THE CASE OF THE MISSING LADY
The buzzer on Mr. Blunt's desk--(International Detective Agency,
Manager, Theodore Blunt)--uttered its warning call. Tommy and Tuppence
both flew to their respective peepholes which commanded a view of the
outer office. There it was Albert's business to delay the prospective
clients with various artistic devices.
"I will see, sir," he was saying. "But I'm afraid Mr. Blunt is very
busy just at present. He is engaged with Scotland Yard on the phone
just now."
"I'll wait," said the visitor. "I haven't got a card with me, but my
name is Gabriel Stavansson."
The client was a magnificent specimen of manhood, standing over
six feet high. His face was bronzed and weather beaten, and the
extraordinary blue of his eyes made an almost startling contrast to the
brown skin.
Tommy swiftly made up his mind. He put on his hat, picked up some
gloves, and opened the door. He paused on the threshold.
"This gentleman is waiting to see you, Mr. Blunt," said Albert.
A quick frown passed over Tommy's face. He took out his watch.
"I am due at the Duke's at a quarter to eleven," he said. Then he
looked keenly at the visitor. "I can give you a few minutes if you will
come this way."
The latter followed him obediently into the inner office where Tuppence
was sitting demurely with pad and pencil.
"My confidential secretary, Miss Robinson," said Tommy. "Now, sir,
perhaps you will state your business? Beyond the fact that it is
urgent, that you came here in a taxi, and that you have lately been in
the Arctic--or possibly the Antarctic, I know nothing."
The visitor stared at him in amazement.
"But this is marvellous," he cried. "I thought detectives only did such
things in books! Your office boy did not even give you my name!"
Tommy sighed deprecatingly.
"Tut tut, all that was very easy," he said. "The rays of the midnight
sun within the Arctic circle have a peculiar action upon the skin--the
actinic rays have certain properties. I am writing a little monograph
on the subject shortly. But all this is wide of the point. What is it
that has brought you to me in such distress of mind?"
"To begin with, Mr. Blunt, my name is Gabriel Stavansson--"
"Ah! of course," said Tommy. "The well known explorer. You have
recently returned from the region of the North Pole, I believe?"
"I landed in England three days ago. A friend who was cruising in
Northern waters brought me back on his yacht. Otherwise I should not
have got back for another fortnight. Now I must tell you, Mr. Blunt,
that before I started on this last expedition two years ago, I had the
great good fortune to become engaged to Mrs. Maurice Leigh Gordon--"
Tommy interrupted.
"Mrs. Leigh Gordon was, before her marriage--"
"The Honorable Hermione Crane, second daughter of Lord Lanchester,"
reeled off Tuppence glibly.
Tommy threw her a glance of admiration.
"Her first husband was killed in the War," added Tuppence.
Gabriel Stavansson nodded.
"That is quite correct. As I was saying, Hermione and I became engaged.
I offered, of course, to give up this expedition, but she wouldn't
hear of such a thing--bless her! She's the right kind of woman for an
explorer's wife. Well, my first thought on landing was to see Hermione.
I sent a telegram from Southampton, and rushed up to town by the first
train. I knew that she was living for the time being with an aunt of
hers, Lady Susan Clonray, in Pont Street, and I went straight there.
To my great disappointment, I found that Hermy was away visiting some
friends in Northumberland. Lady Susan was quite nice about it, after
getting over her first surprise at seeing me. As I told you, I wasn't
expected for another fortnight. She said Hermy would be returning in a
few days' time. Then I asked for her address, but the old woman hummed
and hawed--said Hermy was staying at one of two different places, and
that she wasn't quite sure what order she was taking them in. I may
as well tell you, Mr. Blunt, that Lady Susan and I have never got on
very well. She's one of those fat women with double chins. I loathe fat
women--always have--fat women and fat dogs are an abomination unto the
Lord--and unfortunately they so often go together! It's an idiosyncracy
of mine, I know--but there it is--I never can get on with a fat woman."
"Fashion agrees with you, Mr. Stavansson," said Tommy drily. "And
everyone has their own pet aversion--that of the late Lord Roberts was
cats."
