IN WHICH ANOTHER DISCOVERY IS MADE
The man Snow held up before our eyes a cabinet photograph which he had
found in the drawer of an old-fashioned oak bureau.
No second glance was required by either Whitlock or myself to recognise
it as a portrait of a person we had both seen.
It was the picture of a beautiful girl in a slightly _dêcolleté_ dinner
bodice--the unknown girl who had been so brutally murdered at Barnes!
Whitlock took it and examined it intently. Gazing upon it, I saw that
it had been taken by a well-known photographer in Bond Street--a sepia
print mounted upon a large grey card. There was a number pencilled upon
the back which would, no doubt, result in the name of the unknown girl
being discovered.
Had the object of the sender of that forged Press message been to
direct our attention to that portrait?
The face was one with merry, laughing eyes, quite charming, but, alas!
different, indeed, to the cold, grey, expressionless countenance I
had seen when the attendant of the mortuary-chamber had reverently
displaced the white shroud that covered it.
"You recognise her?" asked Whitlock, looking at me curiously.
"Of course," I said. "To mistake is impossible."
"We shall now discover something," he said in a tone of confidence.
"At least we shall know her name--which will be something towards the
solution of the problem."
"Yes; but does it not strike you as curious that our identification of
the victim is predicted in the mysterious Press message?" I remarked.
"That message was sent with an ulterior motive, depend upon it,"
my friend replied. "Remember that there was an imputation against
yourself. By whom?"
"Ah! that's a point we have yet to clear up," I said. "As far as I
know, I have no enemy capable of placing upon me suspicion of having
murdered a woman."
"And an uncommonly pretty woman into the bargain," Whitlock added,
his eyes still upon the photograph. "We must lose no time in making
inquiries of the photographer."
"I suppose she could not have been Mrs Elkington?" I suggested.
"Remember, husband and wife only left this house quite a short time
ago."
"About a fortnight, I think," said Snow. "Nobody seems to know exactly
when they went."
"I don't think that," Whitlock remarked. "She hadn't any wedding-ring
when found. She may be a friend of these Elkingtons. If so, they
probably know something about the affair. At anyrate, we'll see." Then,
turning to Snow, he added: "You'd better turn out the whole of that
bureau. There may be something further there."
The man continued his work of investigation quietly and methodically,
while we both stood aside watching.
"The whole thing is utterly amazing," Whitlock declared. "One would
almost think that it is the murderer himself who, putting us upon the
right scent, is at the same time cleverly implicating persons who've
had nothing to do with the matter."
"Well, my dear fellow," I exclaimed, "I hope you don't think that I've
had anything to do with it!"
"Of course not," he replied frankly. "But what I can't discern is
the motive why you should be condemned. There are points which are
conclusive against yourself, you know."
"Which points? You mean what was stated in the message last night?"
"That--and others."
"What others?"
"Well--we needn't go into them, need we, Keene?" he said. "You have an
enemy--a bitter enemy--that's very certain."
"Yes; and, what's more, he's a secret enemy," I declared angrily. "If I
knew who it was I could fight him with his own weapons. As it is, I'm
in the dark--completely in the dark!"
"You won't always be so," he said encouragingly. "This photograph will
shed some light upon the affair, without a doubt."
Whitlock was in ignorance of my love for Daisy--the woman we had
watched on the previous night. Surely she could not be my secret enemy.
Day by day the mystery was now increasing. From the first moment I had
gone down to Barnes to investigate, until the present, not a glimmer
of light had been shed upon the astounding affair. We certainly had
made several very curious discoveries, but where had they led us? Into
a _cul-de-sac_ always! Whoever had engineered those two Press messages
had done so with great tact and cleverness. Besides, he was aware of
much more of the truth than we were. We were groping in a maze of
mystery, and he, secure in his anonymity, seemed to hold us in the
hollow of his unscrupulous hand.
For over an hour we searched that house high and low, rummaging in all
likely corners where any papers might be concealed, but found nothing.
The mention of papers in that mysterious Press message had evidently
been made in order to induce us to search and find the portrait of the
victim.
That the recent tenants of that house were well-off was patent on every
hand. Some of the correspondence we found was couched in a language
that, no doubt, had a double meaning, but whether it concerned some
great plot or not we could not determine.
Snow hunted about like a fox-terrier. Some of the things he had brought
to light were of interest and also puzzling, but there was nothing save
the portrait which really led us further towards a solution of the
problem.
"I wonder why the Elkingtons have suddenly left?" I queried.
