A RED-HAIRED WOMAN!
I bent over the corpse and touched the forehead tentatively with my
finger-tips. It was stone cold. The man must have been dead many hours.
"Come on; we must send for the police; pull yourself together, man!" I
said to Jenkins, who seemed half-paralyzed with fear and horror.
We squeezed back through the small opening, and I gently closed the
door, and gripping Jenkins by the arm, marched him down the stairs to my
rooms. He was trembling like a leaf, and scarcely able to stand alone.
"We've never had such a thing happen before," he kept mumbling
helplessly, over and over again.
I bade him have some whiskey, if he could find any, and remain there to
keep an eye on the staircase, while I went across to Scotland Yard; for,
through some inexplicable pig-headedness on the part of the police
authorities, not even the headquarters was on the telephone.
The Abbey bells were ringing for afternoon service, and there were many
people about, churchgoers and holiday makers in their Sunday clothes.
The contrast between the sunny streets, with their cheerful crowds, and
the silent sinister tragedy of the scene I had just left struck me
forcibly.
If I had sent Jenkins on the errand, I guess he would have created quite
a sensation. That is why I went myself; and I doubt if any one saw
anything unusual about me, as I threaded my way quietly through the
throng at Whitehall corner, where the 'buses stop to take up passengers.
A minute or two later I was in an inspector's room at "the Yard," giving
my information to a little man who heard me out almost in silence,
watching me keenly the while.
I imagine that I appeared quite calm. I could hear my own voice stating
the bald facts succinctly, but, to my ears, it sounded like the voice of
some one else, for it was with a great effort that I retained my
composure. I knew that this strange and terrible event which I had been
the one to discover was only another link in the chain of circumstances,
which, so far as my knowledge went, began less than twenty-four hours
ago; a chain that threatened to fetter me, or the girl I loved. For my
own safety I cared nothing. My one thought was to protect Anne, who must
be, either fortuitously, or of her own will, involved in this tangled
web of intrigue.
I should, of course, be subjected to cross-examination, and, on my way
to Scotland Yard, I had decided just what I meant to reveal. I would
have to relate how I encountered the old Russian, when he mistook my
flat for Cassavetti's; but of the portrait in his possession, of our
subsequent interview, and of the incident of the river steps, I would
say nothing.
For the present I merely stated how Jenkins and I had discovered the
fact that a murder had been committed.
"I dined in company with Mr. Cassavetti last night," I continued. "But
before that--"
I was going to mention the mysterious Russian; but my auditor checked
me.
"Half a minute, Mr. Wynn," he said, as he filled in some words on a
form, and handed it to a police officer waiting inside the door. The man
took the paper, saluted, and went out.
"I gather that you did not search the rooms? That when you found the man
lying dead there, you simply came out and left everything as it was?"
"Yes. I saw at once we could do nothing; the poor fellow was cold and
rigid."
I felt that I spoke dully, mechanically; but the horror of the thing was
so strongly upon me, that, if I had relaxed the self-restraint I was
exerting, I think I should have collapsed altogether. This business-like
little official, who had received the news that a murder had been
committed as calmly as if I had merely told him some one had tried to
pick my pocket, could not imagine and must not suspect the significance
this ghastly discovery held for me, or the maddening conjectures that
were flashing across my mind.
"I wish every one would act as sensibly; it would save us a lot of
trouble;" he remarked, closing his note-book, and stowing it, and his
fountain pen, in his breast-pocket. "I will return with you now; my men
will be there before we are, and the divisional surgeon won't be long
after us."
[Illustration: _The rooms were in great disorder, and had been subjected
to an exhaustive search._ Page 51]
We walked the short distance in silence; and when we turned the corner
of the street where the block was situated, I saw that the news had
spread, as such news always does, in some unaccountable fashion, for
a little crowd had assembled, gazing at the closed street-door, and
exchanging comments and ejaculations.
I pulled out my keys, but, for all the self-control I thought I was
maintaining, my hand trembled so I could not fit the latch-key into the
lock.
