CONCERNS THE STRANGER
Hardly had the stranger left the kerb when another crawling hansom was
stopped a little distance off, and a man sprang in and drove after the
first vehicle.
For an instant I saw his face and recognised it. It was Kennedy, who,
finding the pair had left the café, had hurried on, finally overtaking
us. He had seen that observation must be kept upon the queer little old
man and his identity established.
Daisy, as soon as the old man had left, turned along Charing Cross
Road towards the station, where it was so often her habit to meet
old Annie prior to proceeding home. Her companion, however, seemed
to have suddenly grown very excited over something which the old man
had so swiftly related. He seemed to be speaking angrily, assuming
a threatening manner, not towards her, but towards some person not
present.
Little did he dream that the breathless old fellow was being closely
followed in his rapid flight westward, or that he himself was being
watched by three keen pairs of eyes.
A second vendor of evening papers approached the first, but, receiving
a sign, slunk away. He knew that his fellow-hawker had "got a job
on," for, looking across, he at once recognised Inspector Whitlock.
The public little guess how much information of great value to the
police those paper-men and cab touts pick up, or how clever they are in
discovering secrets and putting the authorities upon the right track.
Whenever I walked in the West End with Whitlock at night--and it was
often--there were frequently hasty words whispered in the dark in
passing by dirty, forbidding, ruffianly-looking men who were acting as
his "eyes" and "ears" in various matters.
Truly the West End is a strange and complex world of pleasure and
crime, poverty and wealth, delight and despair; the concentration
of all the vices but few of the virtues of our modern Babylon; the
greatest, most extravagant, and at the same time most poverty-stricken
city the world has ever seen.
Whitlock sauntered on, narrowly watching Daisy, and still wondering
who she might be.
How would he act, I reflected, when he knew the truth, as he must ere
long.
The pair strolled to the corner of Trafalgar Square, halting in front
of St Martin's Church. As I watched, I saw that the young man was
speaking earnestly with her, his hand linked again in her arm. What he
was saying had evidently created a great impression upon her, for she
stood staring before her as though utterly dazed.
Suddenly her mind seemed made up, and her companion hailing a cab, she
entered, and they drove away along Pall Mall.
"We must follow," Whitlock said, quickly; "but it is difficult now
there's so very little traffic." He signed to the news-vendor to leave
us, and calling a cab, which at that moment approached, we entered and
followed.
Whither was this man taking my well-beloved? What was the object of
this midnight adventure? I sat back in the vehicle watching in anger
the two red lights of the cab in front.
Up St James's Street, along Piccadilly and Knightsbridge we went,
towards Kensington. She was going in the opposite direction to her own
home--she who had so cleverly and so cruelly deceived me!
Fortunate it was, perhaps, that Whitlock was with me, or I would have
faced the pair boldly long before, and demanded of her an explanation
on the spot.
And yet, as I reflected, I could not disguise that there was about her
manner something which showed her to have fallen completely beneath
that man's influence. She was acting involuntarily. Old Annie was most
probably waiting for her somewhere, and waiting in apprehension. To
travel about in a cab at night with a stranger was certainly not like
Daisy Marvin. But was he such a stranger? Was not this man, so strongly
suspected by the police, her secret lover?
That last hour had been a complete revelation to me. Daisy, so full
of wild abandon in her stage-dancing, so _piquante_, _chic_, and full
of fun before the footlights, was, in her private life, an entirely
different girl, modest, sweet, and full of a girlish charm that was
as indescribable as it was delightful. Had I been told that she loved
another I would never have believed it. But I had seen with my own
eyes, and even now, at that moment, was following them to an unknown
destination.
"I'd like to know who the girl is," Whitlock remarked presently to me.
"If the man is the same that I believe him to be, then the whole affair
assumes the form of a problem a hundred times more complicated than
before."
"How?"
"That man, though not old, has had a past--a remarkable past."
"Of crime?"
"Well--not exactly. Rather of mystery."
"But is not the finding of that birth-certificate very extraordinary?"
I asked, quickly reviewing in my own mind all the curious features of
the astounding affair.
"Very. I can't, for the life of me, explain--first, why it was
concealed there, and, secondly, why the sender of the anonymous
telegram should wish to direct our attention to the spot."
"Motives of revenge, perhaps."
"That certainly seems more than likely--revenge upon the person named
Drayton."
"The man in front of us?"
"It may be him--or it may not."
"And if he should turn out to be another man?" I suggested.
Whitlock shrugged his shoulders.
"Of course, I may be mistaken. But in any case we shall know definitely
to-morrow."
"How?"
"Wait, and I will show you in due course. I wonder," he added, "who
that old man was? Kennedy will, I hope, have something to tell us in
the morning. The old chap gave our friend in front some information,
and was apparently in a tremendous hurry to get out of the way. Kennedy
won't leave him till he's found out who and what he is, depend upon it."
