and convenient a spot as there is inLondon, for there is always a quiet, restful air within; the grey,smoke-stained houses open on airy squares, and until a couple of yearsago, quite a large colony of rooks made their home in the great oldtrees. It is an oasis of peace and repose in the very centre of thatgigantic fevered city, where the whirl of daily life is unceasing, wherein the east and south toiling millions struggle fiercely for theirbread, while in the west is greater wealth and extravagance than in allthe world besides.
"I think," said Dick at last, after he had put forth one or twotheories, "that if we manage to get to the bottom of this affair weshall discover some very startling facts."
"That's absolutely certain," I answered. "The disappearance of the fairgirl, and the substitution of the other, is in itself a fact absolutelyunique in the annals of crime. Whoever effected that change must havebeen indeed a bold person."
"Didn't the people next door see any taxi drive up, or notice anythingbeing brought up to the house?"
"No. That's the strangest part of it," I responded. "Nothing was seenof any cab or conveyance, although, of course, there must have beenone."
"And that inquiry by telephone was a remarkable incident," Dick went on."You say that the inquirer was popping about to various call-roomsringing up his confederates. That shows that there were two or three inthe secret. It hardly seems feasible that the man who rang up from theMinories was the same as the one with whom you spoke at Putney."
"No; but the arrangement to meet in St. James's Park to-morrow isextraordinary, to say the least."
"Ah, my dear fellow," observed my friend, with a smile, "I very muchfear that that appointment won't be kept. Men such as they evidentlyare will hardly risk a meeting. On reflection, the individual, whoeverhe is, will see that he has given himself away, and his natural cautionwill prevent him from going near St. James's Park."
"Well, I only hope he does meet me," I observed.
"So do I. But to my mind such a circumstance is entirely out of thequestion. You see he went to call-boxes in order to avoid detection."
"The curious thing is, that if it were the same man who rang up eachtime he must have travelled from one place to another in an amazinglyrapid manner."
"There might be two persons," he suggested.
"Of course there might," I answered. "But I think not. The girl at theexchange evidently recognised the voice of the persistent inquirer."
"I'm glad I came down--very glad," he said. "I went over to see Lily,but she's gone to Ipswich with her aunt, an old lady who feared totravel alone. It appears she wrote to me this morning, but the letterhas missed the post, I suppose. It will come to-morrow morning."
"You had your journey to Peckham for nothing, then?"
"Yes," he answered. "She ought to have sent me a wire. Just like awoman."
I knew Lily Lowry, the pretty friend of Dick Cleugh, very well indeed.I did not know that he actually loved her. There was undoubtedly amutual friendship between them, but nevertheless he often would go for amonth and see nothing of her. The daughter of a struggling shopkeepernear the _Elephant and Castle_, she had been compelled to seek her ownliving, and was at present assistant at a large cheap draper's in RyeLane, Peckham. Setting the _convenances_ at naught, as became a Londongirl of the present decade, she had many times visited our dingy abode.I had always suspected that the love was on her side, for she was alwaysgiving him various little things--embroidered pouches, handkerchiefs andthose semi-useful articles with which girls delight the men they love.
But Dick did not seem in the least concerned at not having seen her. Hewas annoyed that he had had a journey on the Chatham and Dover fornothing, and thought a great deed more of the mystery of PhillimorePlace than of Lily's well-being. He was a pessimist in every sense ofthe word. Once he had told me the story of his first love, a strangetragedy of his life that had occurred in his days at Jesus. It wasthis, I always suspected, that had evoked from him the real ardentaffection which a man should have for a woman who is to be his companionthrough life. Man loves but once, it is true, but the love of youth isin the generality of cases a mere heart-beating caused by a fantasybegotten of inexperience. The woman we love at sixteen--too often somekind-hearted housewife, whose soft speech we mistake for affection--weflout when we are twenty. The woman who was angelic in our eyes when inour teens, is old, fat and ugly when, four years later, the glamour hasfallen from our eyes and we begin to find a foothold in the world.Wisdom comes with the moustache.
So it was with Dick. He had lost the woman he had loved in his collegedays, yet, as far as I could judge, none other had ever taken her placein his heart.
Two o'clock had struck ere we turned in, and both of us were up atseven, our usual hour, for evening papers, issued as they are at noon,are prepared early in the morning. We were always at our respectiveoffices at half-past seven.
My first thought was of the meeting I had arranged in St. James's Park,and of my friend's misgivings regarding it. Full of anxiety, I workedon till eleven o'clock, when Boyd was shown into my room, greeting memerrily. His appearance was in no way that of a police-officer, for hewore a shabby suit of tweed, a soiled collar, and an old silk hat muchfrayed at the brim, presenting the appearance of the typical beery FleetStreet lounger.
"I've come to see you, Mr. Urwin, regarding this meeting in the park,"he said. "Do you intend going?"
"Of course," I answered, surprised that he should ask such a question."Why?"
"Well, because I think it would be best to leave it entirely to us. Youmight be indiscreet and queer the whole thing."
"I don't think you'll find me guilty of any indiscretion," I said,somewhat piqued.
"I don't apprehend that," he said. "But on seeing you at the spotappointed, the mysterious person who made the inquiry last night will atonce get away, for he will know that the secret is out. We must, as youknow, act with greatest caution in this affair, so as not to arouse theslightest suspicion that the keeping of this appointment is in the handsof the police."
"Then what, in your opinion, is the best course to pursue?" I inquired.
"First, your friend Mr. Cleugh must not go near the park. I've alreadywritten him a note to that effect. Secondly, you must act exactly as Idirect. A single slip will mean that the individual will escape, and inthis we must not court failure by any indiscreet move."
"And how do you intend that I should act?" I asked, sitting back in mywriting-chair and looking at the shrewd detective who was knownthroughout London as one of the cleverest unravellers of crime, and whohad been successful in so many cases wherein human life had beeninvolved.
"Well," he said, hesitating, "truth to tell, I would rather that youdidn't go to the park at all."
"Why?"
"Because you could not wait about in the vicinity of the spot indicatedwithout betraying a sign that you were in expectation of some one," heanswered. "Remember, you are not a detective."
"No," I answered, "I'm not a detective, but I've had a few years'training in investigations. I think I could disguise my anxietysufficiently."
I was extremely anxious to keep the appointment, and his suggestion thatI should not go caused me disappointment and annoyance.
"But if you were seen waiting about, the man we want would certainly notmake his appearance. He'd scent danger at once. We've evidently got todeal with a very cunning scoundrel."
"I could conceal myself," I declared. "I promise you I will act withgreatest discretion."
"Well," he said at length, after some further demur, "I suppose, then,you must have your own way. Personally, I don't think the man will besuch a fool as to run his neck into a noose. There's been some cleverwork in connexion with this matter, and men capable of such ingenuitymust be veritable artists in crime and not given to the committal of anyindiscretion. The voice in the telephone was a squeaky one, I think yousaid?"
"Yes, weak and thin, like an old man's."
Boyd glanced at his watc
h--a gold hunter with an inscription. It hadbeen given him by public subscription in Hampstead in recognition of hisbravery in capturing two armed burglars in Fitzjohn's Avenue.
"It's time we went," he exclaimed; but as we rose Dick entered in hothaste. He had just received Boyd's note and had run round to my office.
"I've been out making an inquiry," he said, having greeted us andexpressed disappointment at Boyd's decision. "I thought, in order tosatisfy myself, and so that I could use the information later on, Iwould go round to