CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
FURTHER REVELATIONS
If you are a constant reader of the newspapers, as probably you are,you will no doubt recollect the great sensation caused next day on thepublication of the news of the gruesome find in that, one of the mostaristocratic thoroughfares of Bayswater.
The metropolitan police were very reticent regarding the affair, butmany of the papers published photographs of the scene of theexhumations, the exterior of the long-closed house, and photographs ofthe various police officials. That of Guertin, however, was notincluded. The famous investigator of crime had no wish for the pictureof his face, with its eyes beaming benignly through his gold glasses,to be disseminated broadcast.
The police refused to make any statement; hence the wildestconjectures were afloat concerning the series of tragedies which musthave taken place within that dark house, with its secluded, tangledgarden.
As the days went by, the public excitement did not abate, for yet moreremains were found--the body of a young, fair-haired man who had beenidentified as Mr. Cyril Wilson, a member of the Travellers' Club, whohad been missing for nearly nine months. The police, impelled by thisfresh discovery, cut down the trees in the garden and laid the wholeplace waste, while crowds of the curious waited about in theneighbourhood, trying to catch a glimpse of the operations.
And as time wore on I waited in daily expectation of some sign fromthe woman I so dearly loved.
Guertin, who still remained in London, assured me that she was safe inhiding with her father, Phil Poland.
"And you will, of course, arrest him when you can discover him," Iremarked, as I sat with the famous detective in his room at the GrandHotel in Trafalgar Square.
"I do not wish to discover him, my dear Monsieur Biddulph," was hiskind reply. "I happen to know that he has deeply repented of hiswrongdoing, and even on his sudden reappearance at Stamford with theremaining portion of his once invulnerable gang, he urged them to turnaside from evil, and become honest citizens. He has, by his wrongfulconviction of murder, expiated his crimes, and hence I feel that hemay be allowed a certain leniency, providing he does not offend infuture."
"But a warrant is out for him, of course?"
"Certainly. His arrest is demanded for breaking from prison. Hisescape is one of the most daring on record. He swam for five miles inthe sea on a dark night, and met with most extraordinary adventuresbefore a Dutch captain allowed him to work his passage to Rotterdam."
"But he will not dare to put foot in London, I suppose. He would beliable to extradition to France."
"Who knows? He is one of the most fearless and ingenious men I haveever known. He can so alter his appearance as to deceive even me."
"But the metropolitan police, knowing that Sylvia--I mean Sonia--ishis daughter, may be watching my house!" I exclaimed in alarm.
"That is more than likely," he admitted. "Hence, if you want to allowmadame, your wife, an opportunity to approach you, you should goabroad somewhere--to some quiet place where you would not besuspected. Let me know where you go, and perhaps I can manage toconvey to them the fact that you are waiting there."
The hotel at Gardone--that fine lake-side hotel where I had first seenSonia--occurred to me. And I told him.
"Very well," he said cheerfully. "I shall return to Paris to-morrow,and if I can obtain any information from either of the prisoners, Iwill manage to let Poland know that his son-in-law awaits him."
Then I thanked the great detective, and, shaking hands warmly, weparted.
What Guertin had told me regarding the strange discovery of a man whoclosely resembled him outside Poland's house on the night of thelatter's arrest held me much puzzled. Even he, the all-powerful chiefof the _surete_, had failed to solve the enigma.
Next afternoon Shuttleworth called upon me in Wilton Street, and for along time sat chatting.
At last he looked at me gravely, and said--
"I dare say you have been much puzzled, Mr. Biddulph, to know why I, aclergyman of the Church of England, have apparently been mixed up withpersons of shady character. But now that four of them are underarrest, and a fifth, we hope, will shortly be apprehended, I willexplain. As you perhaps know, Sonia was the daughter of the HonourablePhilip Poland, who came to live at the Elms, which is close to therectory at Middleton. We became great friends, until one evening hemade a strange confession to me. He told me who he was--Louis Lessar,who had been the leader of a dangerous band of internationalthieves--and he asked my advice in my capacity of spiritual guide. Hehad repented, and had gone into retirement there, believing that hissins would not find him out. But they had done, and he knew he mustshortly be arrested. Well, I advised him to act the man, and put asidethe thoughts of suicide. What he had revealed to me had--I regret toconfess it--aroused my hatred against the man who had betrayed him--aman named Du Cane. This man Du Cane I had only met once, at the Elms,and then I did not realize the amazing truth--that this was theselfsame man who had stolen from me, twenty years before, the woman Ihad so dearly loved. He had betrayed her, and left her to starve anddie in a back street in Marseilles. I concealed my outburst offeeling, yet the very next evening Poland was arrested, and Sonia,ignorant of the truth, was, with a motive already explained byMonsieur Guertin, taken under the guardianship of this man whom I hadsuch just cause to hate--the man who subsequently passed as herfather, Pennington. It was because of that I felt all along such atender interest in the unhappy young lady, and I was so delighted toknow when she had at last become your wife."
"You certainly concealed your feelings towards Pennington. I believedyou to be his friend," I said.
"I was Sonia's friend--not his, for what poor Poland had told merevealed the truth that the fellow was an absolute scoundrel."
"And you, of course, know about the incident of a man closelyresembling the French detective Guertin being found dead outside thedoor of the Elms?"
"Certainly," was his reply; "that is still a complete mystery whichcan only be solved by Poland himself. He must know, or else have ashrewd idea of what occurred."
As we chatted on for a long time, he told me frankly many things ofwhich I had not the least suspicion, at the same time assuring me ofSonia's deep devotion towards me, and of his confidence that she hadleft me because she believed being at her father's side would ensuremy own safety.
And now that I knew so much of the truth I longed hourly to meet her,and to obtain from her--and perhaps from the lips of Philip Polandhimself--the remaining links in that remarkable chain of facts.