"We shall perhaps discover that later on," Whitlock said, after giving
some directions to Snow. "The chief point which puzzles me at the
moment is the reason why the little old hunchback comes here in secret.
There is some object in it. But what? He certainly does not come here
to see anyone."
"To see after the place, I suppose," was my remark.
"But isn't it a rather unusual hour to come?" my companion queried. "It
seems as though he has no wish that the neighbours should be aware of
his visits, so he comes when all is quiet and goes away before people
are awake."
"One bed has been recently slept in, sir," Snow said. "Second-floor
back."
"Not by our deformed friend, I think," answered his superior.
Upon the mantelshelf between two bronzes was one of those clocks which,
beneath glass shades, go for a year with once winding. Its pendulum was
still revolving, and its face showed that it was near eleven. I was in
time to catch the first edition of the _Evening Herald_.
"Look here, Whitlock," I said, a moment later. "I'd very much like to
publish the fact that the photograph has been found."
"You can if you like, Keene," he surprised me by replying. "Only no
word must be said of how or where it has been discovered. You can
merely say that exclusive information reaching the _Herald_ makes it
plain that the police are in possession of a photograph of the dead
woman which will lead to her identification."
"And may I not add that the portrait came into the hands of the
police in a mysterious manner? Such a statement adds a flavour to the
information, you know," I laughed. "The _Herald_ public love a spice of
mystery."
"I know they do," he said, also smiling. "Well, if you like, say what
you suggest. Only, no more, remember--not a word more without first
consulting me. Perhaps the publication of this bare fact will induce
our unknown friend who telegraphs news to the west of England to let
out a little more."
"Right!" I exclaimed. "There's a telephone, I noticed, in the study.
Excuse me a moment."
From the study table I took up the receiver, and in a few moments was
talking with "Joyful Jimmy."
"Where are you, Keene? I've been ringing up your chambers for an hour
and got no answer. I want you to go down to Beckton Gasworks at once--a
strike on there," he snapped in his querulous voice.
"I can't. I'm on the Barnes mystery," was my reply.
"Oh, hang the Barnes mystery! What's the use of pottering about it any
further? It's quite dead now."
"No, it isn't. I've got some good stuff this morning. Will you take it
down?"
"Hold the line. I'll get one of the subs."
"But I can't go to Beckton. You really must send somebody else," I
protested.
The response was a grunt of dissatisfaction. The Marvin grunt was well
known in the office of the _Evening Herald_. Then a moment later the
voice of one of the sub-editors was heard, and to him I dictated what
was to appear in the next edition of the paper--a message very similar
to the one Whitlock had suggested.
"There seems something very extraordinary about that case," remarked
the sub-editor, after I had finished. "The P.A. have just sent out a
warning on their tape not to accept any of their messages regarding the
affair without first making inquiry. It seems that somebody has been
forging Press messages into the country. At least, that's what we hear."
"Yes," I said, "I know all about it. Somebody sent a sensational yarn
down to Plymouth and signed it 'P.A.'"
"A joke--eh?"
"Yes, I suppose so," was my careless answer. "Good-bye."
And I rang off.
Half an hour later we all three left the house quietly, without
attracting attention. Snow turned sharply to the left, having orders to
continue to keep watch upon the place while I walked with Whitlock into
Russell Square.
At the corner by the railings stood an old newsman with a bundle
of _Evening Heralds_ under his arm; while attached to the railings
themselves was a contents-bill, bearing in big letters, "Barnes
Mystery: Extraordinary Discovery!"
"They haven't been long about it," my friend remarked, as he passed.
"But there--you people down at the _Herald_ are the greatest hustlers
in London. We believe in smartness of action at Scotland Yard, but I
must confess we can't hold a candle to you."
"Not when the Press report things before they've actually happened," I
remarked, laughing.
"No; you're right. Those telegrams are really most weird and
extraordinary. I confess I can't make them out at all."
"Nor anybody else," I said. "If we could only publish that in the
_Herald_ we should create a first-class sensation."
"Ah! you journalists are for ever looking out for opportunities to
give the public spasms," he laughed. "But our object is always to do
things as quietly and unobtrusively as ever we can. We don't believe in
sensation, Keene."
"But we do. The _Evening Herald_ wouldn't have any circulation at all
if it were not that it gave the day's stories picturesquely."
"With embroidery," he added.
"Well--sometimes," I admitted.
"Ah!" he said, "we can't afford to deal in fictions, as you can. A
contradiction next day does you no harm. With us a contradiction might
mean an action against us for damages for false arrest. Let's take that
cab down to the photographer and hear what he has to say."