CHAPTER XIX
NOT ALL ABOUT IT
Colonel Harris sent in his card to Sir Thomas Ryder. He had drivenover from the Langham in a hansom--holding taxicabs in even morewhole-hearted abhorrence than before. He inquired at once if SirThomas was in his private sanctum, and if so whether he might see him.
Curiously enough the chief, usually quite inaccessible to the casualvisitor--whether relative or stranger--received his brother-in-lawimmediately.
"Hello, Will," he said by way of greeting, the way Englishmen have ofsaying that they are pleased to see one another.
"Hello," responded Colonel Harris in the same eloquent tone.
And the two old boys shook hands.
Sir Thomas then resumed his official chair behind his huge desk andmotioned his brother-in-law to an arm-chair close by.
"Have a cigar," said the host.
"Thanks," rejoined the other.
The box was handed across, a Havana selected.
The cigars were lighted, and for quite three minutes the two mensmoked in silence. One of them had come here to find out how much ofhis daughter's happiness lay in jeopardy; the other knew what was inthe balance, the danger to his niece's happiness, the terrible abyssof misery which yawned at her feet.
But both sat there and enjoyed their cigars. They were dressed withscrupulous care, in the uniform prescribed by the world in which theylived as being suitable for gentlemen of their position and of theirage; frock coats and dark gray trousers, immaculate collar, and tiewith pearl pin. Both wore a seal ring on the little finger of the lefthand, and a watch chain of early Victorian design. They might be twinsbut for their faces. Convention had put a livery on them which theywould on no account have discarded.
But the faces were very different. Colonel Harris carried his sixtyyears as easily as if they had been forty. There were not many lineson his round, chubby face, with its red cheeks, and round, child-likeeyes. The heavy cavalry moustache, once auburn, now almost white, hidthe expression of the mouth, but one felt, judging by the eyes and thesmooth forehead, which continued very far now onto the back of hishead, that if one were allowed a peep below that walrus-like faceadornment one would see a mouth that was kind and none too firm, themouth of a man who had led other men perhaps but who had invariablybeen led by his women folk.
Now Sir Thomas Ryder was--or rather is, for he is still in perfecthealth and full vigour--a very different type of man. You have nodoubt seen him about town--for he takes a constitutional in the parkevery day on his way to his work, and he goes to most first nights atthe theatres--and if so you will have admired the keen, sharp face,the closely set eyes, the mobile mouth free from moustache or beard:the face is furrowed all over, especially round the eyes, yet he doesnot look old. That is because of the furrows; they form a wonderfulnet-work round his eyes, giving them an expression of perpetual keenamusement. The hair is pale in colour--not white but faded--andscanty. Sir Thomas wears it carefully brushed across the top of hishead, with a parting on the left side.
He has a trick when he is thinking deeply of passing his hand--whichis white, slender and tapering--over that scanty covering of what, butfor it, would be a bald cranium.
Some people said that Sir Thomas Ryder was a man without anysentiment; others that he was a slave to red tape; but no one deniedthe uncontrovertible fact that he was the right man in the rightplace.
He looked the part and always acted it, and fewer blunders hadundoubtedly been committed in the detective department of themetropolitan police since Sir Thomas Ryder took the guiding reins inhand.
"I suppose," he said at last, "that you've come to see me about thisde Mountford business."
"I have," replied Colonel Harris simply.
"Well, it's not a pleasant business."
"I know that. The papers are full of it, and it's all a confoundeddamnable business, Tom, and that's all about it."
"Unfortunately it's not 'all about it,'" rejoined Sir Thomas dryly.
"That's what Louisa says. Women are so queer about things of thatsort, and the papers are full of twaddle. She is anxious about Luke."
"I don't wonder."
"But it's all nonsense, isn't it?"
"What is?"
Colonel Harris did not reply immediately; for one thing, he did notknow exactly how to put his own fears and anxieties into words. Theywere so horrible and so farfetched that to tell them plainly andbaldly to his brother-in-law, to this man with whom he was soberlysmoking a cigar in a sober-looking office, whilst hansoms and taxicabswere rattling past in the street below within sight and hearing,seemed little short of idiocy. He was not a man of deeppenetration--was Colonel Harris--no great reader of thoughts or ofcharacter. He tried to look keenly at Sir Thomas's shrewd face, butall he was conscious of was a net-work of wrinkles round a pair ofeyes which seemed to be twinkling with humour.
Humour at this moment? Great Heavens above!
