CHAPTER VII. A FATAL DESPATCH
Mr. Coulson found his two visitors in the lounge of the hotel. He hadremoved all traces of his journey, and was attired in a Tuxedo dinnercoat, a soft-fronted shirt, and a neatly arranged black tie. He worebroad-toed patent boots and double lines of braid down the outsides ofhis trousers. The page boy, who was on the lookout for him, conductedhim to the corner where Miss Penelope Morse and her companion weresitting talking together. The latter rose at his approach, and Mr.Coulson summed him up quickly,--a well-bred, pleasant-mannered,exceedingly athletic young Englishman, who was probably not such a foolas he looked,--that is, from Mr. Coulson's standpoint, who was not usedto the single eyeglass and somewhat drawling enunciation.
"Mr. Coulson, isn't it?" the young man asked, accepting the other'soutstretched hand. "We are awfully sorry to disturb you, so soon afteryour arrival, too, but the fact is that this young lady, Miss PenelopeMorse,"--Mr. Coulson bowed,--"was exceedingly anxious to make youracquaintance. You Americans are such birds of passage that she wasafraid you might have moved on if she didn't look you up at once."
Penelope herself intervened.
"I'm afraid you're going to think me a terrible nuisance, Mr. Coulson!"she exclaimed. Mr. Coulson, although he did not call himself a lady'sman, was nevertheless human enough to appreciate the fact that the younglady's face was piquant and her smile delightful. She was dressedwith quiet but elegant simplicity. The perfume of the violets at herwaistband seemed to remind him of his return to civilization.
"Well, I'll take my risks of that, Miss Morse," he declared. "If you'llonly let me know what I can do for you--"
"It's about poor Mr. Hamilton Fynes," she explained. "I took up theevening paper only half an hour ago, and read your interview with thereporter. I simply couldn't help stopping to ask whether you could giveme any further particulars about that horrible affair. I didn't dare tocome here all alone, so I asked Sir Charles to come along with me."
Mr. Coulson, being invited to do so, seated himself on the lounge bythe young lady's side. He leaned a little forward with a hand on eitherknee.
"I don't exactly know what I can tell you," he remarked. "I take it,then, that you were well acquainted with Mr. Fynes?"
"I used to know him quite well," Penelope answered, "and naturally I amvery much upset. When I read in the paper an account of your interviewwith the reporter, I could see at once that you were not telling himeverything. Why should you, indeed? A man does not want every detail ofhis life set out in the newspapers just because he has become connectedwith a terrible tragedy."
"You're a very sensible young lady, Miss Morse, if you will allow me tosay so," Mr. Coulson declared. "You were expecting to see something ofMr. Fynes over here, then?"
"I had an appointment to lunch with him today," she answered. "He sentme a marconigram before he arrived at Queenstown."
"Is that so?" Mr. Coulson exclaimed. "Well, well!"
"I actually went to the restaurant," Penelope continued, "withoutknowing anything of this. I can't understand it at all, even now. Mr.Fynes always seemed to me such a harmless sort of person, so unlikelyto have enemies, or anything of that sort. Don't you think so, Mr.Coulson?"
"Well," that gentleman answered, "to tell you the honest truth, MissMorse, I'm afraid I am going to disappoint you a little. I wasn't overwell acquainted with Mr. Fynes, although a good many people seemedto fancy that we were kind of bosom friends. That newspaper man, forinstance, met me at the station and stuck to me like a leech; drove downhere with me, and was willing to stand all the liquor I could drink.Then there was a gentleman from Scotland Yard, who was in such a hurrythat he came to see me in my bedroom. _He_ had a sort of an idea that Ihad been brought up from infancy with Hamilton Fynes and could answera sheaf of questions a yard long. As soon as I got rid of him, up comesthat page boy and brings your card."
"It does seem too bad, Mr. Coulson," Penelope declared, raising herwonderful eyes to his and smiling sympathetically. "You have reallybrought it upon yourself, though, to some extent, haven't you, byanswering so many questions for this Comet man?"
"Those newspaper fellows," Mr. Coulson remarked, "are wonders. Beforethat youngster had finished with me, I began to feel that poor old Fynesand I had been like brothers all our lives. As a matter of fact, MissMorse, I expect you knew him at least as well as I did."
She nodded her head thoughtfully.
