CHAPTER IV
It is hardly necessary to intimate that this letter came as something ofa shock to the young woman who received it. For the rest of that day themany sights of London held little interest for her--so little, indeed,that her perspiring father began to see visions of his beloved Texas;and once hopefully suggested an early return home. The coolness withwhich this idea was received plainly showed him that he was on the wrongtrack; so he sighed and sought solace at the bar.
That night the two from Texas attended His Majesty's Theater, whereBernard Shaw's latest play was being performed; and the witty Irishmanwould have been annoyed to see the scant attention one lovely youngAmerican in the audience gave his lines. The American in questionretired at midnight, with eager thoughts turned toward the morning.
And she was not disappointed. When her maid, a stolid Englishwoman,appeared at her bedside early Saturday she carried a letter, whichshe handed over, with the turned-up nose of one who aids but does notapprove. Quickly the girl tore it open.
DEAR Texas LADY: I am writing this late in the afternoon. The sun iscasting long black shadows on the garden lawn, and the whole world isso bright and matter-of-fact I have to argue with myself to be convincedthat the events of that tragic night through which I passed reallyhappened.
The newspapers this morning helped to make it all seem a dream; not aline--not a word, that I can find. When I think of America, and howby this time the reporters would be swarming through our house if thisthing had happened over there, I am the more astonished. But then, Iknow these English papers. The great Joe Chamberlain died the othernight at ten, and it was noon the next day when the first paper to carrythe story appeared--screaming loudly that it had scored a beat. It had.Other lands, other methods.
It was probably not difficult for Bray to keep journalists such as thesein the dark. So their great ungainly sheets come out in total ignoranceof a remarkable story in Adelphi Terrace. Famished for real news, theybegin to hint at a huge war cloud on the horizon. Because totteringAustria has declared war on tiny Serbia, because the Kaiser is to-dayhurrying, with his best dramatic effect, home to Berlin, they see allEurope shortly bathed in blood. A nightmare born of torrid days andtossing nights!
But it is of the affair in Adelphi Terrace that you no doubt want tohear. One sequel of the tragedy, which adds immeasurably to the mysteryof it all, has occurred, and I alone am responsible for its discovery.But to go back:
I returned from mailing your letter at dawn this morning, very tiredfrom the tension of the night. I went to bed, but could not sleep.More and more it was preying on my mind that I was in a most unhappyposition. I had not liked the looks cast at me by Inspector Bray, or hisvoice when he asked how I came to live in this house. I told myselfI should not be safe until the real murderer of the poor captainwas found; and so I began to puzzle over the few clues in thecase--especially over the asters, the scarab pin and the Homburg hat.
It was then I remembered the four copies of the Daily Mail that Bray hadcasually thrown into the waste-basket as of no interest. I had glancedover his shoulder as he examined these papers, and had seen that each ofthem was folded so that our favorite department--the Agony Column--wasuppermost. It happened I had in my desk copies of the Mail for the pastweek. You will understand why.
I rose, found those papers, and began to read. It was then that I madethe astounding discovery to which I have alluded.
For a time after making it I was dumb with amazement, so that no courseof action came readily to mind. In the end I decided that the thing forme to do was to wait for Bray's return in the morning and then point outto him the error he had made in ignoring the Mail.
Bray came in about eight o'clock and a few minutes later I heardanother man ascend the stairs. I was shaving at the time, but I quicklycompleted the operation and, slipping on a bathrobe, hurried up to thecaptain's rooms. The younger brother had seen to the removal of theunfortunate man's body in the night, and, aside from Bray and thestranger who had arrived almost simultaneously with him, there was noone but a sleepy-eyed constable there.
