CHAPTER XXVII
TWO BLACKGUARDS
"Tell me what you think of it," said the man in the corner, seeing thatPolly remained silent and puzzled.
"Well," she replied dubiously, "I suppose that the so-called Armand dela Tremouille's story was true in substance. That he did not perish onthe _Argentina_, but drifted home, and blackmailed his former wife."
"Doesn't it strike you that there are at least two very strong pointsagainst that theory?" he asked, making two gigantic knots in his pieceof string.
"Two?"
"Yes. In the first place, if the blackmailer was the 'Comte de laTremouille' returned to life, why should he have been content to takeL10,000 from a lady who was his lawful wife, and who could keep him inluxury for the rest of his natural life upon her large fortune, whichwas close upon a quarter of a million? The real Comte de la Tremouille,remember, had never found it difficult to get money out of his wifeduring their brief married life, whatever Mr. Morton's subsequentexperience in the same direction might have been. And, secondly, whyshould he have typewritten his letters to his wife?"
"Because--"
"That was a point which, to my mind, the police never made the most of.Now, my experience in criminal cases has invariably been that when atypewritten letter figures in one, that letter is a forgery. It is notvery difficult to imitate a signature, but it is a jolly sight moredifficult to imitate a handwriting throughout an entire letter."
"Then, do you think--"
"I think, if you will allow me," he interrupted excitedly, "that we willgo through the points--the sensible, tangible points of the case.Firstly: Mr. Morton disappears with L10,000 in his pocket for fourentire days; at the end of that time he is discovered loosely tied to anarm-chair, and a wool shawl round his mouth. Secondly: A man namedSkinner is accused of the outrage. Mr. Morton, although he himself isable, mind you, to furnish the best defence possible for Skinner, bydenying his identity with the man who assaulted him, refuses toprosecute. Why?"
"He did not wish to drag his wife's name into the case."
"He must have known that the Crown would take up the case. Then, again,how is it no one saw him in the company of the swarthy foreigner hedescribed?"
"Two witnesses did see Mr. Morton in company with Skinner," arguedPolly.
"Yes, at 9.20 in West Street; that would give Edward Skinner time tocatch the 9.45 at the station, and to entrust Mr. Morton with thelatch-key of Russell House," remarked the man in the corner dryly.
"What nonsense!" Polly ejaculated.
"Nonsense, is it?" he said, tugging wildly at his bit of string; "is itnonsense to affirm that if a man wants to make sure that his victimshall not escape, he does not usually wind rope 'loosely' round hisfigure, nor does he throw a wool shawl lightly round his mouth. Thepolice were idiotic beyond words; they themselves discovered that Mortonwas so 'loosely' fastened to his chair that very little movement wouldhave disentangled him, and yet it never struck them that nothing waseasier for that particular type of scoundrel to sit down in an arm-chairand wind a few yards of rope round himself, then, having wrapped a woolshawl round his throat, to slip his two arms inside the ropes."
"But what object would a man in Mr. Morton's position have for playingsuch extraordinary pranks?"
"Ah, the motive! There you are! What do I always tell you? Seek themotive! Now, what was Mr. Morton's position? He was the husband of alady who owned a quarter of a million of money, not one penny of whichhe could touch without her consent, as it was settled on herself, andwho, after the terrible way in which she had been plundered and thenabandoned in her early youth, no doubt kept a very tight hold upon thepurse-strings. Mr. Morton's subsequent life has proved that he hadcertain expensive, not altogether avowable, tastes. One day he discoversthe old love letters of the 'Comte Armand de la Tremouille.'
"Then he lays his plans. He typewrites a letter, forges the signature ofthe erstwhile Count, and awaits events. The fish does rise to the bait.He gets sundry bits of money, and his success makes him daring. He looksround him for an accomplice--clever, unscrupulous, greedy--and selectsMr. Edward Skinner, probably some former pal of his wild oats days.
"The plan was very neat, you must confess. Mr. Skinner takes the room inRussell House, and studies all the manners and customs of his landladyand her servant. He then draws the full attention of the police uponhimself. He meets Morton in West Street, then disappears ostensiblyafter the 'assault.' In the meanwhile Morton goes to Russell House. Hewalks upstairs, talks loudly in the room, then makes elaboratepreparations for his comedy."
"Why! he nearly died of starvation!"
"That, I dare say, was not a part of his reckoning. He thought, nodoubt, that Mrs. Chapman or the servant would discover and rescue himpretty soon. He meant to appear just a little faint, and endured quietlythe first twenty-four hours of inanition. But the excitement and want offood told on him more than he expected. After twenty-four hours heturned very giddy and sick, and, falling from one fainting fit intoanother, was unable to give the alarm.
"However, he is all right again now, and concludes his part of adownright blackguard to perfection. Under the plea that his consciencedoes not allow him to live with a lady whose first husband is stillalive, he has taken a bachelor flat in London, and only pays afternooncalls on his wife in Brighton. But presently he will tire of hisbachelor life, and will return to his wife. And I'll guarantee that theComte de la Tremouille will never be heard of again."
And that afternoon the man in the corner left Miss Polly Burton alonewith a couple of photos of two uninteresting, stodgy, quiet-lookingmen--Morton and Skinner--who, if the old scarecrow was right in histheories, were a pair of the finest blackguards unhung.