EVERY WOMAN FOR HERSELF
Mrs. Walsingham went out early the next morning fully conscious that
she had a hard and a trying day before her. But her excellent night
had fitted her for whatever lay in front; now that the critical moment
had arrived, she felt something of the joy of battle in her veins; she
rose to the occasion with a zest which gave her positive pleasure.
She was going to fight for her own hand; by nightfall she hoped to
be in a position from which she could, metaphorically, snap her
fingers at anything which savoured of the past. So she tripped out of
Bloomsbury flats, and went Strand-wards, all unconscious of the fact
that Mr. Sydney Werrick, who to his many other accomplishments added
that of being able to cleverly disguise himself, watched her emerge
and sauntered after her at a comfortably easy pace and distance. But
Mr. Werrick, in his turn, was equally unconscious that he, too, was
shadowed by a keen-eyed person who had no intention of losing sight of
him.
Mrs. Walsingham, following her usual habits, crossed Russell Square,
went down Southampton Row and Kingsway to Norfolk Street, and entering
Abbotsbury House, remained there for a good hour, during which time
Mr. Werrick killed the slow moments by various devices, in which
tedious occupation he was imitated by his shadow. Werrick knew already
that there was but one entrance and one exit to Abbotsbury House; on
it, however much he lounged about Norfolk Street, however deeply he
professed to be interested in the kaleidoscopic life of the Strand,
as seen from the two corners of the street-top, he kept the eye of a
lynx. And at length he saw Mrs. Walsingham emerge, and he followed
her to a neighbouring bank; and when she came out of its doors, a few
minutes later, he followed her along the Strand. Then Mrs. Walsingham
openly and boldly walked into the shop of Mr. Wiertz, and Mr. Werrick
took up a position on the opposite side of the street, and wondered
what she was doing in the establishment, which was ornamented by the
unmistakable sign of the pawnbroker.
Mr. Wiertz, who happened to be in his shop when Mrs. Walsingham
entered, was surprised to see her, though he was not sure why he was
surprised. That her visit was connected with financial reasons he felt
assured, but for the moment he could not surmise what particular kind
of financial reasons they might be. He greeted Mrs. Walsingham with
great politeness, however, remembering the magnificence in which he
had recently beheld her at the Odalium Theatre, and he came bowing and
smiling towards her as she entered and fixed an inquiring gaze upon
him. Mrs. Walsingham, however, knew that what Mr. Wiertz was really
bowing and smiling at was the diamond necklace, or his recollections of
it.
“I want to see you in private, Mr. Wiertz,” she said, without preface.
“With pleasure, madam,” replied Mr. Wiertz. He led the way to his
sanctum at the extreme rear of the premises, and carefully shut
the door upon himself and his customer before he placed his most
comfortable chair at her disposal. “We shall not be disturbed here,
madam,” he said. “But you are familiar with my little den.”
Mrs. Walsingham laid her handbag on the table and rested an elbow upon
it.
“You remember my diamond necklace, Mr. Wiertz?” she said, going
straight to her subject. “Of course you do.”
“I remember it, Mrs. Walsingham, and I had the pleasure of seeing you
wear it the other night,” answered Mr. Wiertz.
Mrs. Walsingham started and looked a question.
“At the Odalium--close by,” said Mr. Wiertz. “Yes--I indulged myself
with a seat at the play. And very beautiful it was--the diamond
necklace, I mean, of course.”
Mrs. Walsingham laughed.
“I suppose you couldn’t take your eyes off it?” she said.
Mr. Wiertz bowed. He also smiled, blandly.
“It would, of course, attract you much more than anything you saw on
the stage,” continued Mrs. Walsingham. “Yes, I remember that you always
had a great liking for my necklace, Mr. Wiertz. You also wanted to buy
it. Very well--I want to sell it.”
This blunt announcement produced two effects on Mr. Wiertz. A great
wave of joy leapt up in his soul; it was followed by a mightier
wave of caution. He took off his spectacles and began to polish
them. Previously, Mrs. Walsingham had not wished to sell; now, Mrs.
