CHAPTER XI
In the morning-room he found Sir Gregory, who had refrained, with animpatient delicacy, from following him further than the drawing-room. Hewas walking to and fro before the hearth, another big cigar between hislips.
"Well?" he asked, as the detective entered.
Gimblet looked at him with a disapproving sternness.
"If you intend to accompany me further in my investigations, SirGregory," he began, "I must warn you that I can allow no smoking. Thesense of smell is as valuable to me in my work as it is to a questinghound, and I cannot have red herrings like your cigars dragged acrossthe trail I might possibly be following."
"My cigars! Red herrings!" Sir Gregory stuttered. "This, Mr. Gimblet, isthe finest Havana!"
"No doubt," said Gimblet, "as tobacco it is good enough. But if it camestraight from Paradise I could not let the strong smell of it interferewith my business. I must keep my nose free from such gross odours, or itwill not serve me when I most need it. When we first came into this roomit was filled with a perfume all its own. Now that I return I can smellnothing but the taint of your cigar."
Though considerably incensed at Gimblet's choice of words--Sir Gregorynearly choked when he heard them--he controlled his feelings ofindignation as best he could, for he was bent on seeing the detective atwork. "If the flavour of the best tobacco really impedes you," said he,swallowing his annoyance, "I will defer the pleasure of smoking untilyou have arrived at some conclusion. I suppose you have not discoveredanything of importance so far?"
"I think I have added to my knowledge by this visit," returned Gimblet,"whether importantly or not it is too soon to say. You did not mentionto me, by the way, that Miss Turner had inherited her father'spartiality for horses."
"Didn't I? I didn't know it would interest you. Yes; she seems verydevoted to riding."
"And to racing," added Gimblet.
"I don't know about that. She's never been near a race-course, as far asI know. What makes you think so? Have you been talking to Blake abouther?"
"When a young lady's room is full of pictures of race-horses, and'Ruff's Guide to the Turf' occupies a prominent position on herbookshelf," said Gimblet indifferently, "it is not really necessary toask the servants whether she takes an interest in racing. But come, SirGregory, I think we have no more to do here. Shall we go back to my flatand see if anything has been heard at the hospitals?"
With a farewell word to Blake they prepared to leave the house, thebutler hastening before them to open the hall door. As he drew backthe latch and they stepped forth into the street, they were confrontedby a grey-haired man carrying a small black bag, who stood with a handalready upon the bell.
"Whom have we here?" said the detective to himself, and taking SirGregory's arm he drew him back into the house, leaving Blake to parleywith the new-comer.
"No, sir, Mrs. Vanderstein's not at home," they could hear him saying.
The two men retreated to the morning-room but here in a few minutesBlake followed them.
"If you please, sirs," he said, "here is Mr. Chark, Mrs. Vanderstein'ssolicitor."
On his heels came the stranger.
"You will excuse me coming to see you, gentlemen," said he, fixing hiseyes, after a momentary hesitation, upon the detective, "but hearingthat Mr. Gimblet was in the house"--here he bowed to that gentleman--"Ithought I had better seize the opportunity of offering such help as Imay be able to furnish in your investigations. Very little, I fear,still possibly I am in possession of a fact which may as yet be unknownto you."
Mr. Chark, partner in the firm of D'Allby and Chark, was a man ofmedium height, of medium age, less than medium good looks, and mediumintellect. His face and hair were of different shades of grey and,although clean-shaven, he conveyed the impression that he wore sidewhiskers. His manner and movements were precise and deliberate. He spokeslowly, and as he did so his hands slowly revolved round each other. Itseemed as if he were grinding out each word by some secret mill-likeprocess differing from that of ordinary speech.
"I have just heard from the butler," he continued, after Gimblet andSir Gregory had acknowledged his greeting in suitable terms, "thatmy client, Mrs. Vanderstein, is absent under circumstances I must bepermitted to designate as unusual. That, in short, she went out lastnight, 'on gaiety intent,' he he! and has not since been heard of.This is very startling news, very strange news indeed. I think I canprove to you, Mr. Gimblet, that Mrs. Vanderstein's continued absence isunintentional."
So saying Mr. Chark unlocked his black bag, which he had placed on thefloor between his feet as if fearing that it might be surreptitiouslyremoved if he did not keep in touch with it, and drew from its darkrecesses a letter in a large mauve coloured envelope, which he handedwith another bow to Mr. Gimblet.
The detective took it and lifted it to his nose with a look of surprise.
