
race meetings and sporting clubs, is reported to belong to a
Piccadilly club where high play is the rule, and has no definite
occupation. He occasionally visits a lady who lives at No. 61,
same mansions, ground floor, and sixth door. They have been
heard to quarrel seriously, and the dispute appears always to
have concerned money. Corbett went to Monte Carlo early in
December. His address there is 'Hotel du Cercle,' and the local
post-office has a supply of stamped and addressed envelopes in
which to forward his correspondence.
"At No. 61, as already described, resides Mrs. Gwendoline
Hillmer. She lives in good style, rents a brougham and a
victoria, and is either a wealthy widow or maintained by some
one of means. She dresses well, and goes out a good deal to
theatres, but otherwise leads a rather lonely life. Her most
frequent visitor is, or was, a gentleman who looked like an
officer in the Guards, and, much less often, the aforesaid
Sydney H. Corbett. Her servants, except the maid, live out. The
maid, who is a sort of companion, is talkative, but does not
know much, or, if she does, will not speak."
Bruce weighed these statements very carefully. They did not contain any
positive facts that promised well for the elucidation of Lady Dyke's
visit to the mansions on that fateful November evening, but the absolute
colorlessness of the reports concerning the other occupants rendered
them quite impossible of individual distinction.
After an hour of puzzled thought the barrister finally decided upon a
course of action. He would see Mrs. Gwendoline Hillmer, and trust to
luck in the way of discoveries.
A quiet smile lit up his handsome, regular features as he proceeded to
array himself in the most fashionable clothes he possessed, paying the
utmost attention to every detail in a manner that amazed his valet.
When at last that worthy was despatched to the nearest florist's for a
_boutonniere_, he communicated his bewilderment to the hall-porter.
"My guv'nor's going out on the mash," he said confidentially. "I thought
he would never look at a woman; but, bless you, Jim, we're all alike.
When the day comes we all rush after a petticoat."
It was nearly six o'clock when Bruce walked down Victoria Street. For
some reason, he did not call a hansom, and it was almost with a start
that he found himself purchasing a ticket to Sloane Square at the
Underground Railway office. At this precise hour and place he had last
seen Lady Alice on earth. The memory nerved him to his purpose.
A few minutes later he pressed the electric bell of No. 61 Raleigh
Mansions. As he listened to the slight jar of the indicator within, he
smiled at the apparent fatuity of his mission.
He had one card, perhaps a weak one, to play, it was true, but he hoped
that circumstances might prevent this from being tabled too early in the
game.
The door opened, and a youthful housemaid stood before him, the simple
wonder in her eyes showing that such visitors were rare.
"Is Mrs. Hillmer at home?" he said.
"I'll see sir, if you give me your name."
"Surely you know whether or not she is at home?"
The girl stammered and blushed at this unexpected query. "Well, sir,"
she said, "my mistress is in, but I do not know if she can receive any
one. She is dressed to go out."
"Ah! that's better. Now, take her my card, and say that while I will not
detain her, my business is very important." This with a sweet smile that
put the flurried maid entirely at her ease.
The girl withdrew, after hesitating for a moment to decide the important
question as to whether or not she should close the door in his face.
Another smile, and she did not.
He was thus free to note the luxurious and tasteful air of the general
appointments, for the entrance hall usually reveals much of the
characteristics of the inmates. Here was every evidence of refinement
and wealth. All the display had not been lavished on the drawing-room.
As he waited, conscious of the fact that his colloquy with the servant
had been overheard, a lady crossed from one room to the other at the end
of the passage. Her smart but simple dress, and the quick scrutiny she
gave him, as though discovering his presence accidentally, caused him
to believe--rightly, as it transpired--that this was the maid-companion
described by his assistant.
Not only had she obviously made her appearance in order to look at him,
but the housemaid had carried his message to a different section of the
flat.
The girl returned. "My mistress will see you in a few minutes," she
said. "Will you kindly step into the dining-room?"
He followed her, sat down in a position where the strong glare of the
electric lamps would fall on any one who stood opposite, and waited
developments.