"Mind you, I'm not saying that Lady Susan isn't a perfectly charming
woman--she may be, but I've never taken to her. I've always felt, deep
down, that she disapproved of our engagement, and I feel sure that she
would influence Hermy against me if that were possible. I'm telling you
this for what it's worth. Count it out as prejudice, if you like. Well,
to go on with my story, I'm the kind of obstinate brute who likes his
own way. I didn't leave Pont Street until I'd got out of her the names
and addresses of the people Hermy was likely to be staying with. Then I
took the mail train North."
"You are, I perceive, a man of action, Mr. Stavansson," said Tommy,
smiling.
"The thing came upon me like a bombshell. Mr. Blunt, none of these
people had seen a sign of Hermy. Of the three houses, only one had
been expecting her--Lady Susan must have made a bloomer over the
other two--and she had put off her visit there at the last moment by
telegram. I returned post haste to London, of course, and went straight
to Lady Susan. I will do her the justice to say that she seemed upset.
She admitted that she had no idea where Hermy could be. All the same,
she strongly negatived any idea of going to the police. She pointed
out that Hermy was not a silly young girl, but an independent woman who
had always been in the habit of making her own plans. She was probably
carrying out some idea of her own.
"I thought it quite likely that Hermy didn't want to report all her
movements to Lady Susan. But I was still worried. I had that queer
feeling one gets when something is wrong. I was just leaving when a
telegram was brought to Lady Susan. She read it with an expression of
relief and handed it to me. It ran as follows: '_Changed my plans Just
off to Monte Carlo for a week Hermy._'"
Tommy held out his hand.
"You have got the telegram with you?"
"No, I haven't. But it was handed in at Maldon, Surrey. I noticed that
at the time, because it struck me as odd. What should Hermy be doing at
Maldon? She'd no friends there that I had ever heard of."
"You didn't think of rushing off to Monte Carlo in the same way that
you had rushed North?"
"I thought of it, of course. But I decided against it. You see, Mr.
Blunt, whilst Lady Susan seemed quite satisfied by that telegram, I
wasn't. It struck me as odd that she should always telegraph, not
write. A line or two in her own handwriting would have set all my fears
at rest. But anyone can sign a telegram 'Hermy.' The more I thought it
over, the more uneasy I got. In the end I went down to Maldon. That was
yesterday afternoon. It's a fair sized place--good links there and all
that--two hotels. I inquired everywhere I could think of, but there
wasn't a sign that Hermy had ever been there. Coming back in the train
I read your advertisement, and I thought I'd put it up to you. If Hermy
has really gone off to Monte Carlo, I don't want to set the police
on her track and make a scandal, but I'm not going to be sent off on
a wild goose chase myself. I stay here in London, in case--in case
there's been foul play of any kind."
Tommy nodded thoughtfully.
"What do you suspect exactly?"
"I don't know. But I feel there's something wrong."
With a quick movement, Stavansson took a case from his pocket and laid
it open before them.
"That is Hermione," he said. "I will leave it with you."
The photograph represented a tall willowy woman, no longer in her first
youth, but with a charming frank smile and lovely eyes.
"Now, Mr. Stavansson," said Tommy. "There is nothing you have omitted
to tell me?"
"Nothing whatever."
"No detail, however small?"
"I don't think so."
Tommy sighed.
"That makes the task harder," he observed. "You must often have
noticed, Mr. Stavansson, in reading of crime, how one small detail is
all the great detective needs to set him on the track. I may say that
this case presents some unusual features. I have, I think, practically
solved it already, but time will show."
He picked up a violin which lay on the table, and drew the bow once
or twice across the strings. Tuppence ground her teeth and even the
explorer blenched. The performer laid the instrument down again.
"A few chords from Mosgovskensky," he murmured. "Leave me your address,
Mr. Stavansson, and I will report progress to you."
As the visitor left the office, Tuppence grabbed the violin and putting
it in the cupboard turned the key in the lock.
"If you must be Sherlock Holmes," she observed, "I'll get you a nice
little syringe and a bottle labelled Cocaine, but for God's sake leave
that violin alone. If that nice explorer man hadn't been as simple as a
child, he'd have seen through you. Are you going on with the Sherlock
Holmes touch?"
"I flatter myself that I have carried it through very well so far,"
said Tommy with some complacence. "The deductions were good, weren't
they? I had to risk the taxi. After all, it's the only sensible way of
getting to this place."
"It's lucky I had just read the bit about his engagement in this
morning's Daily Mirror," remarked Tuppence.
