CHAPTER IX. INSPECTOR JACKS SCORES
There followed a few days of pleasurable interest to all Englishmenwho travelled in the tube and read their halfpenny papers. A greatand enlightened Press had already solved the problem of creating thesensational without the aid of facts. This sudden deluge, therefore, ofundoubtedly tragical happenings became almost an embarrassment tothem. Black headlines, notes of exclamation, the use of superlativeadjectives, scarcely met the case. The murder of Mr. Hamilton Fynes wasstrange enough. Here was an unknown man, holding a small position in hisown country,--a man apparently without friends or social position. Hetravelled over from America, merely a unit amongst the host of otherpassengers; yet his first action, on arriving at Liverpool, was to makeuse of privileges which belonged to an altogether different class ofperson, and culminated in his arrival at Euston in a special train witha dagger driven through his heart! Here was material enough for a leasta fortnight of sensations and countersensations, of rumored arrests andstrange theories. Yet within the space of twenty-four hours the affairof Mr. Hamilton Fynes had become a small thing, had shrunk almost intoinsignificance by the side of the other still more dramatic, still morewonderful happening. Somewhere between the Savoy Hotel and MelbourneSquare, Kensington, a young American gentleman of great strength, ofundoubted position, the nephew of a Minister, and himself secretary tothe Ambassador of his country in London, had met with his death in astill more mysterious, still more amazing fashion. He had left the hotelin an ordinary taxicab, which had stopped on the way to pick up noother passenger. He had left the Savoy alone, and he was discoveredin Melbourne Square alone. Yet, somewhere between these two points,notwithstanding the fact that the aggressor must have entered the cabeither with or without his consent, Mr. Richard Vanderpole, withouta struggle, without any cry sufficiently loud to reach the driver orattract the attention of any passer-by, had been strangled to death bya person who had disappeared as though from the face of the earth. Thefacts seemed almost unbelievable, and yet they were facts. The driverof the taxi knew only that three times during the course of his drive hehad been caught in a block and had had to wait for a few seconds--onceat the entrance to Trafalgar Square, again at the junction of Haymarketand Pall Mall, and, for a third time, opposite the Hyde Park Hotel. Atneither of these halting places had he heard any one enter or leave thetaxi. He had heard no summons from his fare, even though a tube, whichwas in perfect working order, was fixed close to the back of his head.He had known nothing, in fact, until a policeman had stopped him, havingcaught a glimpse of the ghastly face inside. There was no evidence whichserved to throw a single gleam of light upon the affair. Mr. Vanderpolehad called at the Savoy Hotel upon a travelling American, who hadwritten to the Embassy asking for some advice as to introducing Americanpatents into Great Britain and France. He left there to meet his chief,who was dining down in Kensington, with the intention of returningat once to join the Duchess of Devenham's theatre party. He was in nomanner of trouble. It was not suggested that any one had any cause forenmity against him. Yet this attack upon him must have been carefullyplanned and carried out by a person of great strength and wonderfulnerve. The newspaper-reading public in London love their thrills, andthey had one here which needed no artificial embellishments from thepens of those trained in an atmosphere of imagination. The simple truthwas, in itself, horrifying. There was scarcely a man or woman who drovein a taxicab about the west end of London during the next few dayswithout a little thrill of emotion.
The murder of Mr. Richard Vanderpole took place on a Thursday night.On Monday morning a gentleman of middle age, fashionably but quietlydressed, wearing a flower in his buttonhole, patent boots, and asilk hat which he had carefully deposited upon the floor, was sittingcloseted with Miss Penelope Morse. It was obvious that that young ladydid not altogether appreciate the honor done to her by a visit from sodistinguished a person as Inspector Jacks!
"I am sorry," he said, "that you should find my visit in the leastoffensive, Miss Morse. I have approached you, so far as possible, as anordinary visitor, and no one connected with your household can have anyidea as to my identity or the nature of my business. I have done thisout of consideration to your feelings. At the same time I have my dutyto perform and it must be done."
"What I cannot understand," Penelope said coldly, "is why you shouldbother me about your duty. When I saw you at the Carlton Hotel, I toldyou exactly how much I knew of Mr. Hamilton Fynes."
"My dear young lady," Inspector Jacks said, "I will not ask for yoursympathy, for I am afraid I should ask in vain; but we are just now,we people at Scotland Yard, up against one of the most extraordinaryproblems which have ever been put before us. We have had two murdersoccurring in two days, which have this much, at least, in common--thatthey have been the work of so accomplished a criminal that at thepresent moment, although I should not like to tell every one as much, wehave not in either case the ghost of a clue."
