MISSING
Gurdon waited to hear what his companion was going to say now. He had
made up his mind to place himself implicitly in her hands, and let her
decide for the best. Evidently, he had found himself in a kind of lunatic
asylum, where one inhabitant at least had developed a dangerous form of
homicidal mania, and he had a pretty sure conclusion that Vera had saved
his life. It was no time now to ask questions; that would come later on.
"I am sure I am awfully grateful to you," Gurdon said. "Who are these
people, and why do they behave in this insane fashion? This is not
exactly the kind of menage one expects to find in one of the best
appointed mansions in the West End."
"I can tell you nothing about it," Vera said. There was a marked coldness
in her voice that told Gurdon he was going too far. "I can tell you
nothing. One thing you may rest assured of--I am in no kind of danger,
nor am I likely to be. My concern chiefly at the present moment is with
you. I want you to get back as soon as you can to the Great Empire Hotel,
and ease Gerald's mind as to myself."
"I hardly like to go, without you," Gurdon murmured.
"But you must," Vera protested. "Let me assure you once more that I am as
absolutely safe here as if I were in my own room. Now, come this way. I
dare not strike a light. I can only take you by the hand and lead you to
the top of the house. Every inch of the place is perfectly familiar to
me, and you are not likely to come to the least harm. Please don't waste
a moment more of your time."
Gurdon yielded against his better judgment. A moment or two later, he
found himself climbing through a skylight on to the flat leads at the
top of the house. By the light of the town he could now see what he
was doing, and pretty well where he was. From the leads he could look
down into the garden, though, as yet, he could not discern any avenue
of escape.
"The thing is quite easy," Vera explained. "The late occupant of the
house had a nervous dread of fire, and from every floor he had a series
of rope ladders arranged. See, there is one fixed to this chimney. I have
only to throw it over, and you can reach the garden without delay; then I
will pull the ladder up again and no one will be any the wiser. Please,
leave me without any further delay, in the absolute assurance that I
shall be back again within an hour."
A few minutes later Gurdon was in the street again, making his way back
to the hotel where Venner was waiting for him.
It was a strange story that he had to tell; a very thrilling and
interesting adventure, but one which, after all, still further
complicated the mystery and rendered it almost unintelligible.
"And you mean to say that you have been actually face to face with our
cripple friend?" Venner said. "You mean to say that he would actually
have murdered you if Vera had not interfered in that providential manner?
I suppose I must accept your assurance that she is absolutely safe,
though I can't help feeling that she has exaggerated her own position. I
am terribly anxious about her. I have an idea which I should like to
carry out. I feel tolerably sure that this picturesque cripple of ours
could tell us everything that we want to know. Besides, unless I do
something I shall go mad. What do you say to paying the interesting
cripple a visit to-morrow night, and forcing him to tell us everything?"
Gurdon shook his head; he was not particularly impressed with the
suggestion that Venner had made.
"Of course, we could get into the house easily enough," he said. "Now
that I have learned the secret of the cellar, there will be no
difficulty about that. Still, don't you think it seems rather ridiculous
to try this sort of thing when your wife is in a position to tell you
the whole thing?"
"But she would decline to do anything of the kind," Venner protested.
"She has told me that her lips are sealed; she has even no explanation to
offer for the way in which she left me within half-an-hour of our
becoming man and wife. I should almost be justified in forcing her to
speak; but, you see, I cannot do that. Therefore, I must treat her in a
way as if she were one of our enemies. I have a very strong fancy for
paying a visit to our cripple friend, and, if the worst came to the
worst, we could convince him that we are emphatically not on the side of
Mark Fenwick. At any rate, I mean to have a try, and if you don't like to
come in--"
"Oh, I'll come in fast enough," Gurdon said. "You had better meet me
to-morrow night at my rooms, say, about eleven; then, we will see what we
can do with a view to a solution of the mystery."
At the appointed time, Venner duly put in an appearance. He was clothed
in a dark suit and cap, Gurdon donning a similar costume. Under his arm
Venner had a small brown paper parcel.
"What have you got there?" Gurdon asked.
