Max Barclay re-traced his steps along Oxford Street much puzzled. What
Marion had told him was both startling and curious in face of the sudden
disappearance of the Doctor and his daughter. If the latter had made a
confession, as she apparently had, then Marion was, after all, perfectly
within her right in not betraying her friend.
Yet what could that confession be? Marion had said it was "a terrible
confession," and as he went along he tried in vain to imagine its
nature.
The morning was bright and sunlit, and Oxford Street was already busy.
About the Circus the ebb and flow of traffic had already begun, and the
windows of the big drapery shops were already attracting the feminine
crowds with their announcements of "summer sales" and baits of "great
bargains."
For a moment he paused at the kerb, then, entering a hansom, he drove to
Mariner's Stores, the great emporium in Knightsbridge, which had been
entrusted with the removal of the Doctor's furniture.
Without much difficulty he found the manager, a short, dapper, little
frock-coated freckled-faced business man, and explained the nature of
his inquiry.
The man seemed somewhat puzzled, and, going to a desk, opened a big
ledger and slowly turned the pages.
"I think there must be some mistake, sir," was his reply. "We have had
no removal of that name yesterday."
"But they were at Cromwell Road late last night," Max declared. "The
police saw them there."
"The police could not have seen any of our vans removing furniture from
Cromwell Road last night," protested the manager. "See here for
yourself. Yesterday there were four removals only--Croydon to Southsea,
Fitzjohn's Avenue to Lower Norwood, South Audley Street to Ashley
Gardens, and Elgin Avenue to Finchley. Here they are," and he pointed
to the page whereon the particulars were inscribed.
"The goods in question were removed by you from Cromwell Road, and
stored in your depository at Chiswick."
"I think, sir, you really must be mistaken," replied the manager,
shaking his head. "Did you see our vans there yourself?"
"No. The police did, and made inquiry."
"With the usual result, I suppose, that they bungled, and told you the
wrong name."
"They've got it written down in their books."
"Well, all I can say is, that we didn't remove any furniture from the
road you mention."
"But it was at night."
"We do not undertake a job at night unless we receive a guarantee from
the landlord that the rent is duly paid, and ascertain that no money is
owing."
Max was now puzzled more than ever.
"The police say that the effects were sent to your depository," he
remarked, dissatisfied with the manager's assurance.
"In that case inquiry is very easy," he said, and walking to the
telephone he rang up the depository at Chiswick.
"Is that you, Merrick?" he asked over the 'phone. "I say! Have you
been warehousing any goods either yesterday or to-day, or do you know of
a job in Cromwell Road, at the house of a Doctor Petrovitch?"
For a full minute he waited the reply. At last it came, and he heard it
to the end.
"No," he said, putting down the receiver and turning to Barclay. "As I
expected. They know nothing of the matter at the depository."
"But how do you account for your vans--two pantechnicons and a covered
van--being there?" he asked.
The manager shook his head.
"We have here the times when each job in London was finished, and when
the vans returned to the yard. They were all in by 7:30. Therefore,
they could not have been ours."
"Well, that's most extraordinary."
"Is it somebody who has disappeared?"
"Yes."
"Ah! the vans were, no doubt, painted with our names specially, in order
to mislead the police," he said. "There's some shady transaction
somewhere, sir, depend upon it. Perhaps the gentleman wanted to get his
things away, eh?"
"No. He had no necessity for so doing. He was quite well off--no
debts, or anything of that kind."
"Well, it's evident that if our name is registered in the police
occurrences the vans were painted with our name for some illegal
purpose. The gentleman's disappeared, you say."
"Yes. And--well, to tell you the truth, I suspect foul play."
"Have you told the police that?" asked the man, suddenly interested.
"No; not yet. I've come to you first."
"Then if I were you I'd tell the police the result of your inquiries,"
the manager said. "No doubt there's a crooked incident somewhere."
"That's just what I fear. Quite a number of men most have been engaged
in clearing the place out."
"Have you been over it? Is it entirely cleared?"
"Nearly. The grand piano and a big book-case have been; left."
"I wonder if it's been done by professional removers, or by amateurs?"
suggested the manager.
"Ah! I don't know. If you saw the state of the place you'd know,
wouldn't you?"
"Most probably."
"Then if you'll come with me I'll be delighted to show you, and you can
give me your opinion."
So the pair entered a cab, and a quarter of an hour later were passing
along the hall of the empty house. The manager of Harmer's removals
inspected room after room, noticed how the curtains had been torn down,
and noted in the fire grate of the drawing-room a quantity of tinder
where a number of papers seemed to have been burned.
"No," he said presently. "This removal was carried out by amateurs, who
were in a very violent hurry. Those vans were faked--bought, perhaps,
and repainted with our name. It's evident that they deceived the
constable very cleverly."
"But the whole affair is so extraordinary?" gasped Max, staring at his
companion.