"That sounds very stupid of you," Penelope remarked, "but I still ask--"
"Don't ask for a minute or two," the Inspector interrupted. "I thinkI remarked just now that these two crimes had one thing in common, andthat was the fact that they had both been perpetrated by a criminal ofunusual accomplishments. They also have one other point of similitude."
"What is that?" Penelope asked.
"The victim in both cases was an American," the Inspector said.
Penelope sat very still. She felt the steely eyes of the man who hadchosen his seat so carefully, fixed upon her face.
"You do not connect the two affairs in any way?" she asked.
"That is what we are asking ourselves," Mr. Jacks continued. "In theabsence of any definite clue, coincidences such as this are alwaysinteresting. In this case, as it happens, we can take them even a littlefurther. We find that you, for instance, Miss Penelope Morse, a youngAmerican lady, celebrated for her wit and accomplishments, and wellknown in London society, were to have lunched with Mr. Hamilton Fyneson the day when he made his tragical arrival in London; we find too,curiously enough, that you were one of the party with whom Mr. RichardVanderpole was to have dined and gone to the theatre on the night of hisdecease."
Penelope shivered, and half closed her eyes.
"Don't you think," she said, "that the shock of this coincidence, asyou call it, has been quite sufficient, without having you come here toremind me of it?"
"Madam," Mr. Jacks said, "I have not come here to gratify any personalcuriosity. I have come here in the cause of justice. You should findme a welcome visitor, for both these men who have lost their lives werefriends of yours."
"I should be very sorry indeed," Penelope answered, "to stand in theway of justice. No one can hope more fervently than I do that theperpetrator of these deeds will be found and punished. But what I cannotunderstand is your coming here and reopening the subject with me. I tellyou again that I have no possible information for you."
"Perhaps not," the Inspector declared, "but, on the other hand, thereare certain questions which you can answer me,--answer them, I mean, notgrudgingly and as though in duty bound,--answer them intelligently, andwith some apprehension of the things which lie behind."
"And what is the thing that lies behind them?" she asked.
"A theory, madam," the Inspector answered,--"no more. But in this case,unfortunately, we have not passed the stage of theories. My theory, atthe present moment, is that the murderer of these two men was the sameperson."
"You have evidence to that effect," she said, suddenly surprised to findthat her voice had sunk to a whisper.
"Very little," Mr. Jacks admitted; "but, you see, in the case oftheories one must build them brick by brick. Then if, after all, aswe reach the end, the foundation was false, well, we must watch themcollapse and start again."
"Supposing we leave these generalities," Penelope remarked, "and get onwith those questions which you wish to ask me. My aunt, as you may haveheard, is an invalid, and although she seldom leaves her room, this isone of the afternoo
ns when she sometimes sits here for a short time. Ishould not care to have her find you."
The Inspector leaned back in his chair. It was a very pleasant drawingroom, looking out upon the Park. A little French clock, a masterpiece ofworkmanship, was ticking gayly upon the mantelpiece. Two toy Pomeranianswere half hidden in the great rug. The walls were of light blue, soft,yet full of color, and the carpet, of some plain material, was of thesame shade. The perfume of flowers--the faint sweetness of mimosa andthe sicklier fragrance of hyacinths--seemed almost overwhelming, for thefire was warm and the windows closed. By the side of Penelope's chairwere a new novel and a couple of illustrated papers, and Mr. Jacksnoticed that although a paper cutter was lying by their side the leavesof all were uncut.
"These questions," he said, "may seem to you irrelevant, yet pleaseanswer them if you can. Mr. Hamilton Fynes, for instance,--was he, toyour knowledge, acquainted with Mr. Richard Vanderpole?"
"I have never heard them speak of one another," Penelope answered. "Ishould think it very unlikely."
"You have no knowledge of any common pursuit or interest in lifewhich the two men may have shared?" the Inspector asked. "A hobby, forinstance,--a collection of postage stamps, china, any common aim of anysort?"
She shook her head.
"I knew little of Mr. Fynes' tastes. Dicky--I mean Mr. Vanderpole--hadnone at all except an enthusiasm for his profession and a love of polo."
"His profession," the Inspector repeated. "Mr. Vanderpole was attachedto the American Embassy, was he not?"
"I believe so," Penelope answered.
"Mr. Hamilton Fynes," the Inspector continued, "might almost have beensaid to have followed the same occupation."