"This," he cried, "is a letter from Mrs. Vanderstein herself."
"Your surmise is correct," said Mr. Chark. "I was unaware that you andmy client were acquainted, but I see that you know her handwriting."
"I never saw it before," Gimblet answered absently. He was studying itnow with a look of deep interest.
"Indeed. Then, may I inquire your reason for thinking that thisdocument bore her inscription?" Mr. Chark's drawling tones were plainlysceptical.
"Arome de la Corse," murmured Gimblet, as he handed the letter to SirGregory. "You, Sir Gregory, know the lady's writing, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Sir Gregory. "It is from her. Will you not read it aloud?Without spectacles, I'm sorry to say, I should find a difficulty indoing so," and he gave it back to Gimblet.
The detective opened the envelope and unfolding the sheet it containedread aloud what was written on it:
"Grosvenor Street: "Monday Evening.
"DEAR SIRS,
"I shall be much obliged if one of your firm will call on me to-morrow, Tuesday, between four and five o'clock, for the purpose of altering my will. Mr. Sidney has made it impossible for me to contemplate longer the thought of his inheriting any portion of my late husband's fortune. If Mr. Vanderstein were alive I am sure he would agree with me on this point, but as he is no more and has left the matter to my discretion, it becomes a sacred duty with me utterly to ignore the wishes he expressed, and to alter my will immediately to that effect. Trusting you will make it convenient to call at teatime to-morrow,
"I remain, "Yours faithfully, "RUTH VANDERSTEIN."
Gimblet folded the letter carefully, replaced it in the envelope, andhanded it back to Mr. Chark.
"We heard something of a quarrel between Mrs. Vanderstein and Mr.Sidney," he said. "I wonder whether she would have stuck to her threatof cutting him off with a penny. People write this sort of letter whenthey lose their tempers, but very often they have calmed down by thefollowing day."
"You do not know Mrs. Vanderstein, Mr. Gimblet," interrupted SirGregory. "She isn't one of those women who fly into a rage about nothingat all, or try to frighten people with threats. She does not suffer fromnerves; her health is as excellent as her temper. I am persuaded shewouldn't have written that letter unless she had the gravest reasons fordoing so."
"That also is my view," agreed Mr. Chark. "I can endorse Sir GregoryAberhyn Jones's opinion as regards the character of my client,Mr. Gimblet; I can endorse it thoroughly. Mrs. Vanderstein is alevel-headed, shrewd woman, far from being driven by every impulse."
"There is something decidedly womanly about the way she considers ither sacred duty to ignore her husband's wishes," commented Gimblet, andthen, as he saw the wrathful light flashing in Sir Gregory's eyes, headded quickly, "I hope that Mrs. Vanderstein herself will be able tomake everything clear in a few hours' time at the most. Sir Gregory andI, Mr. Chark, were on our way to see if she had been heard of at thehospitals, at the moment of your arrival. We fear she may have met withsome misadventure."
Mr. Chark was disappointed. Beneath his stiff, outer shell therelurked a tiny spark o
f romantic fire, which had never been entirelyextinguished by the stifling routine of the legal casuistries withwhich D'Allby and Chark principally occupied themselves. Mortgages,settlements of property, the continual framing in a maze of words ofthose deeds which should mystify any but creatures like himself, towhom their lack of intelligibility meant profitable business; all thissystematic dullness had failed to choke that imperceptible glimmer, andat the mere knowledge of Gimblet's presence in the house it had leapton a sudden to a hot and burning flame. All his life he had cherished asecret regret that his way had not lain along the precipitous bypathsof criminal law, and now his excited imagination saw murder andviolence beckoning from all sides, with fingers redly fascinating. Hegave a stiff bow at the detective's words, and spoke with a feeling ofirritation and a sensation of being played with, which he was careful toconceal beneath his usual precise and colourless tones.
"Indeed," he drawled, his hands revolving as ever in their strokingmovement. "I may venture to say that my impression is a different one.Though no detective, I am still, in my capacity of lawyer, able toput two and two together. This letter"--he tapped Mrs. Vanderstein'snote--"and the evidence of the butler that a quarrel between my clientand her nephew did occur yesterday afternoon in this house, andimmediately preceded the writing of this letter; the knowledge that thelady left her home intending to return in two or three hours, but hasactually failed to do so in twenty--these facts, gentlemen, if theyconvey nothing to you, appear to me to be eminently suggestive."
