CHAPTER IX
I walked out into the roadway and picked up my weapon. Except for a solitary cat, scratching herself under the opposite lamp, Park Lane was absolutely deserted. As I stood for a moment, staring up and down the long, brilliantly-lit thoroughfare, I heard a neighbouring clock strike three.
I am not a person who gives up very easily, especially when I'm annoyed, but, dressed as I was, any further pursuit was out of the question. To dash down Piccadilly at this hour of the night, clad only in pyjamas and a poker, was to court a publicity that I was only too anxious to avoid. So, after a slight shiver, for my bare feet were beginning to get unpleasantly cold, I retraced my steps into the house.
As I closed the door, I heard a kind of stifled sob from the back of the hall, and looking up, I saw in the dim light two women crouching against the banisters. They were both in their night-dresses, and one of them, whom I recognised as the parlour-maid, had her hair streaming down over her shoulders. Very pretty hair it was, too.
"It's all right," I said comfortingly. "Nobody's hurt."
The elder of the two women—the cook, I suppose—burst into a torrent of hysterical relief.
"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Northcote! Oh dear, oh dear! We thought you were all killed!"
"Not a bit of it," I said. "Go and put something on, and find out what's the matter with the electric light."
My brisk and cheerful manner had the desired effect. Both women stopped sobbing, and letting go each other's hands, rose unsteadily to their feet. The parlour-maid even found time to blush.
There were two candles flickering away on the hall table, and taking one of them, I hastily mounted the stairs. As I came up, I heard the sound of voices, and, reaching the landing, I found the faithful Milford apparently engaged in a wrestling match with a woman dressed as a nurse. When he saw me, he gave a sort of gulp, and sat down abruptly on an oak chest behind him.
"Well, Milford," I said severely, "this is nice behaviour for an invalid!"
He caught at the wall to steady himself, and I saw that the front of his night-dress was stained with blood.
"Are you hurt?" I asked quickly.
He shook his head. "No, no, sir; I'm all right. It was the other man—he was bleeding in the face."
I turned to the nurse, who, I felt, deserved an explanation. "It was an attempt at robbery," I explained shamelessly. "I got a new man in yesterday, and he must have come with a forged character. Anyway, when I woke up, I found him in my room; so, naturally, I tackled him. I suppose you heard the noise downstairs?"
The nurse, who seemed to be a singularly self-possessed lady, nodded her head. "My patient did," she said, arranging a shawl that she was carrying round Milford's shoulders. "I tried to keep him in bed, but it was useless. He pushed me away and rushed upstairs just as he was. All I could do was to follow him and light the candles."
"You couldn't have done anything better," I observed. "But for them God knows where we should have been. The blackguard had evidently been monkeying with the electric light."
"I was in the hall," she went on, "when you rushed past. After you'd gone, I hurried upstairs, and found my patient trying to follow you. I hope I did right in stopping him. You didn't seem to be in much need of help."
"Of course you were right," I said. Then, turning to Milford, I laid my hand on his shoulder: "You're a good friend, Milford," I added, "but you're a mighty bad patient. You must go back to bed at once."
He smiled faintly, but made no answer. Lifting him to his feet, and supporting him with my arm, I helped him slowly downstairs—the nurse following. Just as we reached the basement, the electric light went up, and the parlour-maid, this time with the addition of a dressing-gown, appeared in the passage. She still seemed a trifle embarrassed.
"We found out what was the matter with the light, sir," she said. "It had been turned off at the main switch."
"Well, that's all right," I said. "You and Cook go to bed now. There'll be no more trouble. It was only an attempt at burglary on the part of that new man I got in yesterday. He's cleared out, and we can't do anything more until the morning."
A few minutes later, having seen Milford safely tucked up and left the nurse in attendance, I made my way back to the hall, where I fastened the front door and put out both the candles and the electric light.
My visitor had left traces of blood all across the carpet, and I found spots of the same article decorating both the staircase and the landing above. It was evident that his study of art had been as intimate as it had been brief.
Somewhat cheered by this discovery, I entered my room, and, turning up the light, shut the door. The place was in a cheerful state of confusion, for, in addition to fire-irons, broken glass, and fragments of picture-frame, the overturned table and its contents were scattered generously round the room.