"Hamilton Fynes came from the village in Massachusetts where I wasbrought up. I've known him all my life."
Mr. Coulson seemed a little startled.
"I didn't understand," he said thoughtfully, "that Fynes had any veryintimate friends over this side."
Penelope shook her head.
"I don't mean to imply that we have been intimate lately," she said."I came to Europe nine years ago, and since then, of course, I have notseen him often. Perhaps it was the fact that he should have thoughtof me, and that I was actually expecting to have lunch with him today,which made me feel this thing so acutely."
"Why, that's quite natural," Mr. Coulson declared, leaning back a littleand crossing his legs. "Somehow we seem to read about these things inthe papers and they don't amount to such a lot, but when you know theman and were expecting to see him, as you were, why, then it comes righthome to you. There's something about a murder," Mr. Coulson concluded,"which kind of takes hold of you if you've ever even shaken hands witheither of the parties concerned in it."
"Did you see much of the poor fellow during the voyage?" Sir Charlesasked.
"No, nor any one else," Mr. Coulson replied. "I don't think he wasseasick, but he was miserably unsociable, and he seldom left his cabin.I doubt whether there were half a dozen people on board who would haverecognized him afterwards as a fellow-passenger."
"He seems to have been a secretive sort of person," Sir Charlesremarked.
"He was that," Mr. Coulson admitted. "Never seemed to care to talk abouthimself or his own business. Not that he had much to talk about," headded reflectively. "Dull sort of life, his. So many hours of work, somany hours of play; so many dollars a month, and after it's all over, somany dollars pension. Wouldn't suit all of us, Sir Charles, eh?"
"I fancy not," Somerfield admitted. "Perhaps he kicked over the tracesa bit when he was over this side. You Americans generally seem to findyour way about--in Paris, especially."
Mr. Coulson shook his head doubtfully.
"There wasn't much kicking over the traces with poor old Fynes," hesaid. "He hadn't got it in him."
Somerfield scratched his chin thoughtfully and looked at Penelope.
"Scarcely seems possible, does it," he remarked, "that a man leadingsuch a quiet sort of life should make enemies."
"I don't believe he had any," Mr. Coulson asserted.
"He didn't seem nervous on the way over, did he?" Penelope asked,--"asthough he were afraid of something happening?"
Mr. Coulson shook his head.
"No more than usual," he answered. "I guess your police over here aren'tquite so smart as ours, or they'd have been on the track of this thingbefore now. But you can take it from me that when the truth comes outyou'll find that our poor friend has paid the penalty of going about theworld like a crank."
"A what?" Somerfield asked doubtfully.
"A crank," Mr. Coulson repeated vigorously. "It wasn't much I knewof Hamilton Fynes, but I knew that much. He was one of those nervous,stand-off sort of persons who hated to have people talk to him andyet was always doing things to make them talk about him. I was over inEurope with him not so long ago, and he went on in the same way. Tooka special train to Dover when there wasn't any earthly reason for it;travelled with a valet and a courier, when he had no clothes for thevalet to look after, and spoke every European language better thanhis courier. This time the poor fellow's paid for his bit of vanity.Naturally, any one would think he was a millionaire, travelling likethat. I guess they boarded the train somehow, or lay hidden in it whenit started, and relieved him of a good bit of his
savings."
"But his money was found upon him," Somerfield objected.
"Some of it," Mr. Coulson answered,--"some of it. That's just aboutthe only thing that I do know of my own. I happened to see him take hispocketbook back from the purser, and I guess he'd got a sight more moneythere than was found upon him. I told the smooth-spoken gentleman fromScotland Yard so--Mr. Inspector Jacks he called himself--when he came tosee me an hour or so ago."
Penelope sighed gently. She found it hard to make up her mind concerningthis quondam acquaintance of her deceased friend.
"Did you see much of Mr. Fynes on the other side, Mr. Coulson?" sheasked him.
"Not I," Mr. Coulson answered. "He wasn't particularly anxious to makeacquaintances over here, but he was even worse at home. The way he wenton, you'd think he'd never had any friends and never wanted any. I methim once in the streets of Washington last year, and had a cocktailwith him at the Atlantic House. I had to almost drag him in there. I waspretty well a stranger in Washington, but he didn't do a thing for me.Never asked me to look him up, or introduced me to his club. He justdrank his cocktail, mumbled something about being in a hurry, and madeoff.