Gimblet made no reply; but Sir Gregory, whose face had been gettingpinker and pinker till it resembled a full-blown peony, burst out with atruculent snort:
"And what do they suggest to you, sir?"
"They suggest," Mr. Chark resumed with apparent calm, "that Mr. JosephSidney could very probably inform us of his aunt's whereabouts."
"I have the pleasure of Mr. Sidney's acquaintance," exclaimed SirGregory, "and let me inform you, Mr. Chark, if that is your name, thathe is a gentleman holding a commission in His Majesty's army. I hope itis unnecessary to say more. Your insinuations are absurd."
"You cannot deny in the face of the facts that matters look very blackagainst this young gentleman," drawled the lawyer.
"Black!" Sir Gregory seemed about to choke. "I consider it blackbehaviour, sir, to come here and make these libellous and scandalousassertions about an officer and a gentleman. One who, moreover, is, as Igather, entirely unknown to you. Do you know him, sir, or do you not?"demanded Sir Gregory, leaning forward and rapping out an accompanimentto the words with the palm of his hand on a small table which stood nearhim, so that the flower glasses on it danced and jingled.
"I do not know him, it is true," admitted Mr. Chark, "but I do knowthat he would benefit to the extent of several hundred thousands ofpounds, if Mrs. Vanderstein should die before she found it possible torevise her will. And I have no doubt that she told him her intention ofaltering it."
"Die? What do you say?" Sir Gregory's voice came faintly. The rosycolour faded from his cheeks. The utmost horror and astonishment weredepicted in his countenance.
Gimblet, at the sight, got up from his chair.
"Mr. Chark," he said severely, "you are letting your imagination runaway with you. You are, indeed, talking like a halfpenny feuilleton.There is no reason to take so melodramatic a view while Mrs.Vanderstein's absence still admits of some more or less ordinaryexplanation. I am going now to ascertain if she has not been discoveredin the accident ward of one of the hospitals. Are you coming, SirGregory?"
With a word of farewell they left the house, cutting short moreobservations on the part of Mr. Chark, who followed them, deeplychagrined at being treated with such scant ceremony.
Sir Gregory, as he drove with Gimblet in the direction of Whitehall,returned nervously to the implication of foul play.
"What made him think of such a thing, d'ye think?" he asked. "It isimpossible that young Sidney would harm her. A nice civil lad; Ihave always liked him. Why should he? I'll not believe it." He spokedisjointedly; the suggestion had shaken him.
Gimblet did his best to reassure him, but when they reached his flat,and found that the hospitals had been drawn blank for news of the twoladies, he felt more concerned than he liked to show. Still, the orderthat had been given to the chauffeur, not to return to the opera house,seemed to point to some intention other than that of going back toGrosvenor Street, and it was still to be hoped that any moment mightbring tidings. There were, however, other considerations not quite soencouraging.
Gimblet, who had left Sir Gregory below while he ran up to his rooms,gave some instructions to Higgs, the man who at times combined theduties of servant with those of an assistant in the more tiresome butnecessary details of the detective's work. Then he went down again tobreak to the baronet, with reluctant gravity, that there was no news.
"We will go to Covent Garden now," he said; and they got into anothertaxi.
Sir Gregory had become very silent. His face was drawn with anxiety."What can have happened?" he kept muttering to himself.
To divert his thoughts, Gimblet recalled the suspicion he had harbouredat first--that Mrs. Vanderstein had flown with some other admirer. Butthe fear that she was in danger, or that worse had befallen her, hadtaken hold of the man, and it was he who now pooh-poohed the idea andfound arguments to show its improbability.
"She had no need to run away," he objected in his turn, "she could marrywhom she liked. And whoever heard of a woman's taking a friend on awedding trip? No, if it had been anything of the sort, Miss Turner wouldhave been left behind, we may be sure of that."
At Covent Garden they learnt very little. The box had been cleaned out,and bore no sign of having been used the night before. Gimblet wentsniffing round it, but could find no trace of lingering Arome de laCorse. The box opener told them that Mrs. Vanderstein and the young ladywho generally came with her had occupied it at the gala performance, andhad left before the end of the last scene. She hadn't noticed anythingstrange or otherwise about either of them, and as far as she knew no onehad visited the box during the intervals.
No one, it appeared, had observed their departure from the doors of thetheatre. One commissionaire thought he remembered two ladies comingout early and driving off in a carriage, but he couldn't say, he wassure, what they were like. Might have been young and lovely, or again,might have been old and ugly. He had seen a powerful lot of ladies inthe course of the evening, and never had enjoyed what you might call amemory for faces. If it had not been for the lack of that useful talent,the commissionaire concluded regretfully, he would, as likely as not,have been sitting in the hall of a West End club at the present moment,with no more to do than to answer the inquiries of one gentleman foranother gentleman. Never had been what you might call the victim of goodluck.