The cab we were following had already passed Kensington Church, and
was now on its way along the broad, deserted Phillimore Terrace, going
still westward towards Addison Road. Whitlock had given directions to
our man to keep a respectable distance behind, in order that the pair
should not suspect us of following.
"They seem to be going a long way!" I remarked, impatient to ascertain
their destination.
"Yes. There's some trickery in progress--that's my firm opinion. And I
tell you what, Keene; I don't think that girl is the kind of companion
for Francis Drayton. She seems far too genteel, modest and ladylike."
I agreed, and perhaps my hot words aroused wonder within him. But he
only remarked--
"If that girl knew as much as I know, she wouldn't be seen about with
him, that's very certain."
"Can't you tell me more, Whitlock?" I urged. "You've been speaking in
enigmas all the evening."
"It's judicious to do so sometimes," he answered, turning his face
towards mine in the darkness. The tone of his voice struck me as
curious. He was, I knew, thinking of that small portrait of myself.
Little did he dream that the picture was the one I had given to the
girl travelling in the cab before us.
Along the Hammersmith Road we went, down Bridge Road, and across the
bridge.
"I wonder whether they are daring enough to go to the house at Barnes!"
exclaimed Whitlock, as we crossed the suspension-bridge.
It seemed very much as though the house of mystery was actually their
destination. Our expectations were soon afterwards realised, when
about half-way along Castelnau the cab before us pulled up and the
pair descended. The suspected man must have paid well, for the driver
without protest, turned his horse round and came in our direction.
We had already stopped and Whitlock, ordering our man to return to
the foot of the bridge and there wait, walked straight into the front
garden of the house before which we had pulled up, I, of course,
following. It was a ruse of his in order that if the man or the woman
glanced back they would not detect us.
If, indeed, they had noticed us it would seem as though we had alighted
before our own door.
My companion informed me that he had withdrawn the telegraph clerk, and
that the house was tenantless, as before.
As we watched, we saw the stranger fumbling at the padlock upon the
gate--a lock which the police had placed upon it--and while the girl
stood eagerly watching up and down the road, in case someone might
approach, he succeeded in opening it, probably with a false key.
From where we stood we could plainly see them standing together, as she
covered his suspicious movements. The long, broad road was deserted,
and the silence unbroken, save for the distant footfall of a constable.
Quickly, however, the pair opened the gate and slipped within the
garden, while a few moments later the constable passed by, all
unconscious of what was in progress.
What could possibly induce Daisy to visit that house? She knew quite
well by the papers of the strange happenings there. Was it only her
woman's curiosity that led her to accompany her companion on that
midnight visit, or were they there for some entirely different purpose?
Had she been there before? That was the great question exercising
my mind at that moment. When I recollected how my portrait had
been concealed in that upstairs cupboard my heart sank within me.
I remembered, too, her surprise when she had read the report of
the inquest upon the two unfortunate women. In that report she had
discovered something--what it was I knew not--which had caused her the
greatest apprehension. Was she, therefore, cognisant of the real facts?
To me it seemed very much as though she knew much more about the affair
than she had admitted.
She had disappeared within, together with her companion.
"They have to get the door unlocked yet," Whitlock whispered to me,
after the constable had passed. "We'll give them a little time longer.
Then we'll just watch and ascertain the reason of this visit."
As I stood there I could hear my own heart beating, so excited was I.
What were we about to discover? What link was there which connected
the woman I so dearly loved and adored with that most amazing and
motiveless crime and suicide?
Daisy was alone in that empty house with the man whom Whitlock had
himself declared was unfitted to be her friend! I could hardly restrain
myself from dashing forth to her protection. It was on the tip of my
tongue to tell the truth to the man standing so patiently at my side.
Yet on reflection, I saw that any word from me might be misconstrued
into a shadow of guilt which would fall upon her unblemished
reputation. No; silence was best--for my sake, as well as for hers.
For ten minutes or so we remained in that garden, hidden in the dark
shadows. To me, those anxious moments seemed hours, until at last
Whitlock motioned to me, and we crept as quietly as we could along the
pavement to the big iron gate, which I now knew so well.
Pushing it open, we slipped in, walking over the grass to avoid our
feet making a noise upon the gravel, and, in the deep shadow of the
bushes, approached along the side of the house to its rear.
Suddenly, just as we reached it, a sound broke upon our ears, causing
both of us to halt and hold our breath.
The sound came from within that dark, silent house of mystery--a
woman's shrill, piercing scream.
I listened again. The cry for help was from the lips of my own love--my
own sweet Daisy!
For a second I stood there petrified.