"Allow me," said my companion, and took the bunch out of my shaking
hand, just as the door was opened from within by a constable who had
stationed himself in the lobby.
On the top landing we overtook another constable, and two plain-clothes
officers, to whom Jenkins was volubly asserting his belief that it was
none other than the assassin who had left the door open in the night.
The minute investigation that followed revealed several significant
facts. One was that the assassin must have been in the rooms for some
considerable time before Cassavetti returned,--to be struck down the
instant he entered. The position of the body, just behind the door,
proved that. Also he was still wearing his thin Inverness, and his hat
had rolled to a corner of the little hall. He had not even had time to
replace his keys in his trousers pocket; they dangled loosely from their
chain, and jingled as the body was lifted and moved to the inner room.
The rooms were in great disorder, and had been subjected to an
exhaustive search; even the books had been tumbled out of their shelves
and thrown on the floor. But ordinary robbery was evidently not the
motive, for there were several articles of value scattered about the
room; nor had the body been rifled. Cassavetti wore a valuable diamond
ring, which was still on his finger, as his gold watch was still in his
breast-pocket; it had stopped at ten minutes to twelve.
"Run down, so that shows nothing," the detective remarked, as he opened
it and looked at the works. "Do you know if your friend carried a
pocket-book, Mr. Wynn? He did? Then that's the only thing missing. It
was papers they were after, and I presume they got 'em!"
That was obvious enough, for not a scrap of written matter was
discovered, nor the weapon with which the crime was committed.
"It's a fairly straightforward case," Inspector Freeman said
complacently, later, when the gruesome business was over, and the body
removed to the mortuary. "A political affair, of course; the man was a
Russian revolutionary--we used to call 'em Nihilists a few years
ago--and his name was no more Cassavetti than mine is! Now, Mr. Wynn,
you told me you knew him, and dined with him last night. Do you care to
give me any particulars, or would you prefer to keep them till you give
evidence at the inquest?"
"I'll give them you now, of course," I answered promptly. "I can't
attend the inquest, for I'm leaving England to-morrow morning."
"Then you'll have to postpone your journey," he said dryly. "For you're
bound to attend the inquest; you'll be the most important witness. May I
ask where you were going?"
I told him, and he nodded.
"So you're one of Lord Southbourne's young men? Thought I knew your
face, but couldn't quite place you," he responded. "Hope you won't meet
with the same fate as your predecessor. A sad affair, that; we got the
news on Friday. Sounds like much the same sort of thing as this"--he
jerked his head towards the ceiling--"except that Mr. Carson was an
Englishman, who never ought to have mixed himself up with a lot like
that."
Again came that expressive jerk of the head, and his small bright eyes
regarded me more shrewdly and observantly than ever.
"Let me give you a word of warning, Mr. Wynn; don't you follow his
example. Remember Russia's not England--"
"I know. I've been there before. Besides, my chief warned me last
night."
"Lord Southbourne? Just so; he knows a thing or two. Well, now about
Cassavetti--"
I was glad enough to get back to the point; it was he and not I who had
strayed from it, for I was anxious to get rid of him.
I gave him just the information I had decided upon, and flattered myself
that I did it with a candor that precluded even him from suspecting that
I was keeping anything back. To my immense relief he refrained from any
questioning, and at the end of my recital put up his pocket-book, and
rose, holding out his hand.
"Well, you've given me very valuable assistance, Mr. Wynn. Queer old
card, that Russian. We shouldn't have much difficulty in tracing him,
though you never can tell with these aliens. They've as many bolt holes
as a rat. You say he's the only suspicious looking visitor you've ever
seen here?"
"The only one of any kind I've encountered who wanted Cassavetti. After
all, I knew very little of him, and though we were such near neighbors,
I saw him far more often about town than here."
"You never by any chance saw a lady going up to his rooms, or on the
staircase as if she might be going up there? A red-haired woman,--or
fair-haired, anyhow--well-dressed?"
"Never!" I said emphatically, and with truth. "Why do you ask?"
"Because there was a red-haired woman in his flat last night. That's
all. Good day, Mr. Wynn."