The furniture was solid and appropriate, the carpet rich, and the
pictures, engravings for the most part, excellent. This pleasant room,
warmed by a cheerful fire, impressed Bruce as a place much used by the
household. Books and work-baskets were scattered about, and a piano,
littered with music, filled a corner. There were a few photographs of
persons and places, but he had not time to examine these before the lady
of the house entered.
Her appearance, for some reason inexplicable to the barrister himself,
took him by surprise. She was tall, graceful, extremely good-looking,
and dressed in a style of quiet elegance. Just the sort of woman one
would expect to find in such a well-appointed abode, yet more refined in
manner than Bruce, from his knowledge of the world, thought he would
meet, judging by the hasty inferences drawn from his subordinate's
report. She was self-possessed, too. With calm tone, and slightly
elevated eyebrows, she said:
"You wish to see me, I understand?"
"Yes. Allow me first to apologize for the hour at which I have called."
"No apology is necessary. But I am going out. Perhaps you will be good
enough not to detain me longer than is absolutely necessary."
She stood between the table and the door. Bruce, who had risen at her
entrance, was at the other side of the room. Her words, no less than her
attitude, showed that she desired the interview to be brief. But the
barrister resolved that he would not be repelled so coolly.
Advancing, with a bow and that fascinating smile of his, he said,
pulling forward a chair:
"Won't you be seated?"
The lady looked at him. She saw a man of fine physique and undoubted
good breeding. She hesitated. There was no reason to be rude to him, so
she sat down.
Claude drew a chair to the other side of the hearthrug, and commenced:
"I have ventured to seek this interview for the purpose of making some
inquiries."
"I thought so. Are you a policeman?" The words were blurted out
impetuously, a trifle complainingly, but Bruce gave no sign of the
interest they had for him.
"Good gracious, no," he cried. "Why should you think that?"
"Because two detectives have been bothering me, and every other person
in these mansions, about some mysterious lady who called here two months
ago. They don't know where she called, nor will they state her name; as
if any one could possibly know anything about it. So I naturally thought
you were on the same errand."
"Confound that rascal White," growled he to himself.
But Mrs. Hillmer went on: "If that is not your business, would you mind
telling me what it is?"
Now Bruce's alert brain had been actively engaged during the last few
seconds. This woman was not the clever, specious adventuress he had half
expected to meet. It seemed more than ever unlikely that she could have
any knowledge of Lady Dyke or the causes that led to her disappearance.
He was tempted to frame some excuse and take his departure. But the
certainty that his missing friend had visited Raleigh Mansions, and the
necessity there was for exploiting every line of inquiry, impelled him
to adopt this last resource.
"It is not concerning a missing lady, but concerning a missing gentleman
that I have come to see you."
The shot went home.
Why, for the life of him, he could not tell, but his companion was
manifestly disturbed at his words.
"Oh," she said.
Then, after a little pause: "May I ask his name?"
"Certainly. He is known as Mr. Sydney H. Corbett."
She gave a slight gasp.
"Why do you put it in that way? Is not that his right name?"
"I have reason to believe it is not."
Mrs. Hillmer was so obviously distressed that Bruce inwardly reviled
himself for causing her so much unnecessary suffering. In all
probability, the source of her emotion had not the remotest bearing
upon his quest.
Then came the pertinent query, after a glance at his card, which she
still held in her hand:
"Who are you, Mr.--Mr. Claude Bruce?"
"I am a member of the Bar, of the Inner Temple. My chambers are No. 7
Paper Buildings, and my private residence is given there."
"And why are you interested in Mr. Sydney Corbett?"
"Ah, in that respect I am at this moment unable to enlighten you."
"Unable, or unwilling?"
He indulged in a quiet piece of fencing:
"Really, Mrs. Hillmer," he said, "I am not here as in any sense hostile
to you. I merely want some detailed information with regard to this
gentleman, information which you may be able to give me. That is all."
All this time he knew that the woman was scrutinizing him
narrowly--trying to weigh him up as it were, not because she feared him,
but rather to discover the true motive of his presence.
Personally, he had never faced a more difficult task than this
make-believe investigation. He could have laughed at the apparent want
of connection between Lady Dyke's ill-fated visit to Raleigh Mansions
and this worrying of a beautiful, pleasant-mannered woman, who was
surely neither a principal nor an accomplice in a ghastly crime.
