Dangerous Dilemmas: Startling but True

by James Anderson Peddie

A few days afterwards another short paragraph appeared on the subject. It read as follows:—

"The Death of Mdlle. Rousell.—We have nothing fresh to communicate regarding this unfortunate occurrence, except that her father had noticed that her mind seemed much disturbed about the period of her death, and the police state that it is now shown that she was accustomed to keep appointments with some strange man. It was understood that in January she was to be wed to a gentleman holding a high position in the Government, and who has been in a raging fever ever since his great loss was communicated to him. The authorities are making extraordinary exertions to clear up the mystery."

This murder or suicide took place a few days before the death of Lord Seamord. Knowing his partiality for the fair sex, and his unscrupulous character, it was possible that there might be some connection between the two events. Was he the unknown man that Mdlle. Rousell met by stealth? It did not take me long to discover that his lordship in his assumed name was a frequent visitor to the studio of the sculptor, and he had undoubtedly seen the daughter there, but I could not make out for certain that there had been any acquaintanceship between them, or even an introduction, and, however bad the man was, I could not believe for a moment that he would take away the life of this charming girl. He lived in good but not extravagant style in Milan, and the money question was as much involved in obscurity as ever. One thing the banker told me, which only made matters more mysterious still, and that was that very heavy sums had been remitted from England, and that his balance was nearly all drawn out immediately before his death. It was no use stopping any longer in Milan, and I returned to England, determined to have a little explanation with Robert Simmons. He could at the very least give me some account of the missing money.

None of the Craigmillar people had heard anything of the man, but I succeeded in getting his portrait and address of his parents, who resided near Carlisle. I hunted them up, but it was somewhat akin to pulling stubborn teeth to extract information out of them. They had evidently been warned not to let anyone know their son's whereabouts. There was no getting a direct answer out of them, and this reticence only made me the more anxious to have a few minutes' private conversation with Simmons. They were old and ignorant people, and I made sure that if any correspondence was going on a third party conducted it for them. This proved to be correct. The village schoolmaster wrote their letters, and on the plea that Lady Seamord had a small legacy to pay the man, I had no difficulty in obtaining the wished-for address. The letters were addressed the Poste Restante, New York. So Simmons had thought it advisable to take up his abode on the other side of the Atlantic. Another suspicious circumstance.

A Cunard boat soon landed me in America, and I immediately stationed a trustworthy detective at the Poste Restante, while I made some cautious enquiries in the town. On the fourth day a man answering the description of Lord Seamord's servant called at the post-office for letters from England for Robert Simmons, and was followed to one of the best hotels in New York. Possibly he had secured employment there as a waiter. As he did not know me from Adam I had no hesitation in taking up my quarters in Fifth Avenue Hotel. Up to dinner time nothing occurred. I did not even catch a glimpse of Simmons, and none of the other servants knew him by that name, but I was on the brink of a startling discovery.

When the gong sounded for dinner there walked into the room an exact counterpart of the late Lord Seamord. From the portrait in my possession the most unbelieving would have sworn that it was the man himself. Tall, dark, and cruel-looking, the resemblance was, to say the least of it, extraordinary, and this was a phase in the enquiry which I had not anticipated. The fact of Simmons being also in the hotel convinced me that I was about to fathom some terrible mystery. The bookkeeper in answer to my question said the tall, dark gentleman was an Englishman named Mayhurst, and had been living in the hotel with his servant for a month or two. A few days convinced me there was no mistake—that the real Lord Seamord and his servant was residing in the hotel under feigned names. What did that false funeral at Craigmillar mean? who was the man interred? why was the body stolen? and what all powerful motives had compelled Lord Seamord to adopt such an unheard-of line of conduct? The plan had been thought of and matured at Milan, and the large amounts of money wore no doubt in the hands of the rightful owner. Had the violent death of Mdlle. Rousell anything to do with these marvellous disclosures?

When I was certain that there was no mistake about the two men, I telegraphed to Mr. Johnson, the family solicitor, asking him to come to New York at once, as something of the greatest importance connected with the disappearance of the body at Craigmillar had occurred. He replied promptly, and was with me in less than a fortnight. I took him to a different hotel, but close to where I was staying; and when I had prepared his mind a little for the startling news, I told him what I had discovered. The old man was horrified, and flatly declined to believe me, but before the end of the day I had placed him in a position to convince himself that what I had stated was perfectly correct. Lord Seamord he had known all his life, and therefore, although I might, he could not well be mistaken. Nothing was decided that night; Mr. Johnson was too incapable of acting in a sane fashion; but next morning after a long conversation between us, in the course of which I produced the Milan journals concerning the two paragraphs about the death of the sculptor's daughter, he elected to seek an interview alone with his lordship.