"I tell you, sir," Mr. Coulson continued, turning to Somerfield, "thatman hadn't a thing to say for himself. I guess his work had something todo with it. You must get kind of out of touch with things, shut up in anoffice from nine o'clock in the morning till five in the afternoon. Justsaving up, he was, for his trip to Europe. Then we happened on the samesteamer, but, bless you, he scarcely even shook hands when he saw me.He wouldn't play bridge, didn't care about chess, hadn't even a chair onthe deck, and never came in to meals."
Penelope nodded her head thoughtfully.
"You are destroying all my illusions, Mr. Coulson," she said. "Do youknow that I was building up quite a romance about poor Mr. Fynes' life?It seemed to me that he must have enemies; that there must have beensomething in his life, or his manner of living, which accounted for sucha terrible crime."
"Why, sure not!" Mr. Coulson declared heartily. "It was a cleverlyworked job, but there was no mystery about it. Some chap went for himbecause he got riding about like a millionaire. A more unromantic figurethan Hamilton Fynes never breathed. Call him a crank and you've finishedwith him."
Penelope sighed once more and looked at the tips of her patent shoes.
"It has been so kind of you," she murmured, "to talk to us. And yet, doyou know, I am a little disappointed. I was hoping that you might havebeen able to tell us something more about the poor fellow."
"He was no talker," Mr. Coulson declared. "It was little enough he hadto say to me, and less to any one else."
"It seems strange," she remarked innocently, "that he should havebeen so shy. He didn't strike me that way when I knew him at home inMassachusetts, you know. He travelled about so much in later years, too,didn't he?"
Penelope's eyes were suddenly upraised. For the first time Mr. Coulson'sready answers failed him. Not a muscle of his face moved under thegirl's scrutiny, but he hesitated for a short time before he answeredher.
"Not that I know of," he said at length. "No, I shouldn't have calledhim much of a traveller."
Penelope rose to her feet and held out her hand.
"It has been very nice indeed of you to see us, Mr. Coulson," she said,"especially after all these other people have been bothering you. Ofcourse, I am sorry that you haven't anything more to tell us than weknew already. Still, I felt that I couldn't rest until we had been."
"It's a sad affair, anyhow," Mr. Coulson declared, walking with them tothe door. "Don't you get worrying your head, young lady, though, withany notion of his having had enemies, or anything of that sort. The poorfellow was no hero of romance. I don't fancy even your halfpenny paperscould drag any out of his life. It was just a commonplace robbery, witha bad ending for poor Fynes. Good evening, miss! Good night, sir! Gladto have met you, Sir Charles."
Mr. Coulson's two visitors left and got into a small electric broughamwhich was waiting for them. Mr. Coulson himself watched them drive offand glanced at the clock. It was already a quarter past six. He wentinto the cafe and ordered a light dinner, which he consumed with muchobvious enjoyment. Then he lit a cigar and went into the smoking room.Selecting a pile of newspapers, he drew up an easy chair to the fire andmade himself comfortable.
"Seems to me I may have a longish wait," he said to himself.
As a matter of fact, he was disappointed. At precisely seven o'clock,Mr. Richard Vanderpole strolled into the room and, after a casual glancearound, approached his chair and touched him on the shoulder. In hisevening clothes the newcomer was no longer obtrusively American. He wasdressed in severely English fashion, from the cut of his white waistcoatto the admirable poise of his white tie. He smiled as he patted Coulsonupon the shoulder.
"This is Mr. Coulson, I'm sure," he declared,--"Mr. James B. Coulsonfrom New York?"
"You're dead right," Mr. Coulson admitted, laying down his newspaper andfavoring his visitor with a quick upward glance.
"This is great!" the young man continued. "Just off the boat, eh? Well,I am glad to see you,--very glad indeed to make your acquaintance, Ishould say."
Mr. Coulson replied in similar terms. A waiter who was passing throughthe room hesitated, for it was a greeting which generally ended in asummons for him.
"What shall it be?" the newcomer asked.
"I've just taken dinner," Mr. Coulson said. "Coffee and cognac'll do meall right."