Walsingham did wish to sell. That difference made--all the difference.
“Ah!” he said. “Yes? Now, when I wanted to buy the necklace, I had a
customer in view. Now I have no customer in view.”
“That’s of no consequence,” said Mrs. Walsingham, with fine
indifference. “It doesn’t make the slightest difference in the value of
the stones, you know. I remarked that I want to sell the necklace, just
as it is. How much will you give me for it, Mr. Wiertz--prompt cash?”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mr. Wiertz. “I--I am not thinking of buying
anything so very----”
Mrs. Walsingham stopped him with a glance.
“Don’t let’s waste time in foolish talk, Mr. Wiertz,” she said. And, as
if to show how practical she meant to be in the matter, she unlocked
her bag, took out a case and unveiled the diamond necklace before him.
“You know you want to buy this,” she continued, “and now I’m prepared
to sell it to you. You made me an offer once before--I didn’t really
know the worth of the stones, then. Now, I do. And so--how much are you
going to offer me--cash?”
Mr. Wiertz took up the diamond necklace and examined it carefully. His
fingers trembled a little as he put it down again.
“I had an immediate customer at that time,” he protested. “Now, it is
too late, and if I bought this, I should have to wait, and to look
about me, and----”
“Stuff!” said Mrs. Walsingham. “And nonsense, too. You know as well
as I do that if you buy that necklace you can sell it again within
twenty-four hours and make an enormous profit. What you’re calculating
at this moment is how you can beat me down so that you can increase
that profit. But you won’t, Mr. Wiertz. I’ve got my own price on that
diamond necklace, and I’m going to have it. It doesn’t matter whether
you give it to me or not. Because, if you don’t somebody else will.”
Mr. Wiertz rubbed his hands together and smiled feebly.
“How--how much do you want?” he asked.
“Ten thousand--cash,” answered Mrs. Walsingham, promptly.
“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Wiertz. “Oh, really, it’s--impossible.”
Mrs. Walsingham swept the necklace, case and all, into her handbag. She
made signs of departure.
“Impossible!” repeated Mr. Wiertz. “I--I couldn’t sell at a profit on
that. Say--we’ll say eight thousand, dear lady.”
“I’ve said what I want,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “And what I want,
I’ll have. Ten thousand is my price.”
“I might go to eight thousand five hundred,” said Mr. Wiertz. “You
see----”
“I only see that you’re wasting time,” responded Mrs. Walsingham. “I
tell you I can get ten thousand elsewhere.”
Mr. Wiertz hesitated. Finally he stretched a hand towards the bag.
“Well, well, let me see it again,” he said. “Really, you are very
extortionate, you know, and my profit would be----”
Mrs. Walsingham handed the necklace to him again.
“Ten thousand--not a penny less,” she said.
The jeweller examined the necklace still more closely. At last he
turned to his desk.
“How do you want it, then?” he asked. “A cheque?--or I can send out and
get you notes if you like?”
“If you please,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She sat back in the easy chair,
and put the tips of her fingers together. “You’ve got a good bargain
there, Mr. Wiertz--you know you have.”
“But I shall have to find a customer,” said Mr. Wiertz, as he began to
write a cheque. “You ladies are so cruel when it comes to bargaining.”
The keen-eyed gentleman who was watching Mr. Sydney Werrick had by
this time become aware that Mr. Werrick was watching some other person,
and he accordingly waxed anxious to know who that other person was. So
when Werrick suddenly woke up from lazy contemplation of the Strand and
its crowds, and turned eastward again, his shadow looked about him to
see whom he shadowed, and he was not long in deciding that Werrick’s
attentions were fixed on the neatly-gowned little lady who made her
way back to Norfolk Street. And his sharp eyes saw that she carried a
handbag which was secured to her wrist by a chain which was something
more than ornamental. After that, he watched his man more keenly than
ever.