"Yes, that looked well for the efficiency of Blunt's Brilliant
Detectives. This is decidedly a Sherlock Holmes case. Even you cannot
have failed to notice the similarity between it and the disappearance
of Lady Frances Carfax."
"Do you expect to find Mrs. Leigh Gordon's body in a coffin?"
"Logically, history should repeat itself. Actually--well, what do you
think?"
"Well," said Tuppence. "The most obvious explanation seems to be that
for some reason or other Hermy, as he calls her, is afraid to meet
her fiancé, and that Lady Susan is backing her up. In fact, to put it
bluntly, she's come a cropper of some kind, and has got the wind up
about it."
"That occurred to me also," said Tommy. "But I thought we'd better
make pretty certain before suggesting that explanation to a man like
Stavansson. What about a run down to Maldon, old thing? And it would do
no harm to take some golf clubs with us."
Tuppence agreeing, the International Detective Agency was left in the
charge of Albert.
Maldon, though a well known residential place, did not cover a large
area. Tommy and Tuppence, making every possible inquiry that ingenuity
could suggest, nevertheless drew a complete blank. It was as they were
returning to London that a brilliant idea occurred to Tuppence.
"Tommy, why did they put Maldon Surrey on the telegram?"
"Because Maldon is in Surrey, idiot."
"Idiot yourself--I don't mean that. If you get a telegram
from--Hastings, say, or Torquay, they don't put the county after it.
But from Richmond, they do put Richmond Surrey. That's because there
are two Richmonds."
Tommy, who was driving, slowed up.
"Tuppence," he said affectionately. "Your idea is not so dusty. Let us
make inquiries at yonder post office."
They drew up before a small building in the middle of a village street.
A very few minutes sufficed to elicit the information that there were
two Maldons. Maldon, Surrey, and Maldon, Sussex, the latter a tiny
hamlet but possessed of a telegraph office.
"That's it," said Tuppence excitedly. "Stavansson knew Maldon was in
Surrey, so he hardly looked at the word beginning with S. after Maldon."
"To-morrow," said Tommy. "We'll have a look at Maldon, Sussex."
Maldon, Sussex, was a very different proposition to its Surrey
namesake. It was four miles from a railway station, possessed two
public houses, two small shops, a post and telegraph office combined
with a sweet and picture postcard business, and about seven small
cottages. Tuppence took on the shops whilst Tommy betook himself to the
Cock and Sparrow. They met half an hour later.
"Well?" said Tuppence.
"Quite good beer," said Tommy, "but no information."
"You'd better try the King's Head," said Tuppence. "I'm going back to
the post office. There's a sour old woman there, but I heard them yell
to her that dinner was ready."
She returned to the place, and began examining postcards. A fresh-faced
girl, still munching, came out of the back room.
"I'd like these, please," said Tuppence. "And do you mind waiting
whilst I just look over these comic ones?"
She sorted through a packet, talking as she did so.
"I'm ever so disappointed you couldn't tell me my sister's address.
She's staying near here and I've lost her letter. Leigh Wood, her name
is."
The girl shook her head.
"I don't remember it. And we don't get many letters through here
either--so I probably should if I'd seen it on a letter. Apart from the
Grange, there isn't many big houses round about."
"What is the Grange?" asked Tuppence. "Who does it belong to?"
"Doctor Horriston has it. It's turned into a Nursing Home now. Nerve
cases mostly, I believe. Ladies that come down for rest cures, and all
that sort of thing. Well, it's quiet enough down here, Heaven knows."
She giggled.
Tuppence hastily selected a few cards and paid for them.
"That's Doctor Horriston's car coming along now," exclaimed the girl.
Tuppence hurried to the shop door. A small two seater was passing. At
the wheel was a tall dark man with a neat black beard and a powerful,
unpleasant face. The car went straight on down the street. Tuppence saw
Tommy crossing the road towards her.
"Tommy, I believe I've got it. Doctor Horriston's Nursing Home."
"I heard about it at the King's Head, and I thought there might be
something in it. But if she's had a nervous breakdown or anything of
that sort, her aunt and her friends would know about it surely."
"Ye-es. I didn't mean that. Tommy, did you see that man in the two
seater?"
"Unpleasant looking brute, yes."
"That was Doctor Horriston."
Tommy whistled.