"I wish," he blurted out somewhat crossly at last, "you'd help me outa bit, Tom. Hang it all, man, all this officialism makes me dumb."
"Don't," said Sir Thomas blandly, "let it do that, Will," and thespeaker's eyes seemed to twinkle even more merrily than before.
"Well then tell me something about Luke."
"Luke de Mountford," mused the other as if the name recalled somedistant impression.
"Yes, Luke de Mountford, who is engaged to Louisa, your niece, man,and she's breaking her heart with all the drivel these newspapers talkand I couldn't bear it any longer; so I've come to you, Tom, and youmust tell me what truth there is in the drivel, and that's all I wantto know."
Sir Thomas Ryder seemed, whilst the other thus talked volubly, to havesuddenly made up his mind to say more than had originally been hisintention. Anyway, he now said with abrupt directness:
"If, my good Will, by 'drivel' you mean that in the matter of theassassination of Philip de Mountford, in a taxicab last night, gravesuspicion rests on his cousin Luke, then there's a great deal of truthin the drivel."
Colonel Harris received the sudden blow without much apparent emotion.He had been sitting in an arm-chair with one hand buried in histrousers pocket, the other holding the cigar.
Now he merely glanced down at the cigar for a moment and then conveyedit to his lips.
"What," he asked, "does that mean exactly?"
"That unless Luke de Mountford will, within the next forty-eighthours, answer certain questions more satisfactorily than he has donehitherto, he will be arrested on a charge of murder."
"That is impossible," protested Colonel Harris hotly.
"Impossible? Why?"
"Because--because--hang it all, man! you know Luke de Mountford. Doyou believe for a moment that he would commit such a dastardly crime?Why, the boy wouldn't know how to plan such villainy, let alone carryit through."
"My dear Will," rejoined the other quietly, "the many years which Ihave spent at this desk have taught me many things. Among others Ihave learned that every man is more or less capable of crime: it onlydepends what the incentive--the temptation if you like to call itso--or the provocation happens to be."
"But here there was no provocation, no temptation, no----"
Colonel Harris paused abruptly. He felt rather than saw hisbrother-in-law's eyes in their framework of wrinkles resting withobvious sense of amusement upon his wrathful face. No temptation? Andwhat of a peerage and a fortune lost, that could only be regained bythe death of the intruder? No provocation? And what of the brother andsister turned out of the old home? The good, simple-minded man hadsense enough to see that here, if he wished to speak up for Luke, hewas on the wrong track.
"What questions," he said abruptly, "does Luke not answersatisfactorily?"
"How he spent certain hours of yesterday evening."
"He was dancing attendance on Louisa and me."
"Oh, was he? Well that's satisfactory enough. At what time did youpart from him?"
"Well! he escorted us to the Danish Legation where we were dining."
"At what time was that?"
"Eight o'clock dinner."
"But he was not dining at the Danish Legation?"
"No. He came and fetched us again soon after eleven."
"That's right, but between whiles?"
"Between whiles?"
"Yes. Between eight and soon after eleven?"
"Well--I suppose--I don't know--yes, of course, I do! What a stupidass I am. Luke told me himself that he was going to see his uncle atthe Something Club in Shaftesbury Avenue."
"The Veterans'?"
"Yes, that's it--the Veterans'. Luke wanted to persuade old Radclyffeto go abroad for the benefit of his health--Algeciras--that was it."
"Quite so," rejoined Sir Thomas dryly, "and Luke de Mountford went tothe Veterans' Club in Shaftesbury Avenue, and he asked to see LordRadclyffe, who was a more or less regular habitue at that hour. Onbeing told that Lord Radclyffe was not there that evening, but thatMr. de Mountford was in the smoking room, Luke elected to go in andpresumably to have a talk with his cousin."
"I didn't know that," said Colonel Harris.
"No, but we did. Let me tell you what followed. The hall porter of theclub showed Luke into the smoking room, and less than five minuteslater he heard loud and angry words proceeding from that room. That aquarrel was going on between the two cousins was of course obvious.One or two members of the club remarked on the noise, and onegentleman actually opened the smoking room door to see what was goingon. He seems to have heard the words 'blackguard' and 'beggar'pleasingly intermingled and flying from one young man to the other.This witness knew Philip de Mountford very well by sight, but he hadnever seen Luke. But remember that Luke denies neither the interviewnor the quarrel. The former lasted close on an hour, and LordRadclyffe's journey to Algeciras was the original topic of discussion.At about nine o'clock Luke emerged from the smoking room. The hallporter saw him. He was then very pale and almost tottered as hewalked. Men do get at times intoxicated with rage, you know, Will."
