LADY HELEN MONTGOMERY'S SON
When the young people had gone--Mensmore ill at ease, though tremuously
happy that Phyllis had so demonstrated her trust in him, Phyllis herself
radiantly confident in the barrister's powers to set everything
right--Bruce devoted himself to the task of determining a new line for
his energies.
The first step was self-evident. He must ascertain if the Dykes knew a
Colonel Montgomery.
He drove to the Club frequented by Sir Charles, but the baronet was not
there, so he went to Wensley House.
Sir Charles was at home, in his accustomed nook by the library fire. He
looked ill and low-spirited. The temporary animation he had displayed
during the past few weeks was gone. If anything, he was more listless
than at any time since his wife's death.
"Well, Claude," he said wearily, "anything to report?"
"Yes, a good deal."
"What is it?"
"I want to ask you something. Did you ever know a Colonel Montgomery, or
was your wife acquainted with any one of that name to your knowledge?"
"I do not think she was. Had she ever met such a man I should probably
have heard of him. Who was he?"
The baronet's low state rendered his words careless and indefinite, but
his friend did not wish to bother him unduly.
"The police have discovered," he said, "that Mrs. Hillmer formed a close
intimacy with some one whom she designated by that name and rank, though
I have failed to trace any British officer who answers to his
description. He disappeared, or died, as some people put it, about the
same time as your wife."
"Is it not known what became of him, then?"
"No."
"Won't Mrs. Hillmer tell you?"
"She absolutely refuses to give any help, whatever."
"On what ground?"
"That is best known to herself. My theory is that a man she loves is
implicated in the affair, and she is prepared to go to any lengths to
shield him."
"Ah!"
Sir Charles bent over and poked the fire viciously. Then he murmured:
"Women are queer creatures, Bruce. We men never understand them until
too late. My wife and I did not to all appearance care a jot for one
another while she lived. Yet I now realize that she loved me, and I
would give the little remaining span of existence, dear as life is, to
see her once more."
This was a morbid subject; the younger man tried to switch him off it.
"It is almost clear to me," he said, "that Colonel Montgomery's name was
assumed. Few people realize the use of the _alias_ made in modern life.
I have a notion that the custom among otherwise honorable people has
arisen from the publicity given to the fact that Royal and other
distinguished personages frequently choose to conceal their identity
under less known territorial titles."
"The idea is ingenious. We are all slaves to fashion."
"However that may be, it should not be a difficult task to lay hands on
the gentleman should he be still living."
"Suppose you succeed. How can you connect him with my wife's death?"
"At this moment I am unable to say. But the cabman might be of some
use."
"The cabman. What cabman?"
"Did I omit that? I ought to have told you that I have found the driver
of the four-wheeler in which your poor wife was taken, dead or
insensible, from Sloane Square to Putney."
"What an extraordinary thing!"
"What is?"
"That you should have forgotten to inform me of such a striking fact."
"Not so. Now that I recollect, I have not had the opportunity. It was
impossible to discuss anything else but that forged letter on the last
two occasions we met, and it was only a few hours prior to your visit on
Monday that I got the cabman's story fully. By the way, do you now see
any reason why Jane Harding should have tried to deceive you in such a
manner?"
The barrister perceived that Sir Charles was nervous and irritable, so
he deemed it a needless strain to enlarge on the history of his
discovery of Foxey.
"I am tired of letters, and plots, and mysteries. My life is resolving
into one huge note of interrogation. Soon the great question of eternity
will dominate all others."
Dyke's mood unfitted him for sustained conversation. Bruce could but
pity him, and hope that time would calm his fevered brain, and soothe
the unrest that shed this gloom over him.
"Really," said Claude, after a long interval, during which both men
sought inspiration from the dancing flames in the fireplace, "really
this is too bad of you, Dyke. You showed a marked improvement for a
little space, and now you are letting yourself slip back into a state of
lonely and unoccupied moping again."
"My thoughts find me both occupation and company," was the despondent
reply.
"There is nothing for it," continued Bruce cheerfully, "but a tour round
the world. You must start immediately. A complete change of scene and
surroundings will soon pull you back to a normal state of mind and
health."
"I have been thinking of a long journey for some time past."
The barrister glanced sharply at his friend. The _double entente_ was
not lost on him. Dyke was in a depressed and nervous condition. The
uncertainty regarding his wife's fate was harassing him unduly and it
was with a twinge of conscience that Bruce reflected upon his own
eagerness to pursue a quest which, by very reason of its indefiniteness,
attracted him as an intellectual pursuit.
"Look here," he cried, on the spur of the moment, "I have long desired
to see the Canadian Pacific route. Will you arrange to start West with
me a fortnight hence? We can return when the spirit moves us."
"We will see. We will see. To-day I feel unable to decide anything."
"Yes, I know, but the mere fact that you take the resolution will serve
to reanimate you."
"It is very good of you, Claude, to trouble so about me. Had you asked
me earlier I might have gone straight away. But let it rest for a little
while. When I have recovered my spirits somewhat I will come to you to
ask you to sail next day, or something of the sort."
Beyond this, the other could not move him.
There was one link in the chain of evidence that would be irrefragable
if discovered. Was this "Colonel Montgomery" in any way connected with
the house at Putney where the murderer had disposed of the body? If this
could be established, the unknown visitor to Raleigh Mansions would
experience a good deal of difficulty in clearing himself of suspicion.
Bruce was certain that, once the "Colonel" was traced, much would come
to light explanatory of Mrs. Hillmer's, and her brother's, dread lest
his identity should be discovered.
