CHAPTER XXVI
LADY HELEN MONTGOMERY'S SON
When the young people had gone--Mensmore ill at ease, though tremuouslyhappy that Phyllis had so demonstrated her trust in him, Phyllis herselfradiantly confident in the barrister's powers to set everythingright--Bruce devoted himself to the task of determining a new line forhis energies.
The first step was self-evident. He must ascertain if the Dykes knew aColonel Montgomery.
He drove to the Club frequented by Sir Charles, but the baronet was notthere, so he went to Wensley House.
Sir Charles was at home, in his accustomed nook by the library fire. Helooked ill and low-spirited. The temporary animation he had displayedduring the past few weeks was gone. If anything, he was more listlessthan at any time since his wife's death.
"Well, Claude," he said wearily, "anything to report?"
"Yes, a good deal."
"What is it?"
"I want to ask you something. Did you ever know a Colonel Montgomery, orwas your wife acquainted with any one of that name to your knowledge?"
"I do not think she was. Had she ever met such a man I should probablyhave heard of him. Who was he?"
The baronet's low state rendered his words careless and indefinite, buthis friend did not wish to bother him unduly.
"The police have discovered," he said, "that Mrs. Hillmer formed a closeintimacy with some one whom she designated by that name and rank, thoughI have failed to trace any British officer who answers to hisdescription. He disappeared, or died, as some people put it, about thesame time as your wife."
"Is it not known what became of him, then?"
"No."
"Won't Mrs. Hillmer tell you?"
"She absolutely refuses to give any help, whatever."
"On what ground?"
"That is best known to herself. My theory is that a man she loves isimplicated in the affair, and she is prepared to go to any lengths toshield him."
"Ah!"
Sir Charles bent over and poked the fire viciously. Then he murmured:"Women are queer creatures, Bruce. We men never understand them untiltoo late. My wife and I did not to all appearance care a jot for oneanother while she lived. Yet I now realize that she loved me, and Iwould give the little remaining span of existence, dear as life is, tosee her once more."
This was a morbid subject; the younger man tried to switch him off it.
"It is almost clear to me," he said, "that Colonel Montgomery's name wasassumed. Few people realize the use of the _alias_ made in modern life.I have a notion that the custom among otherwise honorable people hasarisen from the publicity given to the fact that Royal and otherdistinguished personages frequently choose to conceal their identityunder less known territorial titles."
"The idea is ingenious. We are all slaves to fashion."
"However that may be, it should not be a difficult task to lay hands onthe gentleman should he be still living."
"Suppose you succeed. How can you connect him with my wife's death?"
"At this moment I am unable to say. But the cabman might be of someuse."
"The cabman. What cabman?"
"Did I omit that? I ought to have told you that I have found the driverof the four-wheeler in which your poor wife was taken, dead orinsensible, from Sloane Square to Putney."
"What an extraordinary thing!"
"What is?"
"That you should have forgotten to inform me of such a striking fact."
"Not so. Now that I recollect, I have not had the opportunity. It wasimpossible to discuss anything else but that forged letter on the lasttwo occasions we met, and it was only a few hours prior to your visit onMonday that I got the cabman's story fully. By the way, do you now seeany reason why Jane Harding should have tried to deceive you in such amanner?"
The barrister perceived that Sir Charles was nervous and irritable, sohe deemed it a needless strain to enlarge on the history of hisdiscovery of Foxey.
"I am tired of letters, and plots, and mysteries. My life is resolvinginto one huge note of interrogation. Soon the great question of eternitywill dominate all others."
Dyke's mood unfitted him for sustained conversation. Bruce could butpity him, and hope that time would calm his fevered brain, and soothethe unrest that shed this gloom over him.
"Really," said Claude, after a long interval, during which both mensought inspiration from the dancing flames in the fireplace, "reallythis is too bad of you, Dyke. You showed a marked improvement for alittle space, and now you are letting yourself slip back into a state oflonely and unoccupied moping again."
"My thoughts find me both occupation and company," was the despondentreply.
"There is nothing for it," continued Bruce cheerfully, "but a tour roundthe world. You must start immediately. A complete change of scene andsurroundings will soon pull you back to a normal state of mind andhealth."
"I have been thinking of a long journey for some time past."
The barrister glanced sharply at his friend. The _double entente_ wasnot lost on him. Dyke was in a depressed and nervous condition. Theuncertainty regarding his wife's fate was harassing him unduly and itwas with a twinge of conscience that Bruce reflected upon his owneagerness to pursue a quest which, by very reason of its indefiniteness,attracted him as an intellectual pursuit.
"Look here," he cried, on the spur of the moment, "I have long desiredto see the Canadian Pacific route. Will you arrange to start West withme a fortnight hence? We can return when the spirit moves us."
"We will see. We will see. To-day I feel unable to decide anything."
"Yes, I know, but the mere fact that you take the resolution will serveto reanimate you."
"It is very good of you, Claude, to trouble so about me. Had you askedme earlier I might have gone straight away. But let it rest for a littlewhile. When I have recovered my spirits somewhat I will come to you toask you to sail next day, or something of the sort."
Beyond this, the other could not move him.
There was one link in the chain of evidence that would be irrefragableif discovered. Was this "Colonel Montgomery" in any way connected withthe house at Putney where the murderer had disposed of the body? If thiscould be established, the unknown visitor to Raleigh Mansions wouldexperience a good deal of difficulty in clearing himself of suspicion.Bruce was certain that, once the "Colonel" was traced, much would cometo light explanatory of Mrs. Hillmer's, and her brother's, dread lesthis identity should be discovered.