Mrs. Walsingham re-entered Abbotsbury House and stayed there for half
an hour. When she came out she went up into the Strand and boarded a
City omnibus. She boarded it at a moment when there was a block in the
traffic; Werrick, superbly confident in his disguise, took advantage
of this to board the same bus. Mrs. Walsingham got a seat within the
vehicle; Werrick climbed to the top and took good care to see who got
on and who got off whenever the bus stopped between that point and the
City. As for the man who was following Werrick, and who knew him quite
well in spite of his disguise, he openly followed Mrs. Walsingham into
the bus, being assured by that time that if he kept an eye on her he
would also be keeping an eye on the man who rode above their heads.
In this close companionship these three people rode down into the
heart of the City. At the Mansion House, Mrs. Walsingham got out of
the omnibus, and betook herself into Threadneedle Street. Werrick
followed; the shadow followed him. Mrs. Walsingham entered the doors
of a well-known private banking firm; Werrick lounged past them,
turned, retraced his steps and met his shadow face to face. The shadow
knew that he was safe; Werrick showed no sign of sudden recognition;
showed nothing: he did not, indeed, seem to see the man whose eyes
met his. And the man congratulated himself, and passing on, paused at
a convenient point, and thenceforward kept a look-out for the grey
Homburg hat which crowned his quarry’s dark face.
The private bank into which Mrs. Walsingham had gone was that whereat
Richard Shrewsbury kept his account. She was known there, for she had
often transacted business over its counters for both Richard himself
and for Carsdale, and when she presented her cheque for fifteen
thousand pounds, accompanied by a slip stating what notes she wanted
the amount in, it was duly honoured with no more delay than was
necessary in counting and checking the notes. And if the two men who
were watching outside, each with different motives, had but known it,
Mrs. Walsingham presently went off with twenty-five thousand pound’s
worth of Bank of England notes in her handbag. But whatever Werrick
might guess and the other man wonder at, they knew nothing certain,
and the chase began again, Werrick following Mrs. Walsingham, and the
keen-faced man following Werrick.
Mrs. Walsingham went away to Lombard Street, and there turned into
the Anglo-Austrian Bank. The man who was shadowing Werrick saw her
enter; he also saw Werrick pass the door in his sauntering, seemingly
purposeless fashion. He himself, hesitating as to what he should do
next, turned his attention from his quarry for a moment; when he looked
round again, Werrick had disappeared. The shadow hastened his steps
looking everywhere; Werrick was nowhere to be seen. Then the shadow,
hastily inventing an excuse, entered the bank, and asking a question
over the counter of the first clerk he saw, contrived to take a view
of the people about him. His man was not amongst them, nor was the
woman his man had been following. And though the shadow hung about
for some time, he saw neither Mrs. Walsingham nor Werrick again. The
truth was that Mrs. Walsingham, having come there by appointment, was
transacting some private business in an inner room, and that Werrick,
having found out all that he wanted just then, had slipped round a
corner, negotiated some courts, and was going back West to meet Sophie
Guyner. Eventually, the shadow, who knew very well that Werrick was
living at certain chambers in Jermyn Street, and who had no concern
with Mrs. Walsingham, went away. Mrs. Walsingham remained some time
at the Anglo-Austrian Bank; when she came out she walked in leisurely
fashion as far as the Mansion House. There she was about to board
another bus, but instead of doing so, she turned away to a telephone
box and spoke to Sophie Guyner, telling her that she was sending
Griffkin up to the flat with a couple of theatre tickets for that
evening, and that she herself should not be home until late. That done,
she found a bus and went back to Norfolk Street, and employed herself
in her usual avocations until the end of the afternoon, when she
repaired to her favourite Soho restaurant and dined. She gave more time
to her dinner than was her wont, and it was twenty minutes to eight
when she rose and departed, and went home to Bloomsbury. And there,
as he came along the corridor from the direction of her own door, she
found herself face to face with Captain Blair.