"A pair of tennis shoes," was the response. "And if you take my advice,
you should have a pair, too. My idea is to take off our boots directly we
get into the seclusion of the garden and change into these shoes. Now
come along, let's get it over."
It was an easy matter to reach the garden without being observed, and in
a very short time the two friends were standing close to the windows of
the large room at the back of the house. There was not so much as a
glimmer of light to be seen anywhere within. Very cautiously they felt
their way along until they came at length to the grating through which
Gurdon had made so dramatic an entrance on the night before. He took
from his pocket a box of vestas, and ventured to strike one. He held it
down close to the ground, shading the tiny point of flame in the hollow
of his hand.
"Here is a bit of luck to begin with," he chuckled. "They haven't
fastened this grating up again. I suppose my escape last night must have
upset them. At any rate, here is a way into the house without running the
risk of being arrested on a charge of burglary, and if the police did
catch us we should find it an exceedingly awkward matter to frame an
excuse carefully, to satisfy a magistrate."
"That seems all right," Venner said. "When we get into the cellar it's
any odds that we find the door of the stairs locked. I don't suppose the
grating has been forgotten. You see, it is not such an easy matter to get
the British workman to do a job on the spur of the moment."
"Well, come along; we will soon ascertain that," Gurdon said. "Once down
these steps, we shall be able to use our matches."
They crept cautiously down the stairs into the damp and moldy cellar;
thence, up the steps on the other side, where Gurdon lighted one of his
matches. The door was closed, but it yielded quite easily to the touch,
and at length the two men were in the part of the house which was given
over to the use of the servants. So far as they could judge the place was
absolutely deserted. Doubtless the domestic staff had retired to bed. All
the same, it seemed strange to find no signs of life in the kitchen. The
stove was cold, and though the grate was full of cinders, it was quite
apparent that no fire had been lighted there for the past four and twenty
hours. Again, there was no furniture in the kitchen other than a large
table and a couple of chairs. The dressers were empty, and the shelves
deprived of their usual burden.
"This is odd," Venner murmured. "Perhaps we shall have better luck on the
dining-room floor. I suppose we had better not turn on the lights!"
"That would be too risky," Gurdon said. "However, I have plenty of
matches, which will serve our purpose equally well."
On cautiously reaching the hall a further surprise awaited the intruders.
There was absolutely nothing there--not so much as an umbrella stand. The
marble floor was swept bare of everything, the big dining-room which the
night before had been most luxuriously furnished, was now stripped and
empty; not so much as a flower remained; and the conservatory beyond
showed nothing but wooden staging and glittering glass behind that. A
close examination of the whole house disclosed the fact that it was
absolutely empty.
"If I did not know you as well as I do," Venner said grimly, "I should
say that you had been drinking. Do you mean to tell me that you sat in
this dining-room last night, and that it was furnished in the luxurious
way you described? Do you mean to tell me that you sat here, opposite
our cripple friend, waiting for him to shoot you? Are you perfectly
certain that we have made our way into the right house? You have no
doubt on that score?"
"Of course, I haven't," Gurdon said, a little hotly. "Would there be two
houses close together, both of them with a broken grating over the
cellar? I tell you this is the same house right enough. It was just in
this particular spot I was seated when the lights went out, and your
wife's fertility of resource saved my life. It may be possible that the
electric fuses have not yet been repaired. At any rate, I'll see."
Gurdon laid his hand upon the switch and snapped it down. No light came;
the solitary illuminating point in the room was afforded by the match
which Venner held in his hand.
"There," Gurdon said, with a sort of gloomy triumph. "Doesn't that
prove it? I suppose that our cripple took alarm and has cleared out of
the house."
"That's all very well, but it is almost impossible to remove the
furniture of a great place like this in the course of a day."
"My dear chap, I don't think it has been removed in the course of a
day. Didn't you notice just now what a tremendous lot of dust we
stirred up as we were going over the house? My theory is this--only
three or four of the rooms were furnished, and the rest of the house
was closed. When I made my escape last night, the cripple must have
taken alarm and gone away from here as speedily as possible. What
renders the whole thing more inexplicable is the fact that your wife
could explain everything if she pleased. But after a check-mate like
this, I don't see the slightest reason for staying here any longer. The
best thing we can do is to get back to my rooms and discuss the matter
over a whiskey and soda and cigar. But, talking about cigars, will you
have the goodness to look at this?"