Bray's greeting was decidedly grouchy. The stranger, however--a tallbronzed man--made himself known to me in the most cordial manner. Hetold me he was Colonel Hughes, a close friend of the dead man; and that,unutterably shocked and grieved, he had come to inquire whether therewas anything he might do. "Inspector," said I, "last night in this roomyou held in your hand four copies of the Daily Mail. You tossed theminto that basket as of no account. May I suggest that you rescue thosecopies, as I have a rather startling matter to make clear to you?"Too grand an official to stoop to a waste-basket, he nodded to theconstable. The latter brought the papers; and, selecting one from thelot, I spread it out on the table. "The issue of July twenty-seventh," Isaid.
I pointed to an item half-way down the column of Personal Notices. Youyourself, my lady, may read it there if you happen to have saved a copy.It ran as follows:
"RANGOON: The asters are in full bloom in the garden at Canterbury. Theyare very beautiful--especially the white ones."
Bray grunted, and opened his little eyes. I took up the issue of thefollowing day--the twenty-eighth:
"RANGOON: We have been forced to sell father's stick-pin--the emeraldscarab he brought home from Cairo."
I had Bray's interest now. He leaned heavily toward me, puffing. Greatlyexcited, I held before his eyes the issue of the twenty-ninth:
"RANGOON: Homburg hat gone forever--caught by a breeze--into the river."
"And finally," said I to the inspector, "the last message of all, in theissue of the thirtieth of July--on sale in the streets some twelve hoursbefore Fraser-Freer was murdered. See!"
"RANGOON: To-night at ten. Regent Street. --Y.O.G."
Bray was silent.
"I take it you are aware, Inspector," I said, "that for the past twoyears Captain Fraser-Freer was stationed at Rangoon."
Still he said nothing; just looked at me with those foxy little eyesthat I was coming to detest. At last he spoke sharply:
"Just how," he demanded, "did you happen to discover those messages? Youwere not in this room last night after I left?" He turned angrily to theconstable. "I gave orders--"
"No," I put in; "I was not in this room. I happened to have on file inmy rooms copies of the Mail, and by the merest chance--"
I saw that I had blundered. Undoubtedly my discovery of those messageswas too pat. Once again suspicion looked my way.
"Thank you very much," said Bray. "I'll keep this in mind."
"Have you communicated with my friend at the consulate?" I asked.
"Yes. That's all. Good morning."
So I went.
I had been back in my room some twenty minutes when there came a knockon the door, and Colonel Hughes entered. He was a genial man, in theearly forties I should say, tanned by some sun not English, and gray atthe temples.
"My dear sir," he said without preamble, "this is a most appallingbusiness!"
"Decidedly," I answered. "Will you sit down?"
"Thank you." He sat and gazed frankly into my eyes. "Policemen," headded meaningly, "are a most suspicious tribe--often without reason. Iam sorry you happen to be involved in this affair, for I may say thatI fancy you to be exactly what you seem. May I add that, if you shouldever need a friend, I am at your service?"
I was touched; I thanked him as best I could. His tone was sosympathetic and before I realized it I was telling him the wholestory--of Archie and his letter; of my falling in love with a garden; ofthe startling discovery that the captain had never heard of his cousin;and of my subsequent unpleasant position. He leaned back in his chairand closed his eyes.
"I suppose," he said, "that no man ever carries an unsealed letter ofintroduction without opening it to read just what praises have beenlavished upon him. It is human nature--I have done it often. May I makeso bold as to inquire--"
"Yes," said I. "It was unsealed and I did read it. Considering itspurpose, it struck me as rather long. There were man
y warm words forme--words beyond all reason in view of my brief acquaintance withEnwright. I also recall that he mentioned how long he had been inInterlaken, and that he said he expected to reach London about the firstof August."
"The first of August," repeated the colonel. "That is to-morrow. Now--ifyou'll be so kind--just what happened last night?"
Again I ran over the events of that tragic evening--the quarrel; theheavy figure in the hall; the escape by way of the seldom-used gate.
