THEORIES
Bruce announced his departure from Monte Carlo by a telegram to his
valet.
Nevertheless, he did not expect to find that useful adjunct to his
small household--Smith and his wife comprised the barrister's
_menage_--standing on the platform at Charing Cross when the mail
train from the Continent steamed into the station.
Smith, who had his doubts about this sudden trip to the Riviera, was
relieved when he saw his master was alone. "Sir Charles Dyke called this
afternoon, sir," he explained. "I told Sir Charles about your wire, sir,
and he is very anxious that you should dine with him to-night. You can
dress at Portman Square, and if I come with you--"
"Yes; I understand. Bundle everything into a four-wheeler."
"Sir Charles thought you might come, sir, so he sent his carriage."
London looked dull but familiar as they rolled across Leicester Square
and up Regent Street. Your true Cockney knows that he is out of his
latitude when the sky is blue overhead. Let him hear the tinkle of the
hansoms' bells through a dim, fog-laden atmosphere, and he knows where
he is. There is but one London, and Cockneydom is the order of
Melchisedek. Claude's heart was glad within him to be home again, even
though the band was just gathering in the Casino gardens, and the lights
of Monaco were beginning to gleam over the moon-lit expanse of the
Mediterranean.
At Wensley House the traveller was warmly welcomed by the baronet, who
seemed to have somewhat recovered his health and spirits.
Nevertheless, Bruce was distressed to note the ineffaceable signs of the
suffering Sir Charles Dyke had undergone since the disappearance of his
wife. He had aged quite ten years in appearance. Deep lines of sorrowful
thought had indented his brow, his face was thinner, his eyes had
acquired a wistful look; his air was that of a man whose theory of life
had been forcibly reversed.
At first both men fought shy of the topic uppermost in their minds, but
the after-dinner cigar brought the question to Dyke's lips:
"And now, Claude, have you any further news concerning my
wife's--death?"
The barrister noted the struggle before the final word came. The husband
had, then, resigned all hope.
"I have none," he answered. "That is to say, I have nothing definite. I
promised to tell you everything I did, so I will keep my promise, but
you will, of course, differentiate between facts and theories?"
The baronet nodded an agreement.
"In the first place," said Bruce, "let me ask you whether or not you
have seen Jane Harding, the missing maid?"
"Yes. It seems that she called here twice before she caught me at home.
At first she was very angry about a squabble there had been between
Thompson and herself. I refused to listen to it. Then she told me how
you had found her at some theatre, and she volunteered an explanation
of her extraordinary behavior. She said that she had unexpectedly
come into a large sum of money, and that it had turned her head. She
was sorry for the trouble her actions had caused, so, under the
circumstances, I allowed her to take away certain clothes and other
belongings she had left here."
"Did she ask for these things?"
"Yes. Made quite a point of it."
"Did you see them?"
"No."
"So you do not know whether they were of any value, or the usual
collection of rubbish found in servants' boxes."
"I have not the slightest notion."
"Have they ever been thoroughly examined by any one?"
"'Pon my honor, I believe not. Now that you remind me of it I think the
girl seemed rather anxious on that point. I remember my housekeeper
telling me that Harding had asked her if her clothes had been ransacked
by the detectives."
"And what did the housekeeper say?"
"She will tell you herself. Let us have her up."
"Don't trouble her. If I remember aright the police did not examine Jane
Harding's room. They simply took your report and the statements of the
other servants, while the housekeeper was responsible for the partial
search made through the girl's boxes for some clue that might lead to
her discovery."
"That is so."
The barrister smoked in silence for a few minutes, until Sir Charles
broke out rather querulously:
"I suppose I did wrong in letting Harding take her traps?"
"No," said Bruce. "It is I who am to blame. There is something
underhanded about this young woman's conduct. The story about the sudden
wealth is all bunkum, in one sense. That she did receive a bequest or
gift of a considerable sum cannot be doubted. That she at once decided
to go on the stage is obvious. But what is the usual course for a
servant to pursue in such cases? Would she not have sought first to
glorify herself in the sight of her fellow-servants, and even of her
employers? Would there not have been the display of a splendid
departure--in a hansom--with voluble directions to the driver, for the
benefit of the footman? As it was, Jane Harding acted suddenly,
precipitately, under the stress of some powerful emotion. I cannot help
believing that her departure from this house had some connection,
however remote, with Lady Dyke's disappearance."