"I know that, and I can well imagine what happened at that interview.Radclyffe had become such a confounded fool that he would not move ordo anything without this Philip's permission: and Luke was determinedto get him down to Algeciras at once. As Philip was at the club, hethought that he would tackle him then and there."
"Quite so. He did tackle him. And equally of course the two menquarrelled."
"But hang it all, one's not going to murder every man with whom onequarrels."
"Stop a moment, Will. As you say, one does not murder every man withwhom one quarrels. But you must admit that this is altogether anexceptional case. There was more than a mere quarrel between these twomen. There was deadly enmity--justified enmity, I'll own, on Luke'sside. We have already come across--it was not very difficult--two orthree of the servants who were in Lord Radclyffe's house before Lukeand his brother and sister were finally turned out of it. They allhave tales to tell of the terrible rows which used to go on in thehouse between the cousins. You, Will, must know how Luke hated thisPhilip de Mountford?"
Again Colonel Harris was silent. What was the use of denying such anobvious truth?
"You wanted," continued the other man quietly, "to hear the truth,Will, and you've got it. For Louisa's sake, for all our sakes, infact, I made up my mind to tell you all--or most--that is officiallyknown to me at this moment. You must get Louisa out of town atonce--take her abroad if you can, and keep English newspapers awayfrom her."
"She won't come," said Colonel Harris firmly.
"Oh, yes, she will, if you put it the right way."
Which saying on the part of the acute chief of our CriminalInvestigation Department was but a further proof--if indeed suchproofs were still needed nowadays--of how little clever men know ofcommonplace women.
"The case will be extremely unpleasant," resumed Sir Thomas who wasquite unconscious of the ignorance which he had just displayed. "Itwill be hateful for you, and quite impossible for Louisa."
"Always supposing," retorted the other, "that Luke is guilty, whichneither I nor Louisa will admit for a moment."
"That," rejoined Sir Thomas, "is as you please."
He put down his cigar, crossed one leg over the other, leaned back inhis chair, and folded his tapering hands together, putting finger tofinger, with the gesture of one who is dealing with a youthful mind,and has much to explain.
"Look here, Will," he resumed, "I have three men standing in my outeroffice at the present moment. Two of them have come back after havingquestioned the past servants of the Grosvenor Square household. Therewas the butler Parker, and an elderly housekeeper, both of whom are inservice in the West End. The woman tried to screen Luke and to makelight of the many quarrels which broke out between the cousins on allpossible occasions; but she broke down under our fellows' sharpquestions. She had to admit that the arrogance of the one man oftendrove the other to unguarded language, and that she had on more thanone occasion heard the men servants of the house say that they wouldnot be astonished if murder ensued one day. Well, we have these twowitnesses, and can easily get hold of the two or three footmen whoexpressed those particular views. So much for the past six months. Nowfor last night. The third man who is out there waiting for me to seehim is Frederick Power, hall porter at the Veterans' Club. The storywhich he told to our Mr. Travers is so important in its minutestdetail, that I have decided to question him myself so that I may leaveno possible loop-hole to doubt or to inaccuracy in the retelling. I amgoing to send for the man now. You come and sit round here, the otherside of my desk; from this position you will be able to watch theman's face, as well as hear what he has got to say. Now, would youlike that?"
"Right you are, Tom," was Colonel Harris's brief method ofacknowledging his brother-in-law's kindness, in thus breaking a pieceof red tape, and setting aside a very strict official rule. He did asSir Thomas directed, and sat down in the recess behind the chief'sdesk, in a comfortable arm-chair with his back to the curtainedwindow.
He would not acknowledge even to himself how deeply stirred he was byall that he had heard, and now by the anticipation of what was yet tocome. Emotion--like he was experiencing now--had never come his waybefore now. He had lost his only son on the Modder River--that hadbeen sorrow of an acute kind; he had laid a much loved wife to rest inthe village churchyard close to his stately home in Kent; and he hadescorted his late beloved sovereign to her last resting place on thatnever-to-be-forgotten day close on five years ago now; those threeevents in his life had been the great strains to which his nerves andsensibilities had been subjected in the past.
But this was altogether different. The sensations which the good manexperienced were such that he scarcely knew them himself; he had facedsorrow before, never dishonour--some one else's dishonour, ofcourse--still it touched him very nearly, for, though he might not bea very keen observer, he dearly loved his daughter, and dishonourseemed to be touching her, striking at her through Luke.