I tidied up things as well as I could, and then examined with some interest the marks left by the two unavailing swipes which my opponent had dealt at me in the duel. What his weapon was I could not say for certain, but from the traces which it had left behind, it appeared to have been something in the nature of an axe. My pillow was practically cut in half, while the dent which he had made in the wall left me with a certain sense of thankfulness that my head had not been in the spot where it landed.
After removing such portions of Park Lane as still adhered to my bare feet, I got into bed, turning my mangled pillow over on its other side. I left the electric light full on, for sleeping in the dark had, somehow or other, ceased to appeal to me. Then, with the agreeable feeling of a day well spent, I curled myself up under the clothes, and in five minutes I was fast asleep.
A little brisk exercise in the small hours of the night must, I think, be an excellent thing for the health. At all events, I woke up next morning feeling splendidly fit, and came down to breakfast with an even better appetite than on the previous day. My constitution requires an occasional stimulant, and with the job which I had undertaken there appeared to be little chance of its being denied this luxury.
I regret to say that the pretty parlour-maid seemed less fortunate. I was too sleepy to pay much attention to her when I was called, but later on, when she brought me in my eggs and bacon, I noticed that she had dark shadows under her eyes, and a general air of having spent a bad night.
"I am afraid you didn't sleep very well," I said.
She shook her head. "Neither me nor Cook closed our eyes the whole night, sir," she replied reproachfully.
"Oh, I'm sorry for that," I said. "You must go to bed early this evening, to make up for it. Have you heard how Milford is this morning?"
"The nurse seemed to think he was doing well, sir. I believe the doctor is coming round almost at once."
The words had scarcely left her lips when, through the window, I saw Ritchie's car roll up to the door, and Ritchie himself step out.
"There he is," I exclaimed, getting up from the table. "Ask him to come in here a moment, will you?"
She went out, and I heard the front door open. A minute later, the doctor, carrying a glossy hat and dressed in an irreproachable grey frock-coat, entered the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said, extending a hand, which I shook heartily. "And how is the patient this morning?"
"Well, doctor," I said, "that's one reason why I wanted to see you. We had rather an exciting time last night."
He raised his eyebrows interrogatively, and without further waste of time I trotted out the same old lie which had already done duty for the nurse.
"It was a burglary," I said, "or rather, an attempted burglary. I had engaged another man, called Francis, in place of Milford and I woke up in the middle of the night and found him in my room, trying to break into my desk." (This last touch, I thought, was particularly happy!)
"Dear me! Dear me!" interjected the doctor, in a shocked voice.
"Of course I tackled him," I continued; "but he made such a noise that, unfortunately, he woke up Milford. In spite of his nurse, the plucky fellow insisted on coming upstairs; and just as he reached the landing, my man broke away and made a dash for the door. There was a scuffle in the passage, and Milford got bowled over."
"Bless my soul!" said the doctor. "Was he hurt?"
"No," said I; "that's the funny thing about it. Knowing how seedy he was, I expected to find him dead; but, on the contrary, he seemed to be none the worse for it."
Ritchie nodded his head. "It's quite possible," he said thoughtfully. "A shock of some kind may have been just what he needed. Still, it must have been touch-and-go. What happened to the man?"
"Unfortunately," I said, "he got away. It's an extraordinary case, because I engaged him through Seagrave's, and his references were all right, according to them. I'm going straight round there now."
"I should," said the doctor, "and, what's more, I should put the matter in the hands of the police right away."
"Quite so," I assented cordially though it was the very last thing I had any intention of doing; and with this extra fib I led the way down to the basement.
Far from being any the worse for this night's adventure, we found the gallant Milford sitting up in bed, shifting a large bowl of bread-and-milk with evident enjoyment.
"Hullo, Milford!" I said. "That looks hopeful."
The good fellow positively grinned. "I feel much better to-day, thank you, sir. I really think I can get up and do my work."
"I don't know about that," remarked the doctor, laughing, "but there's no doubt that fighting burglars agrees with you. Let's feel your pulse."
The nurse, who had taken the chance of removing the empty bowl, here observed that her patient had slept soundly ever since we had put him to bed.