They left him testing a shilling doubtfully with his teeth, as ifunwilling to believe that his fortune could have changed sufficientlyfor the coin to be other than a bad one.
It was growing late, the doors of the theatres would soon be open.Already shutters were up in front of shop windows, and the crowds thatstill filled the streets had no excuse for loitering now there wasnothing to look at, nowhere left for noses to be flattened. Instead,every one seemed to be hurrying in one direction, the direction ofrailway station or tram, or whatever would carry them to their homes.The sinking sun had at last left the streets full of shadows and, thoughthe pavements and walls still radiated heat, a cool breeze had arisenand was rushing in from the river. In open spaces, where the tall wallsof houses did not prevent a glimpse of the western sky, one could see acloud or two slowly climbing the heavens.
The two men walked together in silence for a little way, and thenGimblet stopped, holding out his hand.
"I don't think we can do any more to-night," he said. "Put away youranxieties for a few hours, Sir Gregory; it does no good to worry.To-morrow, if fresh tidings come, we must see what else can be done. Ithink perhaps you will be wise to consult the police."
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br /> But at this Sir Gregory raised an outcry.
"Well, we will see about that when to-morrow comes," said Gimblet. "Inthe meantime I must say good night."
Gimblet saw Sir Gregory off in the direction of his club, and then,after a moment's hesitation, hailed a taxi himself, and drove to theresidence of the Postmaster-General. He thought that at this hour he hada good chance of finding that Minister at home, and he was not mistaken.
Sir James was in, said the footman who answered his ring, but at thepresent moment engaged in dressing, before dining early and going to thetheatre. He would take up Mr. Gimblet's card.
As luck had it, it had been Gimblet's fortune to render a considerableservice to Sir James Mossing, at a date in this gentleman's career whenhis foot was still insecurely placed on the first rung of the ladderhe subsequently climbed; and, as he rose in power, the politician hadnever failed to show that he gratefully remembered the obligation. Thedetective had only to wait ten minutes before the man he had come to seehurried into the room, with apologies for keeping him waiting. Gimbletlost no time in explaining the object of his visit, and had littledifficulty in obtaining the written order he wished for. Armed withthis, he detained the affable statesman no longer, but withdrew quicklyand turned his steps homeward.
"Higgs," he said, as his servant met him in the hall of the flat. "Iwant you to go at once to the post office in Piccadilly and get atelegram which was handed in last evening by a footman. It was in asealed envelope, which also held the money for the message. It may, ormay not, be signed by Miss Barbara Turner. It was certainly writtenby her. Here is an order from the Postmaster-General, which will makethings easy for you. I have one or two things to do that ought to havebeen finished this morning or I should go myself. They will take meabout an hour, and I hope you will be back by that time."
In an hour Higgs was back. He looked pleased with himself, and profferedthe detective a sheet of paper.
"That's right, Higgs, you've been quick," Gimblet commended him.
"They were a little while looking through the forms," said Higgs, "butluckily there was no fuss about giving it to me after I'd shown yourcard and Sir James' order."
Gimblet was reading the paper. It was a telegraph form addressed toJoseph Sidney, and contained a short message:
"Luck is coming your way at last expect to have good news by Wednesday removing all difficulties."
There was no signature.
"How do you know this is the right one?" Gimblet asked sharply.
"The young person at the office happened to remember it, sir. It washanded in, enclosed in an envelope, and when she opened it and sawthere was no signature she ran out after the footman, intending to askthat the space at the back of the form, where the name and address isrequested for reference only, should be filled in. She was only intime to see the motor drive away. Still, it stamped the message on hermemory, especially as there was some change to give back."
"She may easily be mistaken," grumbled the detective.
"I thought you might not be satisfied, sir," said Higgs, "so I went onto Grosvenor Street and asked the butler to let me have a specimen ofMiss Turner's writing. I didn't tell him why I wanted it, of course. Ijust let him think a letter had been found and that you wanted somethingto identify it by," added Higgs, with some pride. He produced a menu ashe spoke, written in a large round hand. "Miss Turner always writes themenus in Grosvenor Street," he explained.
Gimblet took it and compared it with the telegram. It was easy to seethat both had been written by the same person.