CHAPTER XX
[THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS]
If Torry had found that Donna Maria was an obstinate woman he speedily discovered that Mr. Leighbourne was a fool. Old, narrow-minded, and egotistical, the banker was one of those pig-headed men who are the despair of reasonable mortals. Once an idea was put into his head it could not be got out again, and he constantly referred to his age and worldly experience as legitimate reasons for his entertaining the most preposterous ideas. He resembled closely those dogged, mulish Kings, Charles I. and Louis XVI., and was as bad to deal with as the two of them rolled into one. Never was there a man less open to conviction.
This unpleasant old person regarded his late partner as a martyr, and beyond a tendency to rash speculation, he could not be got to see that Grent had any faults. He denied that Grent could, by any possibility, have taken the money; he declined to believe that the good man had contemplated eloping with Lydia Hargone, and pointedly insulted Torry for daring to make such statements. The end of the interview was that Torry left in a rage, and vowed that he would not see Mr. Leighbourne again until he could prove the truth of his declarations. He might have saved himself the trouble, for the banker was determined to canonise his partner, and in the true spirit of bigotry, would rather have suffered death than believe any single statement detrimental to his intention. By the time the conversation with Leighbourne was ended Torry felt inclined to commit murder himself, and regretted that this patriarchal ass had not been killed instead of Grent.
In the hope of finding some consolation after his late trying interview, Torry flew as hard as a hansom could take him, to Darrel's rooms. But here he fell out of the frying-pan into the fire, for Blake was with the novelist, and appeared to be in a great rage. He was quarrelling with Darrel, who was trying to pacify him, but on seeing the detective he immediately left his friend to attack the newcomer.
"Here is the man himself," cried Roderick furiously. "Come, sir, what have you to say to the scandalous way in which you have behaved towards Miss Hargone?"
"Oh, oh!" said Torry, leisurely taking a seat, "so she has set you on to me has she?"
"No she hasn't," almost shouted Blake; "but she complained that you insulted her."
"If I did, Mr. Blake, it was in the exercise of my duty. I asked Miss Hargone for certain information which I knew she possessed, and she declined to give it to me. As to insulting the lady I did no such thing."
"There Blake," said Darrel, soothingly, "that is a very reasonable and polite explanation; so instead of bawling at the pitch of your voice, suppose you sit down and discuss the matter like a Christian."
Still looking red and angry the Irishman flung himself petulantly into a chair. "I am willing to hear what you have to say, Mr. Torry," he growled sulkily, but with the dignified air of one who awaits an explanation.
"I--I have nothing to say. I have rather something to ask."
"What is that?"
"Why did Miss Hargone send Julia to meet Grent in her mantle?"
"She did not. The mantle she gave to the girl as a wedding gift."
"Strange that she should give it to her on the very day of the murder."
"Not at all. It seems to me Mr. Torry, that you suspect Miss Hargone of complicity in this crime?"
"I fancy she knows something about it."
"Then permit me to tell you, sir, that she does not. That old scamp of a Grent tried to make love to her, and she repulsed him. Why, then, should she have agreed to go away with him, and leave me, to whom she was engaged--and is engaged," finished Blake.
"Oh!" said Torry sarcastically, "you have no money."
"What of that. Grent was ruined by speculation when he died. He had no money."
"I beg your pardon; he had ten thousand pounds!"
"The money of the society; you can't prove that he had it!"
"I hope to do so soon," retorted Torry, nettled by the sneer.
Blake rose to his feet, and put on his hat. "I shall argue no more," he said wrathfully. "You believe that the lady, who is to be my wife, is connected with these crimes; so, to me, they become a personal matter. I wanted to assist in finding the assassin out of sheer idleness; now I intend to discover the truth, in order to clear the character of Miss Hargone."
"I hope you will be successful," murmured Darrel.
"Certainly I shall be successful," retorted Blake, pausing at the door. "I am convinced that the Blue Mummy Society killed these two wretched people: and, I tell you, Manuel is the criminal. When you see me again, Mr. Torry, I shall bring you such proofs of his guilt that even you will be convinced. In the meantime, I wish you every success; but I warn you that you are working on wrong lines. Leave off suspecting ladies who are innocent, and devote yourself, as I intend to do, to hunting down the iniquitous Association of the Mummy. Then you will learn the truth. Good-day!"--and, finishing thus abruptly, Blake put on his hat, and took himself off, leaving Torry and Darrel looking at each other in some doubt.
"There is a good deal of sense in what he says," remarked Darrel. "After all, the Blue Mummy is the main clue."
"Clue or not," said Torry, "I know that Manuel is innocent."
"How do you know that?"
