But I must first run down to the Yard and refreshmy memory. Come with me?"
I assented, and we went out, driving to the offices of the CriminalInvestigation Department in a hansom. Through the great entrance hall,up two wide stone staircases and down a long echoing corridor, heconducted me until we entered a large room wherein were seated severalclerks. He had thrown away his cigar, his keen face now wore a strangepreoccupied look, and as he approached a shelf, took down a largeledger, and opened it before him, he glanced up at the clock remarkingas if to himself--
"I've got an hour. They are certain to remain until the end."
His eye ran rapidly down several columns of names, until one arrestedhis attention and he closed the index-book, replaced it, and left me fora few moments, observing with a laugh--"I won't keep you long, buthere--there's something to amuse you."
Taking from one of the unoccupied desks a large, heavily-bound volume,he placed it before me, adding--"The people in there are mostlyforeigners wanted for crimes abroad, and believed to be living in freeEngland." And he went out, leaving me to inspect this remarkablecollection of photographs. Each portrait, mounted in the great album,bore a number written in red ink across it, and I soon found myselfhighly interested in them. Presently Grindlay returned hurriedly with asimilar album, the leaves of which he turned over one by one, carefullyscrutinising each picture on the page in his eager search for thecounterfeit presentment of the man who, unsuspicious of detection, wascalmly enjoying the ballet at the Empire.
"Anything there to interest you?" he inquired presently without lookingup, as we stood side by side.
"Yes," I answered, "Are these all foreigners?"
"Mostly. They are wanted for all kinds of crime, from fraud to murder,"he replied.
They were indeed a most incongruous set. Many were photographs taken bythe French and German and Italian police after the criminal's previousconviction, and the suspects were often in prison dress; but theportraits of others were in cabinet size, bearing the names ofwell-known Paris, Berlin, and Viennese photographers.
"Have any of these people been arrested?" I inquired.
"No. When they are, we take out the picture and file it. If there isany reason why they should not be arrested it is written below."
And he went on with his careful but rapid search while carelessly Iturned over leaf after leaf. A few of the men appeared quite refinedand gentlemanly. Some of the women were quiet and inoffensive-looking,and one or two of them stylishly dressed and exceedingly pretty, but itcould be distinguished that the majority bore the stamp of crime ontheir brutal, debased faces.
I had glanced at a number of leaves mechanically, and had grown tired ofinspecting the motley crowd of evildoers, when suddenly an involuntarycry of abject amazement escaped my lips.
My eyes had fallen upon two portraits placed side by side among a numberof others whose physiognomy clearly betrayed the fact that they weremalefactors. Stupefied by the discovery I stood aghast, staring atthem, scarcely believing my own eyes.
The two portraits were those of Sybil and myself!
Sybil's picture was similar to the one I had purchased in Regent Street,and was by the same photographer, while mine had evidently been copiedfrom one that had been taken in Paris two years before.
Of what crime had we been suspected? Here was yet another phase of theinexplicable mystery of Sybil's marriage and death. Some words werewritten beneath her portrait in red ink and initialled. I bent toexamine them and found they read--"Warrant not executed--Death."
I raised my head slowly and turned to Grindlay.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
GRINDLAY'S TACTICS.
The detective, bending over the album, was so deeply engrossed incontemplating a photograph he had just discovered, that he failed tonotice my exclamation of surprise, or if he heard it he vouchsafed noremark.
I turned to him for the purpose of seeking some explanation regardingthe portrait of myself and my dead bride, but in an instant it occurredto me that he knew nothing regarding the strange circumstances of mymarriage, or of the fact that Sybil was "wanted," otherwise he would nothave been so indiscreet as to give me this book of photographs toinspect. By directing his attention to it I should be compelled toexplain how ingeniously I had been tricked.
No. Again silence was best.
I decided that I would keep my own counsel, at least for the present,and watch the progress of events. At the other portraits on the page Iglanced, then turned over leaf after leaf in search of another face Ihad cause to remember--that of the mysterious Markwick. But he was notincluded. Only Sybil and myself were suspected. What, I wondered,could be the crime for which our arrest was demanded. Why, indeed, if Ihad been "wanted," had I not been arrested long ago?
The discovery was astounding.
Grindlay, extracting the photograph from the book, left me hurriedlywith a word of apology, and while he was absent I again turned to thestrange assortment of foreign criminals, among whom I figured soprominently. Again and again I read the endorsement beneath Sybil'sphotograph. Her bright eyes looked out at me sadly. Her beautifulcountenance bore the same strange world-weary look as on that eveningwhen she had first passed me in the half-lights of the Casino Garden inthe far-off Pyrenean valley. But alas! the one word "death" writtenbelow was a sad reality. She was lost to me, and had died with herinscrutable secret locked within her heart.
Presently the detective returned, thrusting some ominous-looking papersin his breast-pocket as he walked, and closing the book I followed himout a few moments later.
"I have the warrant," he said calmly, as we entered a cab together. "Ishall make the arrest at once."
"Shall you arrest both men?"
"No," he replied, laughing. "The situation is rather critical. I don'twant to arrest the first man at present, only his companion. If Iarrest the latter the diamond thief will no doubt abscond. I shalltherefore be compelled to wait until they have parted."
"What's the charge against the other?" I inquired, much interested.
"Jewel robbery," he answered sharply. "He's one of a gang who havetheir head-quarters in Brussels. I must keep him under observation, forhe's a slippery customer, and has already done several long stretches.Where he's been lately, goodness knows. The police of Europe have beenlooking out for him for fully two years, and this seems to be his firstpublic appearance. It was quite by a fluke that I spotted him, for hecan't hide the deformity of his hand, even though he is wearing gloves."
"What deformity?" I inquired. "I did not notice any."
"No," he laughed. "You are not a detective. The deformity consists intwo fingers of his left hand being missing. It was this fact that firstattracted my attention toward him."
Across Leicester Square we dashed rapidly, and, pulling up before theEmpire, were soon strolling again in the lounge, having been absentabout three-quarters of an hour. The crowd was now so great thatlocomotion was difficult, nevertheless the detective, having lit a freshcigar, walked leisurely here and there in search of the pair ofcriminals, while I confess my interest was divided between them and theEarl of Fyneshade. Why the latter should now fraternise with the man ofwhom only a few hours ago he had been so madly jealous wasincomprehensible, and my eyes were everywhere on the alert to againdiscover them and watch their actions. Fyneshade had left his wifebecause of her friendship with this sinister-faced individual, yet hewas actually spending the evening with him. It was a curious fact, andone of which Mabel evidently did not dream. What, I wondered, could bethe motive? Had Markwick sought the Earl's society with some evildesign? Or had the Earl himself, determined to ascertain the truth,stifled his feelings of jealousy, and for the nonce extended the hand offriendship to the man he hated?
The performance was drawing to a close, the bars and foyer were crowded,and the chatter and laughter so loud that neither song nor music couldbe heard. Although we struggled backward and forward, and peered intothe various bars, Grindlay could n
ot discover the men for whom he was insearch, neither could I find the Earl and his companions.
"I'm very much afraid they've left," the detective said to me presently,when he had made a thorough investigation.
"What shall you do?"
"Oh, I know where I can find the first man, therefore the second; beingin London, it will not be a very difficult matter to get scent of himagain," he answered lightly, adding, "But I haven't seen your friend theEarl. He's gone also, I suppose."
"I believe so. I haven't noticed him since we returned."
"You said you knew that man who was with him," he observed.
"The tall man," I repeated. "You mean Markwick. Yes, I've met him onceor twice. But I don't