"Oh, he's much better," said the doctor—"there can be no question about that. Indeed, I don't think it would do him any harm to get up. Of course he mustn't think of work for another day or two, but otherwise we can consider the cure complete. In future, I shall recommend one burglar to be taken nightly for any case that I feel doubtful about."
Chuckling heartily at his own jest, he accompanied me upstairs. "It really is a most remarkable recovery," he said. "The man is practically all right again—pulse a little weak, but otherwise nothing the matter with him. It just illustrates the value of a sudden mental shock in cases of collapse. By the way, I received the analyst's report this morning.
"Oh!" I observed. "What did he say?"
The doctor frowned. "Well, it's curious, but he admits that at present he's baffled. There are distinct traces of a vegetable poison of some kind, but it responds to none of the usual tests. However, he's going to make some further researches, so I suppose I shall hear from him again."
"You must let me know," I said brazenly, handing him his hat. "I mean to get to the bottom of this."
Promising he would, and congratulating me again on my frustration of the burglar, the worthy man went off. What his private opinion of my household must have been I hardly liked to contemplate; but since he showed no signs of communicating it to the police, I was well content to let matters rest as they were.
Before starting out to have a little chat with my friend Mr. Seagrave, I summoned the parlour-maid and gave her instructions that if Billy Logan rang up or called while I was out, she was to tell him that he would find me at home any time that afternoon. Then, equipping myself with my trusty sword-stick, I set forth for Hanover Square.
It was my intention, as you may imagine, to speak some very plain words to the portly gentleman who had sent "Francis" round on the previous day; but, as some forgotten philosopher once observed, "it takes two to make a quarrel." One can't be brutal to a worm, and Mr. Seagrave more nearly represented that creature than anybody I have ever met.
The moment I entered his office he fell upon me with apologies so abject that my pretty talent for remonstrance had no chance of asserting itself.
"You have received my note, Mr. Northcote. I can't tell you how distressed I am that such a thing should have occurred in this office. On behalf of the firm I tender you our deepest, our most sincere apologies. I only trust that there have been no regrettable consequences. What the scoundrel's object was, Heaven knows. I—"
"Look here, Mr. Seagrave," I interrupted, "what the dickens are you talking about? I've had no note from you yet."
He goggled at me, rubbing his hands together and cringing like a frightened spaniel I suppose he must have had some unpleasant experiences with my spirited double.
"You must just have missed it, Mr. Northcote," he said. "I sent it around by one of our young men a quarter of an hour ago. The fact is that we have heard from Sir Henry Tregattock this morning completely repudiating any knowledge of Francis. I had written to him overnight, asking him to confirm the character, and in reply he stated that he had no idea what I was alluding to. He had never had a servant of that name, and had not communicated with me in any shape or form. It's unparalleled, amazing, incredible, but there can be no doubt that someone else answered the telephone in Sir Henry's name. Still if there have been no unfortunate developments—"
I laughed in rather a nasty fashion. "Unfortunate developments!" I repeated. "Are you aware, Mr. Seagrave, that the man you sent me yesterday not only attempted to rob the house in the night, but did his best to murder me?"
To say that Mr. Seagrave collapsed would be an altogether inadequate expression.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" he moaned. "This is terrible, sir, terrible! Such a thing has never occurred in the whole history of the firm. It will ruin us when it comes out—absolutely ruin us!"
His frank egotism rather pleased me.
"I don't suppose it would do you much good," I replied: "but is there any reason why it would come out?"
I saw a ray of hope leap into his distressed face.
"The fact is," I went on, "that I object to publicity in a case like this. In the first place, I'm much too busy to be bothered about it. The man's gone, and, as it happens, there's no harm done. I don't want a lot of infernal policemen tramping all over my house." (This was true enough.) "But you ought to be more careful," I added severely.
"We ought, sir; indeed we ought. I will never accept a telephone reference again. I should be more grateful than I can say if you can see your way to overlook the matter. The scoundrel must evidently have had an accomplice in Sir Henry's house."
"Well, you must square things with Sir Henry as best you can," I said. "All I want is not to be troubled any more in the matter."
I turned to leave the office, and he bowed me out, fervently protesting that my peace should not be disturbed, and that he would for ever consider himself my most humble debtor.