"Because the ten thousand pounds has been brought back."
"You don't say so!" cried Frank, greatly surprised. "Well, fact does beat fiction in realising impossibilities. The same bank notes brought back. Well, well! it is most extraordinary."
"Not the same bank notes," corrected Torry, cautiously. "The same amount of money, but the numbers of the notes are different. Whosoever stole the notes has changed them all, and returned others. But, you see, Manuel cannot have killed Grent for the sake of that money; as, in that case, he would not restore his plunder. He is innocent, as I said before."
"Then who is guilty?"
"The man who restored those notes," said Torry promptly.
"How were they restored?"
"A red-haired, red-bearded man called at Manuel's hotel last night and gave them to the porter."
"A red wig again! the same as Grent wore," said Frank, musingly. "That is strange. There is no possibility of the man being traced?"
"No! He came out of the darkness fulfilled his mission, and vanished again into the night. Nothing is known of him. Still, you may find him."
"I!" exclaimed Frank amazed. "You jest!"
"Indeed, I am quite in earnest!" protested Torry. "Listen! I left the tracing of the numbers of the stolen notes to Grent's bank, but all these weeks the bank has failed to obtain information. I fear, therefore, that they have bungled the matter, and I wish to place it in more capable hands--yours, for instance."
"I fear I can do little, Torry!"
"A man with brains can do anything," retorted the detective. "See here, Mr. Darrel, this is a list of the numbers of the original notes which were stolen from the private safe; and here is another with the numbers of the restored notes. Now, you take these two lists, and go round to every bank in the United Kingdom until you find the changed notes. Then discover who changed them. If you are successful----"
"Well!" said Darrel, taking the lists, "if I am successful?"
"In that case," finished Torry, "the mystery, which has perplexed us so long, will be at an end."
"You mean, we shall catch the assassin?"
"Yes; the assassin who changed these notes."
"But, I say," said Darrel doubtfully, "you have yet to prove that Grent had the ten thousand pounds on him when he was murdered."
"I'll prove that when you find out who changed the notes."
"By forcing the assassin to confess?"
"No! In another way. I am beginning to see light in all this darkness."
"Another theory?"
"Well, yes; but one which will shortly be changed into fact. You go, Mr. Darrel, and fulfil your mission; I shall remain here to work at the case in my own way. But for the satisfactory solution of this criminal problem, I depend upon one thing."
"And that one thing, Mr. Torry?"
"It's chance! Chance, sir, which solves nine riddles out of ten."
"That is not very complimentary to the detective profession."
"Detectives," said Torry with a shrug, "only work miracles--in novels."
After making this statement Torry walked to the door; but there pausing for a moment or so, turned towards Darrel.
"By the way," said he, "the restoration of those bank notes is known only to four people--yourself, Vass, myself and Manuel. You need not mention the fact to anyone else. It would be wiser not to do so."
"Why?" asked Frank looking up.
"Because the person who restored them may inadvertently hint at the restitution; and if nothing is said about it openly, he will thus condemn himself."
"Perhaps so Torry; but there is one person I should like to mention the matter to."
"Who is that?"
"Donna Maria. Like yourself, I fancy she knows something, and is shielding someone. Should I trace the person who changed these notes, he may turn out to be the individual she is shielding. If I tell her the name, and assure her that restitution has been made, she may tell all she knows."
Torry nodded his head approvingly. "There is something in that," said he. "I give you leave to make a confidant of Donna Maria; but let me tell you, sir, if you succeed in getting a confession out of her, you will be the cleverest man in the world."
"I'll take my chance of that!" replied Darrel, and they parted.
For the next week Torry was engaged in advertising for the tramp who had found the body of Julia Brawn. It struck him that Julia might have worn some jewellery--a brooch, a ring, or a locket--of which the tramp had probably robbed her. Could he see such jewellery, he might find some trace of her supposed lover; since lovers usually make such gifts to those they adore. Of course, the idea was purely theoretical, and it might probably turn out to be worth nothing. Still, Torry was like a drowning man clutching at a straw. The advertising for the lost tramp was the straw he grasped at.
While thus engaged, Darrel made his appearance in a state of great excitement, and announced that he had been successful. In a suburban bank he had discovered traces of two of the original notes which had been exchanged for two others which bore the numbers of those restored.
"Evidently," he said, "the man changed them before the date of the murder, and substituted the second lot so that they could not be traced by Manuel's list."
"That is a truism," cried Torry impatiently.
"I know the notes were changed, and the reason for changing them. But who is the man who did so?"
"Can't you guess his name?" asked Darrel.
"No," retorted Torry sharply, "I can't!"
"It was Frederick Leighbourne."