From the empty grate Gurdon picked up a half smoked cigar of a somewhat
peculiar make and shape.
"I want you to notice this little bit of evidence," he said. "This is the
very cigar that the cripple gave me last night. I can't say that I
altogether enjoyed smoking it, but it was my tip to humor him. I smoked
that much. When the white lady came in I naturally threw the end of the
cigar into the fireplace. In the face of this, I don't think you will
accuse me of dreaming."
More than one cigar was consumed before Venner left his friend's rooms,
but even the inspiration of tobacco failed to elucidate a solitary point
at issue. What had become of the cripple, and where had he vanished so
mysteriously? Gurdon was still debating this point over a late breakfast
the following morning, when Venner came in. His face was flushed and his
manner was excited. He carried a copy of an early edition of an evening
paper in his hand--the edition which is usually issued by most papers a
little after noon.
"I think I've discovered something," he said. "It was quite by accident,
but you will not fail to be interested in something that appears in the
_Comet_. It alludes to the disappearance of a gentleman called Bates, who
seems to have vanished from his house in Portsmouth Square. You know the
name of the Square, of course?"
Gurdon pushed his coffee cup away from him, and lighted a cigarette. He
felt that something of importance was coming.
"I suppose I ought to know the name of the square," he said grimly.
"Seeing that I nearly lost my life in a house there the night before
last. But please go on. I see you have something to tell me that is well
worth hearing."
"That's right," Venner said. "Most of it is in this paper. It appears
that the aforesaid Mr. Bates is a gentleman of retiring disposition, and
somewhat eccentric habits. As far as one can gather, he has no friends,
but lives quietly in Portsmouth Square, his wants being ministered to by
a body of servants who have been in his employ for years. Of necessity,
Mr. Bates is a man of wealth, or he could not possibly live in a house
the rent of which cannot be less than five or six hundred a year. As a
rule, Mr. Bates rarely leaves his house, but last night he seems to have
gone out unattended, and since then, he has not been seen."
"Stop a moment," Gurdon exclaimed eagerly. "I am beginning to see
daylight at last. What was the number of the house where this Bates
lived? I mean the number of the square."
Venner turned to his paper, and ran his eye down the printed column. Then
he smiled as he spoke.
"The number of the house," he said, "is 75."
"I knew it," Gurdon said excitedly. "I felt pretty certain of it. The man
who has disappeared lived at No. 75, and the place where we had our
adventure, or rather, I had my adventure, is No. 74. Now, tell me, who
was it who informed the police of the disappearance of Mr. Bates? Some
servant, I suppose?"
"Of course; and the servant goes on to suggest that Mr. Bates had
mysterious enemies, who caused him considerable trouble from time to
time. But now I come to the interesting part of my story. At the foot of
the narrative which is contained in the _Comet_, that I hold in my hand,
is a full description of Mr. Bates."
"Go on," Gurdon said breathlessly. "I should be little less than an idiot
if I did not know what was coming."
"I thought you would guess," Venner said. "A name like Bates implies
middle age and respectability. But this Bates is described as being young
and exceedingly good looking. Moreover, he is afflicted with a kind of
paralysis, which renders his movements slow and uncertain. And now you
know all about it. There is not the slightest doubt that this missing
Bates is no other than our interesting friend, the good-looking cripple.
The only point which leaves us in doubt is the fact that Mr. Bates is a
respectable householder, living at 75, Portsmouth Square, while the man
who tried to murder you entertained you at No. 74, which house, now, is
absolutely empty. We need not discuss that puzzle at the present moment,
because there are more important things to occupy our attention. There
can be no doubt that this man who calls himself Bates has been kidnapped
by somebody. You will not have much difficulty in guessing the name of
the culprit."
"I guess it at once," Gurdon said. "If I mention the name of Mark
Fenwick, I think I have said the last word."