"Well, I suppose I may consider myself in the hands of counsel. Tell me
what it is you want to know!" Mrs. Hillmer pouted, with the air of a
child about to undergo a scolding.
"Are you acquainted with Mr. Corbett's present address?" he said.
"No. I have neither seen him nor heard from him since early in
November."
"Can you be more precise about the period?"
"Yes, perhaps." She arose, took from a drawer in the sideboard a packet
of bills--receipted, he observed--searched through them and found the
document she sought. "I purchased a few articles about that time," she
explained, "and the account for them is dated November 15. I had not
seen my--" She blushed, became confused, laughed a little, and went on.
"I had not seen Mr. Corbett for at least a week before that date--say
November 8th or 9th."
Lady Dyke disappeared on the evening of the 6th!
Bruce swallowed his astonishment at the odd coincidence of dates, for he
said, with an encouraging laugh, "Out with it, Mrs. Hillmer. You were
about to describe Mr. Corbett correctly when you recollected yourself."
Mrs. Hillmer, still coloring and becoming saucily cheerful, cried, "Why
should I trouble myself when you, of course, know all that I can tell
you, and probably more? He is my brother, and a pretty tiresome sort of
relation, too."
"I am obliged for your confidence. In return, I am free to state that
your brother is now in the South of France."
"As you are here, Mr. Bruce," she said, "I may as well get some advice
gratis. Can people writ him in the South of France? Can they ask me to
pay his debts?"
"Under ordinary circumstances they can do neither. Certainly not the
latter."
"I hope not. But they sometimes come very near to it, as I know to my
cost."
"Indeed! How?"
Mrs. Hillmer hesitated. Her smile was a trifle scornful, and her color
rose again as she answered: "People are not averse to taking advantage
of circumstances. I have had some experience of this trait in
debt-collectors already. But they must be careful. You, as a legal man,
must know that demands urged on account of personal reasons may come
very near to levying blackmail."
"Surely, Mrs. Hillmer, you do not suspect me of being a dun. Perish the
thought! You could never be in debt to me."
"Very nice of you. Don't you represent those people on Leadenhall
Street, then?"
"What people?"
"Messrs. Dodge & Co."
"No; why do you ask?"
"Because my brother entered into what he called a 'deal' with them. He
underwrote some shares in a South African mine, as a nominal affair, he
told me, and now they want him to pay for them because the company is
not supported by the public."
"No, I do not represent Dodge & Co."
"Is there something else then? Whom do you represent?"
"To be as precise as permissible, I may say that my inquiries in no
sense affect financial matters."
"What then?"
"Well, there is a woman in the case."
Mrs. Hillmer was evidently both relieved and interested.
"No, you don't say," she said. "Tell me all about it. I never knew
Bertie to be much taken up with the fair sex. I am all curiosity. Who is
she?"
He did not take advantage of the mention of a name which in no way stood
for Sydney. Besides, perhaps the initial stood for Herbert. He resolved
to try another tack.
Glancing at his watch he said: "It is nearly seven o'clock. I have
already detained you an unconscionable time. You were going out. Permit
me to call again, and we can discuss matters at leisure."
He rose, and the lady sighed: "You were just beginning to be
entertaining. I was only going to dine at a restaurant. I am quite tired
of being alone."
Was it a hint? He would see. "Are you dining by yourself, then, Mrs.
Hillmer?"
"I hardly know. I may bring my maid."
Claude now made up his mind. "May I venture," he said, "after such an
informal introduction, to ask you to dine with me at the Prince's
Restaurant, and afterwards, perhaps, to look in at the Jollity Theatre?"
The lady was unfeignedly pleased. She arranged to call for him in her
brougham within twenty minutes, and Bruce hurried off to Victoria Street
in a hansom to dress for this unexpected branch of the detective
business.
When he told his valet to telephone to the restaurant and the theatre
respectively for a reserved table and a couple of stalls, that worthy
chuckled.
When his master entered a brougham in which was seated a fur-wrapped
lady, the valet grinned broadly. "I knew it," he said. "The guv'nor's on
the mash. Now, who would ever have thought it of him?"