"Surely not!" Penelope objected. "I always understood that Mr. Fynes wasemployed in a Government office at Washington,--something to do with theCustoms, I thought, or forest duties."
Mr. Jacks nodded thoughtfully.
"I am not aware, as yet," he said, "of the precise nature of Mr. Fynes'occupation. I only knew that it was, in some shape or form, Governmentwork."
"You know as much about it," she answered, "as I do."
"We have sent," the Inspector continued smoothly, "a special man outto Washington to make all inquiries that are possible on the spot, andincidentally, to go through the effects of the deceased, with a viewto tracing any complications in which he may have been involved in thiscountry."
Penelope opened her lips, but closed them again.
"I am not, however," the Inspector continued, "very sanguine of success.In the case of Mr. Vanderpole, for instance, there could have beennothing of the sort. He was too young, altogether too much of a boy,to have had enemies so bitterly disposed towards him. There is anotherexplanation somewhere, I feel convinced, at the root of the matter."
"You do not believe, then," asked Penelope, "that robbery was really themotive?"
"Not ordinary robbery," Mr. Jacks answered. "A man who was capable ofthese two crimes is capable of easier and greater things. I mean,"he explained, "that he could have attempted enterprises of a far moreremunerative character, with a prospect of complete success."
"Will you forgive me," she said, "if I ask you to go on with yourquestions, providing you have any more to ask me? Notwithstanding theexcellence of your disguise," she remarked with a faint curl of thelips, "I might find it somewhat difficult to explain your presence if myaunt or any visitors should come in."
"I am sorry, Miss Morse," the Inspector said quietly, "to find you sounsympathetic. Had I found you differently disposed, I was going to askyou to put yourself in my place. I was going to ask you to look at thesetwo tragedies from my point of view and from your own at the same time,and I was going to ask you whether any possible motive suggested itselfto you, any possible person or cause, which might be benefited by theremoval of these two men."
"If you think, Mr. Jacks," Penelope said, "that I am keeping anythingfrom you, you are very much mistaken. Such sympathy as I have wouldcertainly be with those who are attempting to bring to justice theperpetrator of such unmentionable crimes. What I object to is theunpleasantness of being associated with your inquiries when I amabsolutely unable to give you the least help, or to supply you with anyinformation which is not equally attainable to you."
"As, for instance?" the Inspector asked.
"You are a detective," Penelope said coldly. "You do not need me topoint out certain things to you. Mr. Hamilton Fynes was robbed andmurdered--an American citizen on his way to London. Mr. RichardVanderpole is also murdered, after a call upon Mr. James B. Coulson,the only acquaintance whom Mr. Fynes is known to have possessed in thiscountry. Did Mr. Fynes share secrets with Mr. Coulson? If so, did Mr.Coulson pass them on to Mr. Vanderpole, and for that reason did Mr.Vanderpole meet with the same death, at the same hands, as had befallenMr. Fynes?"
Inspector Jacks moved his head thoughtfully.
"It is admirably put," he assented, "and to continue?"
"It is not my place to make suggestions to you," Penelope said. "If youare able to connect Mr. Fynes with the American Government, you arriveat the possibility of these murders having been committed for somepolitical end. I presume you read your newspapers?"
Inspector Jacks smiled, picked up his hat and bowed, while Penelope,with a sigh of relief, moved over to the bell.
"My dear young lady," he said, "you do not understand how important eventhe point of view of another person is to a man who is struggling tobuild up a theory. Whether you have helped me as much as you could,"he added, looking her in the face, "you only can tell, but you havecertainly helped me a little."
The footman had entered. The Inspector turned to follow him. Peneloperemained as she had been standing, the hand which had touched the bellfallen to her side, her eyes fixed upon him with a new light stirringtheir quiet depths.
"One moment, Morton," she said. "Wait outside. Mr. Jacks," she added, asthe door closed, "what do you mean? What can I have told you? How can Ihave helped you?"
The Inspector stood very still for a brief space of time, very still andvery silent. His face, too, was quite expressionless. Yet his tone, whenhe spoke, seemed to have taken to itself a note of sternness.
"If you had chosen," he said slowly, "to have become my ally in thismatter, to have ranged yourself altogether on the side of the law, myanswer would have been ready enough. What you have told me, however, youhave told me against your will and not in actual words. You have toldme in such a way, too," he added, "that it is impossible for me to doubtyour intention to mislead me. I am forced to conclude that we standon opposite sides of the way. I shall not trouble you any more, MissMorse."
He turned to the door. Penelope remained motionless for several moments,listening to his retreating footsteps.