"My boy," said Colonel Hughes as he rose to go, "the threads of thistragedy stretch far--some of them to India; some to a country I will notname. I may say frankly that I have other and greater interest in thematter than that of the captain's friend. For the present that is instrict confidence between us; the police are well-meaning, but theysometimes blunder. Did I understand you to say that you have copies ofthe Mail containing those odd messages?"
"Right here in my desk," said I. I got them for him.
"I think I shall take them--if I may," he said. "You will, of course,not mention this little visit of mine. We shall meet again. Goodmorning."
And he went away, carrying those papers with their strange signals toRangoon.
Somehow I feel wonderfully cheered by his call. For the first time sinceseven last evening I begin to breathe freely again.
And so, lady who likes mystery, the matter stands on the afternoon ofthe last day of July, nineteen hundred and fourteen.
I shall mail you this letter to-night. It is my third to you, and itcarries with it three times the dreams that went with the first; forthey are dreams that live not only at night, when the moon is on thecourtyard, but also in the bright light of day.
Yes--I am remarkably cheered. I realize that I have not eaten atall--save a cup of coffee from the trembling hand of Walters--sincelast night, at Simpson's. I am going now to dine. I shall begin withgrapefruit. I realize that I am suddenly very fond of grapefruit.
How bromidic to note it--we have many tastes in common!
EX-STRAWBERRY MAN.
The third letter from her correspondent of the Agony Column increasedin the mind of the lovely young woman at the Carlton the excitement andtension the second had created. For a long time, on the Saturday morningof its receipt, she sat in her room puzzling over the mystery ofthe house in Adelphi Terrace. When first she had heard that CaptainFraser-Freer, of the Indian Army, was dead of a knife wound over theheart, the news had shocked her like that of the loss of some oldand dear friend. She had desired passionately the apprehension of hismurderer, and had turned over and over in her mind the possibilities ofwhite asters, a scarab pin and a Homburg hat.
Perhaps the girl longed for the arrest of the guilty man thus keenlybecause this jaunty young friend of hers--a friend whose name she didnot know--to whom, indeed, she had never spoken--was so dangerouslyentangled in the affair. For, from what she knew of Geoffrey West, fromher casual glance in the restaurant and, far more, from his letters, sheliked him extremely.
And now came his third letter, in which he related the connection ofthat hat, that pin and those asters with the column in the Mail whichhad first brought them together. As it happened, she, too, had copiesof the paper for the first four days of the week. She went to hersitting-room, unearthed these copies, and--gasped! For from thecolumn in Monday's paper stared up at her the cryptic words to Rangoonconcerning asters in a garden at Canterbury. In the other three issuesas well, she found the identical messages her strawberry man had quoted.She sat for a moment in deep thought; sat, in fact, until at her doorcame the enraged knocking of a hungry parent who had been waiting a fullhour in the lobby below for her to join him at breakfast.
"Come, come!" boomed her father, entering at her invitation. "Don't sithere all day mooning. I'm hungry if you're not."
With quick apologies she made ready to accompany him down-stairs.Firmly, as she planned their campaign for the day, she resolved to putfrom her mind all thought of Adelphi Terrace. How well she succeededmay be judged from a speech made by her father that night just beforedinner:
"Have you lost your tongue, Marian? You're as uncommunicative as anewly-elected office-holder. If you can't get a little more life intothese expeditions of ours we'll pack up and head for home."
She smiled, patted his shoulder and promised to improve. But he appearedto be in a gloomy mood.
"I believe we ought to go, anyhow," he went on. "In my opinion this waris going to spread like a prairie fire. The Kaiser got back to Berlinyesterday. He'll sign the mobilization orders to-day as sure as fate.For the past week, on the Berlin Bourse, Canadian Pacific stock has beendropping. That means they expect England to come in."
He gazed darkly into the future. It may seem that, for an Americanstatesman, he had an unusual grasp of European politics. This is easilyexplained by the fact that he had been talking with the bootblack at theCarlton Hotel.
"Yes," he said with sudden decision, "I'll go down to the steamshipoffices early Monday morning."