"Good heavens, Claude, you never told me this before."
"True, but when we last met I had not the pleasure of Miss Marie le
Marchant's acquaintance. I wish to goodness I had rummaged her boxes
before she carried them off."
"And I sincerely echo your wish," said Sir Charles testily. "It always
seems, somehow, that I am to blame."
"You must not take that view. I really wonder, Dyke, that you have not
closed up your town house and gone off to Scotland for the fag-end of
the shooting season. You won't hunt, I know, but a quiet life on the
moors would bring you right away from associations which must have
bitter memories for you."
"I would have done so, but I cannot tear myself away while there is the
slightest chance of the mystery attending my wife's fate being
unravelled. I feel that I must remain here near you. You are the only
man who can solve the riddle, if it ever be solved. By the way, what of
Raleigh Mansions?"
The baronet obviously nerved himself to ask the question. The reason was
patent. His wife's inexplicable visit to that locality was in some way
connected with her fate, and the common-sense view was that some
intrigue lay hidden behind the impenetrable wall of ignorance that
shrouded her final movements.
Bruce hesitated for a moment. Was there any need to bring Mrs. Hillmer's
name into the business? At any rate, he could fully answer Sir Charles
without mentioning her at this juncture.
"The only person in Raleigh Mansions who interests me just now is one
who, to use a convenient bull, is not there."
"Yes?"
"This person occupies a flat in No. 12, his name is Sydney H. Corbett,
and he left his residence for the Riviera two days after your wife was
lost."
"Now, who on earth can _he_ be? I am as sure as a man may be of anything
that no one of that name was in the remotest way connected with either
my wife or myself for the last--let me see--six years, at any rate."
"Possibly. But you cannot say that Lady Dyke may not have met him
previously?"
The baronet winced at the allusion as though a whip had struck him. "For
heaven's sake, Claude," he cried, "do not harbor suspicions against her.
I cannot bear it. I tell you my whole soul revolts at the idea. I would
rather be suspected of having killed her myself than listen to a word
whispered against her good name."
"I sympathize with you, but you must not jump at me in that fashion. One
hypothesis is as wildly impossible as the other. I did not say that Lady
Dyke went to Raleigh Mansions on account of some present or bygone
transgression of her own. I would as soon think of my mother in such a
connection. But a pure, good woman will often do on behalf of others
what she will not do for herself. Really, Dyke, you must not be unjust
to me, especially when you force me to tell you what may prove to be
mere theories."
"Others? What others?"
"I cannot say. I wish I could. If I once lay hold of the reason that
brought Lady Dyke to Raleigh Mansions, I will, within twenty-four hours,
tell you who murdered her. Of that I am as certain as that the sun will
rise to-morrow."
And the barrister poked the fire viciously to give vent to the annoyance
that his friend's outburst had provoked.
"Pardon me, Bruce. Do not forget how I have suffered--what I am
suffering--and try to bear with me. I never valued my wife while she
lived. It is only now that I feel the extent of my loss. If my own life
would only restore her to me for an instant I would cheerfully give it."
If ever man meant his words this man did. His agitation moved the kindly
hearted barrister to rise and place a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I am sorry, Dyke," he said, "that the conversation has taken this turn.
These speculative guesses at potential clues distress you. If you took
my advice, you would not worry about events until at least something
tangible turns up."
"Perhaps it is best so," murmured the other. "In any event, it is of
little consequence. I cannot live long."
"Oh, nonsense. You are good for another fifty years. Come, shake off
this absurd depression. You can do no good by it. I wish now I had taken
you with me to Monte Carlo. The fresh air would have braced you up while
I hunted for Corbett."
"Did you find him?"
"No, but I dropped in for an adventure that would cheer the soul of any
depressed author searching vainly for an idea for a short story."
"What was it?"
Claude, who possessed no mean skill as a _raconteur_, gave him the
history of the Casino incident, and the thrilling _denouement_ so
interested the baronet that he lit another cigar.
"Did you ascertain the names of the parties?" he said.
