THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR
Richard came to a halt as Inspector Skarratt addressed him. He glanced
sharply at the detective and instantly guessed his profession and his
business. Skarratt smiled pleasantly and politely and drew out a card.
He presented it with a slight bow.
“You will see that I am a police-officer, Mr. Shrewsbury,” he said. “I
called here to make some inquiries of you, sir.”
“What is it?” asked Richard. He glanced from the card to the door,
wondering vaguely why it was not opened, for he had heard Skarratt’s
second and loud summons as he came along the corridor. “Has no one
answered you?” he said, without waiting for Skarratt’s reply to his
first question.
“I’ve knocked--loudly--twice,” he said, “and no one has appeared yet,”
answered Skarratt. “Perhaps your servants are out?”
Without replying, Richard drew his key from his pocket. But on the
point of inserting it in the latch, he paused and glanced at Skarratt.
He had little doubt of what the detective was after, but he wanted to
make sure.
“What do you want with me?” he asked brusquely.
“Very little,” replied Skarratt. “And I’ll tell you in a few words. You
have doubtless read the morning papers, Mr. Shrewsbury, and so you’re
aware of what took place last night at Marengo Mansions. You’ll also
be aware that the woman known as Mrs. Walsingham escaped from her flat
in the dress of a nun. I have information that she was seen to enter
this building about dark last night, in that dress, and I cannot find
that she has ever left it. And naturally I conclude that she is hiding
in your rooms. I think that’s all clear, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
Richard turned and looked at Blair. And Blair made a motion of lips and
eyes which said as plainly as words could have said: “Tell him!”
“Very well,” said Richard. He turned to Skarratt. “Yes,” he said, “I
think your information is right. I found Mrs. Walsingham here when I
came in from Paris this morning, and I left her here while I went out
to get some advice from friends. Captain Blair, here, came back with me
to advise her to give herself up to the police.”
“Best thing she can do, sir!” said Skarratt, heartily. “The very best
thing--if she’s still there, Mr. Shrewsbury.”
“Still there?” exclaimed Richard. “What do you mean?”
Skarratt smiled.
“I’ve knocked--loudly--twice,” he said, “and no one comes. Hadn’t we
better go in, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
Richard opened the outer door of his rooms with a curious presentiment
of coming surprise, if not of evil. As they stepped into the hall a
strange consciousness that the place was deserted came over him. He
called Kedgin’s name, loudly. There was no answer, and he looked at his
companions wonderingly.
“That’s queer,” he said. “I gave Kedgin strict instructions not to
leave the place until I returned.”
Skarratt was already looking into one doorway after another--he passed
into the servants’ part of the chambers, and came hurriedly back.
“No one there,” he said. “Where did you leave this woman, sir?”
Richard walked into the dining-room, with Skarratt at his heels, and
pointed to a door.
“She was in that room,” he answered. “She had locked herself in.”
Skarratt crossed to the door which Richard had indicated and tried the
handle. It turned easily; he pushed the door open and looked within the
room.
“Ah!” he said. “Look here, gentlemen!”
Blair and Richard, following him, also glanced into the room from over
his shoulders. And there, thrown carelessly across the rail of the bed,
was the black garb of a nun, with all its accessories.
“I thought so!” exclaimed the detective, entering the room. “I thought
so, gentlemen. I’m too late--she’s off! Flown!”
“But--how?” said Richard. “How?”
Skarratt glanced at Captain Blair, and turned to Richard with a dry
laugh.
“How, sir?” he said. “Didn’t you leave your man to act as gaoler?”
“Yes--yes!” answered Richard. “But----”
“No buts about it, Mr. Shrewsbury,” said Skarratt. “She’s only
done what prisoners in much safer places sometimes do with their
gaolers--she’s got round him.”
“But I tell you,” said Richard, impatiently, “I tell you that when I
left her she was ill, worn out--she said she’d been obliged to take a
sleeping-draught and hadn’t got over it. She was too weary to talk to
me, and----”
“Pardon me for interrupting you, sir, but I should say that was
all clever acting to deceive you and get you out of the way,” said
Skarratt, cynically. “No, sir--she’s got round the man. Who is he, and
where did you get him?”
“His name is William Kedgin, and he was highly recommended to me by Mr.
Carsdale,” answered Richard.
“No great recommendation I should think, sir,” observed Skarratt, who
had been looking round the bedroom. “See here, gentlemen!--the lady’s
been making up a bit for her new part,” and he picked up from the
dressing-table a stick of grease-paint. “It was a mistake on her part
to leave that. Now we must find out in what sort of garments she made
her exit. Wasn’t this man, Kedgin married, sir, and isn’t his wife away
just now?”
“Yes,” answered Richard, who was feeling by that time that he wished
he had never heard of Carsdale or Mrs. Walsingham, or even of London.
“Yes, that’s so in both cases.”
“Then I suppose this woman has gone off in some of Mrs. Kedgin’s
clothes,” said Skarratt. “The probability is that the flight had been
arranged when you got here, that they both acted to you, and that they
were off very soon after your back was turned. Now then, sir, let
me give you a piece of advice. I dare say you’ve plenty of portable
property in these rooms?”
Richard stared at him blankly.