"Yes. It would appear so. Your friend, the Doctor, evidently wished to
get his goods away with the least possible delay and in the greatest
secrecy."
"But the employment of so many men did not admit of much secrecy,
surely!"
"They were only employed to load. They did not unload. Only the three
drivers probably know the destination of the furniture. It was valuable
old stuff, I should say, if one is to judge by what is remaining."
"Yes, the place was well and comfortably furnished."
"Then I really think, sir, that if you suspect foul play it's your duty
to tell the police. In cases like this an hour's delay is often fatal
to success in elucidating the mystery." Max was undecided how to act.
It was his duty to tell the police his suspicions and show them that
blood-stained coat. And yet he felt so certain that the Doctor must in
the course of the day take him into his confidence that he hesitated to
make a suggestion of foul play and thus bring the affair into public
prominence.
The fact that Harmer's name had been upon vans not belonging to that
firm was in itself sufficient proof that there had been a conspiracy
somewhere.
But of what nature was it? What could possibly have been its object?
What was Maud's "terrible confession!"
The expert in removals was examining some litter in the dining-room.
"They evidently did not stop to pack anything," he remarked, "but simply
bundled it out with all possible speed. One fact strikes me as very
peculiar."
"What is that?"
"Well, if they wanted to empty the place they might have done so,
leaving the curtains up, and the palms and things in the windows in
order to lead people to believe that the house was still occupied.
Apparently, however, they disregarded that precaution altogether."
"Yes. That's true. The object of the sudden flight is a complete
mystery," Max remarked. He had not taken the man to the top room,
where, in the cupboard, the woman's dress was hidden.
"You say that the Doctor was rich. Therefore, it wasn't to escape from
an execution threatened by the landlord."
"Certainly not."
"Well, you may rest assured, sir, that the removal was not effected by
professional men. The way in which carpets have been torn up and
damaged, curtains torn from their rings, and crockery smashed in moving,
shows them to have been amateurs."
They had ascended to the front bedroom, wherein remained a large, heavy
old-fashioned mahogany chest of drawers, and he had walked across to
them.
"Indeed," he added. "It almost looks as though it were the work of
thieves?"
"Thieves! Why?"
"Well--look at this. They had no keys, so they broke open the drawers,
and removed the contents," he answered. "And look across there!"
He pointed to a small iron fireproof safe let into the wall--a safe
evidently intended originally as a place for the lady of the house to
keep her jewels.
The door stood ajar, and Max, as he opened it, saw that it was empty.
The curious part of the affair was that Max was convinced within himself
that when he had searched the house on the previous night that safe was
not there. If it was, then the door must have been closed and
concealed.
He remembered most distinctly entering that room and looking around.
The chest of drawers had been moved since he was last there. When he
had seen them they had been standing in their place concealing the iron
door of the safe, which, when shut, closed flush with the wall. Someone
had been there since! And whoever it was, had moved the heavy piece of
furniture and found the safe.
He examined the door, and from its blackened condition, the twisted
iron, and the broken lock, no second glance was needed to ascertain that
it had been blown open by explosives.
Whatever valuables Dr Petrovitch had kept there had disappeared.
The theory of theft was certainly substantiated by these discoveries.
Max stood by the empty safe silent and wondering.
"I noticed downstairs in the study that a board had been prised up, as
though somebody has been searching for something," the man from Harmer's
remarked. "Probably the Doctor had something in his possession of which
the thieves desired to get possession."
"Well," said Max, "I must say that this safe being open looks as though
the affair has actually been the work of thieves. If so, then where is
the Doctor, where is his daughter Maud, and where are the servants?"
"Yes. I agree. The whole affair is a complete mystery, sir," the other
replied. "There have been thieves here without a doubt. Perhaps the
Doctor knows all about it, but for some reason dare not utter a word of
complaint. Indeed, that's my theory. He may be in fear of them, you
know. It's a gang that have done it, without a doubt."
"And a pretty ingenious gang, too," declared Max, with knit brows.
"They evidently made short work of all the furniture. I wonder why they
took it, and where it is at present."
"If it has gone to a sale room the police could trace it," Max
suggested.
"Certainly. But suppose it was transferred from the vans it was taken
away in to the vans of some depository, and removed, say, to Portsmouth
or Plymouth, and there stored? It could be done quite easily, and would
never be traced."
"Yes. But it's a big job to have made a whole houseful of furniture
disappear in a couple of hours."
"It is not so big as it first seems, sir. I'd guarantee to clear a
house of this size in one hour, if necessary. And the way they turned
out the things didn't take them very long. They were in a desperate
hurry, evidently."
"Do you think that thieves did the work?"
"I'm very strongly of that opinion. Everything points to it. If I were
you I'd go back to the police and tell them about the safe, about that
chest of drawers, and the flooring in the study. Somebody's been prying
about here, depend upon it."
Max stood, still undecided. Did it not seem very much as though the
thieves had visited there after Charles Rolfe had fled so hurriedly?