"Oh yes. You will respect their identity, as the sensational side of the
affair had better now be buried in oblivion, though, of course, all the
world knows about the way we scooped the bank. The lady is a daughter of
Sir William Browne, a worthy knight from Warwickshire, and her rather
rapid swain is a youngster named Mensmore."
"Mensmore!" shouted the baronet. "A youngster, you say?" and Sir Charles
bounced upright in his excitement.
"Why, yes, a man of twenty-five. No more than twenty-eight, I can swear.
Do you know him?"
"Albert Mensmore?"
"That's the man beyond doubt."
Dyke hastily poured out some whiskey and water and swallowed it. Then he
spoke, with a faint smile: "You didn't know, Bruce," he said, "that you
vividly described the attempted self-murder of a man I know intimately."
"What an extraordinary thing! Yet I never remember hearing you mention
his name."
"Probably not. I have hardly seen him since my marriage. We were
schoolboys together, though I was so much his senior that we did not
chum together until later, when we met a good deal on the turf. Then he
went off, roughing it in the States. It must be he. It is just one of
his pranks. And he is going to marry, eh? Is she a nice girl?"
The baronet was thoroughly excited. He talked fast, and helped himself
liberally to stimulants.
"Yes, unusually so. But I cannot help marvelling at this coincidence. It
has upset you."
"Not a bit. I was interested in your yarn, and naturally I was
unprepared for the startling fact that an old friend of mine filled the
chief part. What a fellow you are, Claude, for always turning up at the
right time. I have never been in a tight place personally, but if I were
I suppose you would come along and show me the way out. Sit down again
and give me all the details. I am full of curiosity."
Bruce had never before seen Sir Charles in such a hysterical mood. The
anguish of the past three months had changed the careless, jovial
baronet into a fretful, wayward being, who had lost control of his
emotions. Undoubtedly he required some powerful tonic. The barrister
resolved to see more of him in the future, and not to cease urging him
until he had started on a long sea voyage, or taken up some hobby that
would keep his mind from brooding upon the everlasting topic of his
wife's strange death.
Dyke's fitful disposition manifested itself later. After he had listened
with keen attention to all that Bruce had told him concerning Mensmore
and Phyllis Browne, he suddenly swerved back to the one engrossing
thought.
"What are you going to do about Corbett?" he asked.
"Find him."
"But how?"
"People are always tied to a centre by a string, and no matter how long
the string may be, it contracts sooner or later. Corbett will turn up at
Raleigh Mansions, and before very many weeks have passed, if I mistake
not."
"And then?"
"Then he will have to answer me a few pertinent questions."
"But suppose he knows nothing whatever about the business?"
"In that case I must confess the clue is more tangled than ever."
"It would be curious if Corbett and Jane Harding were in any way
associated."
"If they were, it would take much to convince me that one or both could
not supply at least some important information bearing on my--on our
quest. If Mr. White even knew as much as I do about them he would arrest
them at sight."
"Oh, he's a thick-headed chap, is White. By the way, that reminds me. He
got hold of the maid, it seems, before she had bolted, and made her give
him some of my wife's clothes. By that means he established some sort of
a theory about--"
"About a matter on which we differ," put in Bruce quietly. "Let us talk
of something else."
The other moved restlessly in his chair, but yielded. For the remainder
of the evening they discussed questions irrelevant to the course of this
narrative.
It was late when they separated, but Bruce found Smith sitting up for
him at home.
That faithful servitor bustled about, stirring the fire and turning up
the lights. Finally he nervously addressed his master:
"Pardon me, sir, but there was a policeman here asking about you
to-night, sir."
"A policeman!"
"Well, sir, a detective--Mr. White, of Scotland Yard. I knew him, sir,
though he did not think it. He came about ten o'clock, and asked where
you were."
"Did you tell him?"
"Well, sir," and Smith shifted from one foot to the other, "I thought it
best to let him know the truth, sir."
"Good gracious, Smith, he is not going to handcuff me. You did quite
right. What did he say?"
"Nothing, sir; except that he would call again. He wouldn't leave his
name, but I know'd him all right."
"Thank you. Good-night. It was unnecessary that you should have remained
up. But I am obliged to you all the same."
The barrister laughed as he went to his room. "Really," he said to
himself, still highly amused, "White will cap all his previous feats by
trying to arrest me. I suspect he has thought of it for a long time."
And Mr. White _had_ thought of it.