"Shifty looking beggar. What do you say about it, Tuppence? Shall we go
and have a look at the Grange?"
They found the place at last, a big rambling house, surrounded by
deserted grounds, with a swift mill stream running behind the house.
"Dismal sort of abode," said Tommy. "It gives me the creeps, Tuppence.
You know, I've a feeling this is going to turn out a far more serious
matter than we thought at first."
"Oh! don't. If only we are in time. That woman's in some awful danger,
I feel it in my bones."
"Don't let your imagination run away with you."
"I can't help it. I mistrust that man. What shall we do? I think it
would be a good plan if I went and rang the bell alone first, and asked
boldly for Mrs. Leigh Gordon just to see what answer I get. Because,
after all, it may be perfectly fair and above board."
Tuppence carried out her plan. The door was opened almost immediately
by a man servant with an impassive face.
"I want to see Mrs. Leigh Gordon if she is well enough to see me."
She fancied that there was a momentary flicker of the man's eyelashes,
but he answered readily enough.
"There is no one of that name here, Madam."
"Oh! surely. This is Doctor Horriston's place, The Grange, is it not?"
"Yes, Madam, but there is nobody of the name of Mrs. Leigh Gordon here."
Baffled, Tuppence was forced to withdraw and hold a further
consultation with Tommy outside the gate.
"Perhaps he was speaking the truth. After all, we don't _know_."
"He wasn't. He was lying. I'm sure of it."
"Wait until the doctor comes back," said Tommy. "Then I'll pass myself
off as a journalist anxious to discuss his new system of rest cure with
him. That will give me a chance of getting inside and studying the
geography of the place."
The doctor returned about half an hour later. Tommy gave him about
five minutes, then he in turn marched up to the front door. But he too
returned baffled.
"The doctor was engaged and couldn't be disturbed. And he never sees
journalists. Tuppence, you're right. There's something fishy about this
place. It's ideally situated--miles from anywhere. Any mortal thing
could go on here, and no one would ever know."
"Come on," said Tuppence, with determination.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to climb over the wall and see if I can't get up to the
house quietly without being seen."
"Right. I'm with you."
The garden was somewhat overgrown, and afforded a multitude of cover.
Tommy and Tuppence managed to reach the back of the house unobserved.
Here there was a wide terrace, with some crumbling steps leading down
from it. In the middle some French windows opened onto the terrace, but
they dared not step out into the open, and the windows where they were
crouching were too high for them to be able to look in. It did not seem
as though their reconnaissance would be much use when suddenly Tuppence
tightened her grasp of Tommy's arm.
Someone was speaking in the room close to them. The window was open and
the fragment of conversation came clearly to their ears.
"Come in, come in, and shut the door," said a man's voice irritably. "A
lady came about an hour ago, you said, and asked for Mrs. Leigh Gordon?"
Tuppence recognised the answering voice as that of the impassive man
servant.
"Yes, sir."
"You said she wasn't here, of course?"
"Of course, sir."
"And now this journalist fellow," fumed the other.
He came suddenly to the window, throwing up the sash, and the two
outside, peering through a screen of bushes, recognised Dr. Horriston.
"It's the woman I mind most about," continued the doctor. "What did she
look like?"
"Young, good-looking, and very smartly dressed, sir."
Tommy nudged Tuppence in the ribs.
"Exactly," said the doctor between his teeth. "As I feared. Some friend
of the Leigh Gordon woman's. It's getting very difficult. I shall have
to take steps--"
He left the sentence unfinished. Tommy and Tuppence heard the door
close. There was silence.
Gingerly, Tommy led the retreat. When they had reached a little
clearing not far away, but out of earshot from the house, he spoke.
"Tuppence, old thing, this is getting serious. They mean mischief. I
think we ought to get back to town at once and see Stavansson."
To his surprise Tuppence shook her head.
"We must stay down here. Didn't you hear him say he was going to take
steps? That might mean anything."
"The worst of it is we've hardly got a case to go to the police on."
"Listen, Tommy. Why not ring up Stavansson from the village? I'll stay
around here."
"Perhaps that is the best plan," agreed her husband. "But, I
say--Tuppence--"
"Well?"
"Take care of yourself--won't you?"
"Of course I shall, you silly old thing. Cut along."
It was some two hours later that Tommy returned. He found Tuppence
awaiting him near the gate.