Quite pleased with the success of my interview, I made my way back to Park Lane, only stopping at a shop in Bond Street to purchase one of those linen belts which are made to wear next the skin. In view of my somewhat uncertain circumstances, it seemed to be tempting Providence to wander about London with ten thousand pounds in my pocket.
During my walk home, my adventure of the previous night served to occupy my thoughts in a not unpleasant fashion. It was agreeable to reflect that at least one of my unknown friends was bearing my handiwork in fairly legible type. Whether "Francis" was the mysterious Guarez, or another gentleman with similar aims, it was at least certain that for a few days I should be able to recognise him under any disguise. I registered a grim vow that no stranger with a dismantled bridge to his nose should have the opportunity of approaching within striking distance of me.
All the afternoon I waited in, in the hopes of hearing from Billy. By six o'clock, however, no message had arrived; and, feeling rather worried, I strolled downstairs to see how Milford was getting on. I found him fully dressed, sitting in an easy-chair in the pantry, and reading the Daily Telegraph. The nurse had gone.
He seemed quite touchingly pleased to see me, but it was all I could do to persuade him to retain his comfortable seat. He appeared to think a kitchen chair altogether beneath my dignity.
"What I can't make out, Milford," I said, "is how you managed to upset yourself."
He was silent a minute. "I can't help thinking, sir," he replied slowly, "that it must have been that glass of beer I had at the Granville."
"But surely," I objected, "if the beer poisoned you, it would have poisoned everyone else."
"I don't think the beer would have poisoned me, sir, if it had been left alone," he said pointedly.
"What do you mean, Milford?" I asked.
He shifted a little uneasily in his chair. "Well, sir, it may be fancy, and you may think I'm speaking foolishly, but I can't help having an idea that the man I was speaking to may have put something in it when I wasn't looking."
"The man?" I said. "What man?"
"It was a chap in the bar, sir. A big, foreign-looking fellow he was. He started talking to me when I came in, though, as far as I know, I'd never set eyes on him before. It's my belief that for some reason of his own he put something in my drink."
This theory of Milford's fitted in so exactly with my own suspicions that for a moment I felt as if I were partly guilty.
"Would you know him again?" I asked.
"Oh yes, sir. He was a big, black-haired fellow, with one shoulder a little higher than the other. I didn't fancy him when he came up and spoke to me."
I was just going to observe that the landlord of the premises might possibly be able to tell us something about the gentleman, when there came a tap at the door, and the parlour-maid entered.
"If you please, sir," she said, "Mr. Simpson is here."
It was an embarrassing moment, as of course I hadn't the faintest notion who Mr. Simpson might be; but once more Milford came to my rescue.
"I sent him a message to come round, sir. You said you might be motoring down to Woodford to-morrow if it was fine, so I told him he'd better look in and see whether you wanted the car."
This was news indeed. Up till that moment I had no idea that I belonged to the noble army of car owners.
"Quite right, Milford," I said, getting up. "I think I shall motor if it's anything like a decent day."
I went upstairs and found Mr. Simpson in the hall. He proved to be a small, dark, clean-shaven man dressed in the conventional garb of a chauffeur.
"Good evening, sir," he said, touching his forehead. "I just looked in about the car. Mr. Milford said you might be wanting it to-morrow to go down to Suffolk."
"Yes," I said, "I shall if it's fine."
I had quite decided by this time that I would motor down to Woodford instead of going by train.
"Will you be wanting me, sir?" asked Mr. Simpson.
I reflected rapidly. I am not much of a hand at steering a car, but still I had tackled the task with average success on several occasions in Buenos Ayres. What was worrying me was the question of Billy. If he turned up in time, I intended taking him down to Woodford with me, and putting him up at the nearest inn; and there was just the chance that if Simpson came the latter might give the show away to one of Maurice's servants. On the whole, I decided to drive myself.
"No," I said, "I shan't want you, Simpson. Have the car around here at 10.30, and put some cans of petrol in. I shall only be away for two or three days."
He touched his forehead again respectfully, and withdrew.
My latest discovery had put me into a very cheerful frame of mind. With a car at my disposal I felt much better equipped for my visit to Woodford. I was a long way from trusting Master Maurice, and a motor is a devilish handy thing if you happen to want to leave a place without ceremony or delay.