“Portable property?” he said. “What do you mean?”
“I mean jewellery, silver, anything worth money that’s easily carried
away,” answered Skarratt, smiling in pity at the young man’s slowness
of comprehension. “Perhaps, also, you’ve such matters as valuable
pictures, wines, cigars, and so on.”
“Well?” said Richard.
“Then, while I pursue certain investigations of my own,” continued
Skarratt, “let me advise you to have a careful look round and see if
you’ve lost anything.”
And he went out of the room, with a look at Blair which was as much to
imply that Richard was not fit to look after himself.
Richard sat down on the side of the bed and stared at the sombre
garments which the fugitive had cast aside.
“Damn!” he said suddenly. “If that’s true about Kedgin I think I shall
chuck believing in people. I thought he was a thoroughly dependable
chap!”
“Come and see if it is true,” said Blair. “I don’t think there’s any
doubt that Kedgin has helped this woman to get away. Where will you
begin?--have you any jewellery in the place?”
Richard stared at his companion as if he could scarcely comprehend how
a sane man should ask such a question.
“Only two or three thousand pounds’ worth,” he answered laconically.
“I--I used to buy things on--on her advice.”
“Well, where is it?” asked Blair.
A moment later, each man knew that that was not a question which was
going to be easily answered. It appeared that Richard, full of belief
in the Kedgin standard of honour, had kept his valuables in a drawer
in his bedroom which he confessed to leaving unlocked. The satin-lined
cases were in the drawer, but pins, rings, sleeve-links, odds and ends
of pearls, diamonds, and good gold, had vanished.
“Now, then, where did you keep your silver?” asked Blair, making no
comment on the disappearance of the jewellery.
The silver was gone, too. Blair made no comment on that, either: he had
expected it. The silence grew deep between Richard and himself as they
continued their work of exploration. And the result, tabulated, was
appalling. Blair, always practical, jotted things down, and handed the
list to Skarratt when he made his reappearance.
_Articles of jewellery, worth approximately, £3000._
_Silver, worth £500._
_Wine, worth £300 or £400._
_Cigars, worth £200._
_Linen, worth unknown._
_Clothing, worth £100._
_Pictures and old China, £1000._
“Kedgin’s work, of course,” observed Skarratt, “but he couldn’t carry
these things away with him now, you know, sir. No wonder he seemed
agitated when you turned up this morning. He’s had these got off in
readiness for his departure. Mrs. Walsingham most likely interrupted
him last night; you interrupted him again to-day. And the probability
is that she detected him, and that they made common cause together, and
that they went together as soon as you were clear of the place a few
hours ago. And now, gentlemen, I’ll show you how they went.”
“You’ve found that out?” said Blair.
“I think I’ve found it out,” answered Skarratt. “But come and see for
yourselves.”
He led the way into the servants’ part of the flat and into the Kedgin
sitting-room, where everything was neat, orderly, and comfortable. And
there he went to the window and drew aside a curtain.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “look out there. You will see that this room
looks upon a sort of small square or opening, and that this house in
which we now are, and of which this flat of Mr. Shrewsbury’s forms the
entire top floor, is at an angle of that square. You can also see, by
looking from this corner, that the next house is empty. Now, come with
me.”
Skarratt took them through other rooms to one which had been used as
a box and lumber room and pointed to an iron ladder that led to a
skylight in the roof. He began to climb; the others followed.
“They went this way, gentlemen,” he said. “Come up--now we step on the
leads of the empty house; now we go down another ladder. And now we are
in the empty house itself!”
To Blair and Richard the sense of being in a house which was empty of
life struck with a cold and unpleasant feeling. Moreover, the house
was obviously old and damp and malodorous; the staircases down which
Skarratt led his companions creaked so much that they would not have
been surprised if they had suddenly found themselves sinking through
the rotten timbers. But Skarratt went cheerily onward.
“Property all coming down, gentlemen,” he said. “And time it did--there
used to be some old property as bad as this where your house is now,
Mr. Shrewsbury. Well, here we are now in the hall--now come to the
back. Now, then, you see--here’s a side door, and it’s--open. And it
admits, you see, to a passage which runs away into a side-street.
That’s how they got off--in my opinion.”
“Probably,” said Blair. He looked about him with dislike. “Let’s get
out of this,” he said. “It gives me the horrors.”
“Yes,” said Richard. “It’s beastly.”
Skarratt said nothing. He smiled, and led the way back up the creaking
and gloomy staircase, looking about him with sharp, keen glances as he
went. And suddenly, as they turned at a landing, on which the doors of
the empty rooms stood half or wholly open the detective stepped back on
his companions with an exclamation of horrified surprise.
“My God, gentlemen!” he said. “What--what’s that?”
Following his pointing and trembling finger, Blair and Richard glanced
through an open door into a dusk-filled chamber. Through a crack in the
shutters came a single shaft of light, and it fell full on a woman’s
hand and arm, lying within their range of vision. Nothing else was to
be seen, and for a moment the three stared. And neither hand nor arm
moved.
Then, with a sudden cry of comprehension, Skarratt leapt into the
room, the others after him. One tore open the shutters. And so they
recognized the woman who was wanted, and saw that Kedgin had lured her
into this lonely house, and had left her there--dead.