"Well?"
"I couldn't get on to Stavansson. Then I tried Lady Susan. She was out
too. Then I thought of ringing up old Brady. I asked him to look up
Horriston in the Medical Directory or whatever the thing calls itself."
"Well, what did Dr. Brady say?"
"Oh! he knew the name at once. Horriston was once a bona fide
doctor, but he came a cropper of some kind. Brady called him a most
unscrupulous quack, and said he, personally, wouldn't be surprised at
anything. The question is, what are we to do now?"
"We must stay here," said Tuppence instantly. "I've a feeling they mean
something to happen to-night. By the way, a gardener has been clipping
ivy round the house. Tommy, _I saw where he put the ladder_."
"Good for you, Tuppence," said her husband appreciatively. "Then
to-night--"
"As soon as it's dark--"
"We shall see--"
"What we shall see."
Tommy took his turn at watching the house whilst Tuppence went to the
village and had some food.
Then she returned and they took up the vigil together. At nine o'clock,
they decided that it was dark enough to commence operations. They
were now able to circle round the house in perfect freedom. Suddenly
Tuppence clutched Tommy by the arm.
"Listen."
The sound she had heard came again, borne faintly on the night air. It
was the moan of a woman in pain. Tuppence pointed upward to a window on
the first floor.
"It came from that room," she whispered.
Again that low moan rent the stillness of the night.
The two listeners decided to put their original plan into action.
Tuppence led the way to where she had seen the gardener put the ladder.
Between them they carried it to the side of the house from which they
had heard the moaning. All the blinds of the ground floor rooms were
drawn, but this particular window upstairs was unshuttered.
Tommy put the ladder as noiselessly as possible against the side of the
house.
"I'll go up," whispered Tuppence. "You stay below. I don't mind
climbing ladders and you can steady it better than I could. And in case
the doctor should come round the corner you'd be able to deal with him
and I shouldn't."
Nimbly Tuppence swarmed up the ladder, and raised her head cautiously
to look in at the window. Then she ducked it swiftly, but after a
minute or two brought it very slowly up again. She stayed there for
about five minutes. Then she descended again.
"It's her," she said breathlessly and ungrammatically. "But oh! Tommy,
it's horrible. She's lying there in bed, moaning, and turning to and
fro--and just as I got there a woman dressed as a nurse came in. She
bent over her and injected something in her arm and then went away
again. What shall we do?"
"Is she conscious?"
"I think so. I'm almost sure she is. I fancy she may be strapped to the
bed. I'm going up again, and if I can, I'm going to get into that room."
"I say, Tuppence--"
"If I'm in any sort of danger I'll yell for you. So long."
Avoiding further argument Tuppence hurried up the ladder again. Tommy
saw her try the window, then noiselessly push up the sash. Another
second, and she had disappeared inside.
And now an agonising time came for Tommy. He could hear nothing at
first. Tuppence and Mrs. Leigh Gordon must be talking in whispers if
they were talking at all. Presently he did hear a low murmur of voices
and drew a breath of relief. But suddenly the voices stopped. Dead
silence.
Tommy strained his ears. Nothing. What could they be doing?
Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Come on," said Tuppence's voice out of the darkness.
"Tuppence! How did you get here?"
"Through the front door. Let's get out of this."
"Get out of this?"
"That's what I said."
"But--Mrs. Leigh Gordon?"
In a tone of indescribable bitterness Tuppence replied.
"Getting thin!"
Tommy looked at her, suspecting irony.
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. Getting thin. Slinkiness. Reduction of weight. Didn't
you hear Stavansson say he hated fat women? In the two years he's
been away, his Hermy has put on weight. Got a panic when she knew
he was coming back, and rushed off to do this new treatment of Dr.
Horriston's. It's injections of some sort, and he makes a deadly secret
of it, and charges through the nose. I daresay he _is_ a quack--but
he's a damned successful one! Stavansson comes home a fortnight
too soon, when she's only beginning the treatment. Lady Susan has
been sworn to secrecy, and plays up. And we come down here and make
blithering idiots of ourselves!"
Tommy drew a deep breath.
"I believe, Watson," he said with dignity, "that there is a very good
Concert at the Queen's Hall to-morrow. We shall be in plenty of time
for it. And you will oblige me by not placing this case upon your
records. It has absolutely _no_ distinctive features."