The only fly in my ointment was the non-arrival of Billy. I was beginning to fear that he must have fixed up his job with Seatons, and that I should have to get through as best I could without him. However, I have made it a rule in life never to hunt for trouble before it arrives, so, still hoping for the best, I went upstairs, and began in a leisurely manner to array myself for Lord Sangatte's party.
I had ordered a little dinner for eight o'clock, and while I was discussing the excellent sole and cutlets which the cook sent me up, I further impressed upon the parlour-maid that if Billy arrived during my absence he was to be detained at all costs.
"Tell him," I said, "that I shall be back before long, and that I can put him up for the night. I suppose there is a room ready?"
"Oh yes, sir," replied the parlour-maid; "it's only a question of airing the bed."
"Air it, then," said I; "and, whatever you do, don't let Mr. Logan go till I come back."
I waited on till half-past ten, amusing myself by smoking a couple of cigars, and routing out such of Northcote's clothes as seemed to me suitable for the country. Then, as there was still no sign of Billy, I put on my hat and coat, and, sallying forth from the front door, summoned a taxi, and ordered the man to drive me to Belgrave Square.
Sangatte's house proved to be a big detached mansion, standing in its own grounds, and occupying the whole of one corner. It had a pillared entrance—a sort of Greek portico, from which a red awning stretched down to the main gate.
There were a number of carriages and motor broughams arriving and departing, with a policeman at the gate signalling to the next as soon as the one in front had deposited its cargo. Whatever his morals might be, Sangatte evidently entertained in style.
My modest taxi rolled up in its turn, and I got out, and mounted the carpeted steps that led into the house. To the left of the hall, which was full of immaculately dressed men and women, the latter blazing with diamonds and displaying a lavish amount of white arms and backs, stood a large anteroom, where a couple of liveried footmen were waiting to relieve us of our coats and hats.
Having got rid of these impediments, I returned to the hall, and slowly made my way towards the staircase, at the top of which Sangatte was presumably receiving his guests. Several people greeted me by name, and one or two beautiful ladies smiled at me across the hall in the most encouraging fashion. It struck me for the first time that Northcote might possibly have left me legacies of a more agreeable nature than those which I had at present encountered!
At last I reached the landing, where a solemn-looking butler who was posted there evidently recognised me.
"Mr. Stuart Northcote," he announced in a magnificent voice.
Lord Sangatte, who, with the assistance of an elderly, grey-haired lady, was welcoming each guest in turn, stepped forward on hearing my name. He was a tall, well-built man of about forty-five, with a heavy, clean-shaven face and hard blue eyes. I took a vigorous dislike to him immediately.
"I'm glad you've turned up, Northcote," he whispered, shaking my hand. "You got my note—eh? I want to have a chat with you as soon as I've got through with this tomfoolery."
"Right you are," I returned. "Where shall I find you?"
"Oh, come to my study," he said hurriedly. "I'll slip away about eleven, and you'll find me there." Then, raising his voice, he added: "I don't think you've ever met my aunt—let me introduce you. Aunt Susan, this is Mr. Northcote."
The smile which the elderly lady gave me could not have been described as effusive even by an optimist, but such as it was I accepted it with a good grace. Indeed, knowing what I did of Northcote, I rather sympathised with the old girl. Sangatte evidently noticed her lack of enthusiasm, for an angry light danced in his eyes. However, he said nothing, and I passed on into the ballroom beyond, discreetly concealing the amusement that I felt.
To the strains of a band, which I could just hear above the loud hum of conversation, a crowded roomful of people were moving spasmodically about in what I believe is technically known as "a Boston." I stood for an instant in the doorway, momentarily dazzled by the blaze of light, the gleam of diamonds, and the wonderfully coloured frocks that kept flashing past me with a provocative swirl of silken petticoats.
Suddenly I realised that there was someone behind me waiting to go in. I stepped aside, looking up as I did so, and my heart seemed to perform the absurd and inconvenient feat of jumping into my mouth. For, just in front of me, her hand resting lightly on the arm of an elderly man, whose features seemed curiously familiar, was Mercia Solano.