An inquiry addressed to the house agents to whom possible tenants werereferred elicited the information that the present owner, a lady, wasprepared to let the house annually or on a lease. They enclosed an orderto view, which Bruce retained in case he should happen to need it.
A second letter gave him the address of the lady's solicitors, Messrs.Small & Sharp, Lincoln's Inn.
He called on them as a possible tenant, with a desire to purchase theproperty outright if his proposal could be entertained.
Mr. Sharp, the partner who dealt with the estate, became very suave whenthe suggestion reached his ears.
"You will understand, Mr. Bruce, that your request requires someconsideration. The rent my client asks is comparatively low, because thehouse is old-fashioned, but the splendid riparian position of theproperty, a free-hold acre on the banks of the Thames at Putney, givesit a highly increased future value. Any figure you may have based on arental calculation would therefore--"
"Not meet the case at all," said the barrister, repressing a smile atthe familiar opening move in the game of bargaining.
"Precisely."
"May I ask who the present owner is?"
"Certainly, the lady's name is Small. In fact, she is my partner's wife.Her father, the late Rev. Septimus Childe, purchased the estate someyears ago, largely because the house suited his requirements as the headof a successful private school."
"Has the estate changed hands frequently then?"
"Oh, dear, no. Indeed, it is well understood that the Rev. Mr. C
hildeacquired it more as a friendly transaction than otherwise. The estate isa portion of the separate estate of the late Lady Helen Montgomery, whomarried Sir William Dyke, father of the present baronet, whoperhaps--good gracious, my dear sir, what is the matter?"
Had Bruce been a woman he must have fainted.
As it was, the shock of the intelligence nearly paralyzed him. SirCharles Dyke!--Montgomery!--The house at Putney the property of hismother! What new terror did not this frightful combination suggest?
Why did his friend conceal from him these most important facts? Whydid he pretend ignorance not only of the locality but of his mother'smaiden name? Like lightning the remembrance flashed through Bruce'stroubled brain that he had only heard of the earlier Lady Dyke as adaughter of the Earl of Tilbury. A suspicion--profoundly horrible, yetconvincing--was slowly mastering him, and every second brought furtherproof not only of its reasonableness, but of its ghastly and inflexiblecertainty.
Again the lawyer's voice reached his ears, dully and thin, as though itpenetrated through a wall.
"Surely, you feel ill? Let me get you some brandy."
"No--no," murmured the barrister. "It is but a momentary faintness. I--Ithink I will go out into the fresh air. Are you--quite sure--that Mr.Childe bought the property from Lady Helen Montgomery's trustees?"
"Quite sure. If you wait even a few moments I will show you thetitle-deeds."
"No, thank you. I will call again. Pray excuse me."
Somehow Bruce crossed the quiet square of the Inn, and plunged intothe turmoil of the street. Amid the bustle of Holborn he had acurious sensation of safety. The fiend so suddenly installed in hisconsciousness was less busy here suggesting strange and maddeningthoughts.
Why--why--why--fifty questions beat incessantly against the barrier ofagonized negation he strove to set up, but the noise of traffic madethe attack confused. Each incautious bump against a passer-by silenceda demand, each heavy crunch of a 'bus on the gravel-strewed roadwaytemporarily silenced a doubt.
He was so unmanned that he felt almost on the verge of tears. Heabsolutely dared not attempt to reason out the fearful alternative whichhad so fiercely thrust itself upon him.
At last he became vaguely aware that people were staring at him. Fearfullest some acquaintance should recognize and accost him he hailed ahansom and drove to Victoria Street.
All the way the heavy beat of the horse's feet served to distract histhoughts. He forced himself to count the quick paces, and tried hard toaccommodate the numerals of two or more syllables to the rapidity of theanimal's trot. He failed in this, but in the failure found relief.
Nevertheless, though the horse was willing and the driver eager tooblige a fare who gave a "good" address, the time seemed interminableuntil the cab stopped in front of his door.
Once arrived there, he slowly ascended the stairs to his own flat, toldSmith to pay the cabman half-a-crown and to admit no one, and threwhimself into a chair.
At last he was face to face with the troublous demon who possessed himin Lincoln's Inn, struggled with him through the crowd, and travelledwith him in the hansom. Phyllis Browne should have her answer soonerthan he had expected.
The man who murdered Lady Dyke was her own husband.
"Oh, heavens!" moaned Bruce, as he swayed restlessly to and fro in hischair, "is it possible?"
He sat there for hours. Smith entered, turned on the lights andsuggested tea, but received an impatient dismissal.
After another long interval Smith appeared again, to announce that Mr.White had called.
"Did you not say I was out?" said Claude, his hollow tones and haggardair startling his faithful servitor considerably.
"Yes, sir--oh yes, sir. But that's no use with Mr. White. 'E said as 'ow'e were sure you were in."
"Ask him to oblige me by coming again--to-morrow. I am very ill. Ireally cannot see him."
Smith left the room only to return and say: "Mr. White says, sir, 'isbusiness is of the _hutmost_ himportance. 'E can't leave it; and 'e saysyou will be very sorry afterwards if you don't see 'im now."
"Oh, so be it," cried Bruce, turning to a spirit-stand to seeksustenance in a stiff glass of brandy. "Send him in."
Quite awed by circumstances, Smith admitted the detective and closed thedoor upon the two men, who stood looking at each other without a word ofgreeting or explanation.