“I suppose I ought to wish you luck,” Mr. Jacques declared, holding out his hand, “but I don’t know that I can. I thought a lot of the young woman once, and I’m sorry that she’s in trouble.”
Inspector French, having cabled to the New York police asking for information as to the actress’s early history, made his way to 17 Stanford Street, which he found was a better-class boarding house. But here he could learn nothing. The former proprietor was dead, and none of the present staff had been connected with the place for thirteen years, or had ever heard of Miss Winter.
Disappointed once more, he returned to the Yard and put through his earlier scheme. He arranged to have the lady’s photograph inserted in the next number of the Police Bulletin, together with the best description of her that he could write, and a note that she was wanted. It was not a promising clue, but it was all he had left.
CHAPTER XIV
TRAGEDY
Some days later Inspector French was once again sent for by his chief. The great man seemed in an irritable frame of mind, and he began to speak before the other had well entered the room.
“See here, French,” he greeted him; “here’s a fresh development in that confounded Gething case. Read that.”
French stepped up to the desk and took the postal telegraph sheets his superior held out. They bore a message from the Chief of Police at the Hook, which had been sent out at 8.27 that morning.
“Captain of the S. S. Parkeston reports that tall, cleanshaven, white-haired man, apparently named Duke, committed suicide during passage from Harwich last night. Overcoat and suitcase found in cabin with letter addressed Miss Duke, The Cedars, Hampstead. Am sending letter with detailed statement.”
French was considerably surprised by the news. Though he had never felt actually cordial towards the old gentleman, he had respected him for his kindly conduct towards his subordinates and for the sportsmanlike way in which he had taken his loss. But it was evident the man had been hit harder than he had shown. French recalled the details of their last interview, the merchant’s drawn, anxious face, his weary air, his almost despairing words, “I’m getting to the end of my tether. I see ruin staring me in the face.” At the time, French had not taken the complaint as seriously as it had now proved to warrant. Mr. Duke was evidently in difficulties which nothing less than the return of the stolen diamonds would solve, and French did not see how he could have done more to achieve that end than he already had.
“Unexpected, that, isn’t it?” the chief remarked, “though I don’t suppose it will really affect the case.”