An inquiry addressed to the house agents to whom possible tenants were
referred elicited the information that the present owner, a lady, was
prepared to let the house annually or on a lease. They enclosed an order
to view, which Bruce retained in case he should happen to need it.
A second letter gave him the address of the lady's solicitors, Messrs.
Small & Sharp, Lincoln's Inn.
He called on them as a possible tenant, with a desire to purchase the
property outright if his proposal could be entertained.
Mr. Sharp, the partner who dealt with the estate, became very suave when
the suggestion reached his ears.
"You will understand, Mr. Bruce, that your request requires some
consideration. The rent my client asks is comparatively low, because the
house is old-fashioned, but the splendid riparian position of the
property, a free-hold acre on the banks of the Thames at Putney, gives
it a highly increased future value. Any figure you may have based on a
rental calculation would therefore--"
"Not meet the case at all," said the barrister, repressing a smile at
the familiar opening move in the game of bargaining.
"Precisely."
"May I ask who the present owner is?"
"Certainly, the lady's name is Small. In fact, she is my partner's wife.
Her father, the late Rev. Septimus Childe, purchased the estate some
years ago, largely because the house suited his requirements as the head
of a successful private school."
"Has the estate changed hands frequently then?"
"Oh, dear, no. Indeed, it is well understood that the Rev. Mr. Childe
acquired it more as a friendly transaction than otherwise. The estate is
a portion of the separate estate of the late Lady Helen Montgomery, who
married Sir William Dyke, father of the present baronet, who
perhaps--good gracious, my dear sir, what is the matter?"
Had Bruce been a woman he must have fainted.
As it was, the shock of the intelligence nearly paralyzed him. Sir
Charles Dyke!--Montgomery!--The house at Putney the property of his
mother! What new terror did not this frightful combination suggest?
Why did his friend conceal from him these most important facts? Why
did he pretend ignorance not only of the locality but of his mother's
maiden name? Like lightning the remembrance flashed through Bruce's
troubled brain that he had only heard of the earlier Lady Dyke as a
daughter of the Earl of Tilbury. A suspicion--profoundly horrible, yet
convincing--was slowly mastering him, and every second brought further
proof not only of its reasonableness, but of its ghastly and inflexible
certainty.
Again the lawyer's voice reached his ears, dully and thin, as though it
penetrated through a wall.
"Surely, you feel ill? Let me get you some brandy."
"No--no," murmured the barrister. "It is but a momentary faintness. I--I
think I will go out into the fresh air. Are you--quite sure--that Mr.
Childe bought the property from Lady Helen Montgomery's trustees?"
"Quite sure. If you wait even a few moments I will show you the
title-deeds."
"No, thank you. I will call again. Pray excuse me."
Somehow Bruce crossed the quiet square of the Inn, and plunged into
the turmoil of the street. Amid the bustle of Holborn he had a
curious sensation of safety. The fiend so suddenly installed in his
consciousness was less busy here suggesting strange and maddening
thoughts.
Why--why--why--fifty questions beat incessantly against the barrier of
agonized negation he strove to set up, but the noise of traffic made
the attack confused. Each incautious bump against a passer-by silenced
a demand, each heavy crunch of a 'bus on the gravel-strewed roadway
temporarily silenced a doubt.
He was so unmanned that he felt almost on the verge of tears. He
absolutely dared not attempt to reason out the fearful alternative which
had so fiercely thrust itself upon him.
At last he became vaguely aware that people were staring at him. Fearful
lest some acquaintance should recognize and accost him he hailed a
hansom and drove to Victoria Street.
All the way the heavy beat of the horse's feet served to distract his
thoughts. He forced himself to count the quick paces, and tried hard to
accommodate the numerals of two or more syllables to the rapidity of the
animal's trot. He failed in this, but in the failure found relief.
Nevertheless, though the horse was willing and the driver eager to
oblige a fare who gave a "good" address, the time seemed interminable
until the cab stopped in front of his door.
Once arrived there, he slowly ascended the stairs to his own flat, told
Smith to pay the cabman half-a-crown and to admit no one, and threw
himself into a chair.
At last he was face to face with the troublous demon who possessed him
in Lincoln's Inn, struggled with him through the crowd, and travelled
with him in the hansom. Phyllis Browne should have her answer sooner
than he had expected.
The man who murdered Lady Dyke was her own husband.
"Oh, heavens!" moaned Bruce, as he swayed restlessly to and fro in his
chair, "is it possible?"
He sat there for hours. Smith entered, turned on the lights and
suggested tea, but received an impatient dismissal.
After another long interval Smith appeared again, to announce that Mr.
White had called.
"Did you not say I was out?" said Claude, his hollow tones and haggard
air startling his faithful servitor considerably.
"Yes, sir--oh yes, sir. But that's no use with Mr. White. 'E said as 'ow
'e were sure you were in."
"Ask him to oblige me by coming again--to-morrow. I am very ill. I
really cannot see him."
Smith left the room only to return and say: "Mr. White says, sir, 'is
business is of the _hutmost_ himportance. 'E can't leave it; and 'e says
you will be very sorry afterwards if you don't see 'im now."
"Oh, so be it," cried Bruce, turning to a spirit-stand to seek
sustenance in a stiff glass of brandy. "Send him in."
Quite awed by circumstances, Smith admitted the detective and closed the
door upon the two men, who stood looking at each other without a word of
greeting or explanation.