"And a Martini cocktail for me," the young man ordered. "I am diningdown in the restaurant with some friends later on. Come over to thiscorner, Mr. Coulson. Why, you're looking first-rate. Great boat, theLusitania, isn't she? What sort of a trip did you have?"
So they talked till the drinks had been brought and paid for, tillanother little party had quitted the room and they sat in theirlonely corner, secure from observation or from any possibility ofeavesdropping. Then Mr. Richard Vanderpole leaned forward in his chairand dropped his voice.
"Coulson," he said, "the chief is anxious. We don't understand thisaffair. Do you know anything?"
"Not a d----d thing!" Coulson answered.
"Were you shadowed on the boat?" the young man asked.
"Not to my knowledge," Coulson answered. "Fynes was in his stateroom sixhours before we started. I can't make head nor tail of it."
"He had the papers, of course?"
"Sewn in the lining of his coat," Coulson muttered. "You read about thatin tonight's papers. The lining was torn and the space empty. He hadthem all right when he left the steamer."
The young man looked around; the room was still empty.
"I'm fresh in this," he said. "I got some information this afternoon,and the chief sent me over to see you on account of it. We had betternot discuss possibilities, I suppose? The thing's too big. The chief'salmost off his head. Is there any chance, do you think, Coulson, thatthis was an ordinary robbery? I am not sure that the special trainwasn't a mistake."
"None whatever," Coulson declared.
"How do you know?" his companion asked quickly.
"Well, I've lied to those reporters and chaps," Coulson admitted,--"liedwith a purpose, of course, as you people can understand. The money foundupon Fynes was every penny he had when he left Liverpool."
The young man set his teeth.
"It's something to know this, at any rate," he declared. "You did right,Coulson, to put up that bluff. Now about the duplicates?"
"They are in my suitcase," Coulson answered, "and according to the waythings are going, I shan't be over sorry to get rid of them. Will youtake them with you?"
"Why, sure!" Vanderpole answered. "That's what I'm here for."
"You had better wait right here, then," Coulson said, "I'll fetch them."
He made his way up to his room, undid his dressing bag, which wasfastened only with an ordinary lock, and from between two shirts drewout a small folded packet, no bigger than an ordinary letter. It was acurious circumstance that he used o
nly one hand for the search and withthe other gripped the butt of a small revolver. There was no one around,however, nor was he disturbed in any way. In a few minutes he returnedto the bar smoking room, where the young man was still waiting, andhanded him the letter.
"Tell me," the latter asked, "have you been shadowed at all?"
"Not that I know of," Coulson answered.
"Men with quick instincts," Vanderpole continued, "can always tell whenthey are being watched. Have you felt anything of the sort?"
Coulson hesitated for one moment.
"No," he said. "I had a caller whose manner I did not quite understand.She seemed to have something at the back of her head about me."
"She! Was it a woman?" the young man asked quickly.
Coulson nodded.
"A young lady," he said,--"Miss Penelope Morse, she called herself."
Mr. Richard Vanderpole stood quite still for a moment.
"Ah!" he said softly. "She might have been interested."
"Does the chief want me at all?" Coulson asked.
"No!" Vanderpole answered. "Go about your business as usual. Leave herefor Paris, say, in ten days. There will probably be a letter for you atthe Grand Hotel by that time."
They walked together toward the main exit. The young man's face had lostsome of its grimness. Once more his features wore that look of pleasantand genial good-fellowship which seems characteristic of his race afterbusiness hours.
"Say, Mr. Coulson," he declared, as they passed across the hall, "youand I must have a night together. This isn't New York, by any manner ofmeans, or Paris, but there's some fun to be had here, in a quiet way.I'll phone you tomorrow or the day after."
"Sure!" Mr. Coulson declared. "I'd like it above all things."
"I must find a taxicab," the young man remarked. "I've a busy hourbefore me. I've got to go down and see the chief, who is diningsomewhere in Kensington, and get back again to dine here at half pastseven in the restaurant."
"I guess you'll have to look sharp, then." Mr. Coulson remarked. "Do yousee the time?"
Vanderpole glanced at the clock and whistled softly to himself.
"Tell you what!" he exclaimed, "I'll write a note to one of the friendsI've got to meet, and leave it here. Boy," he added, turning to a pageboy, "get me a taxi as quick as you can."
The boy ran out into the Strand, and Vanderpole, sitting down at thetable, wrote a few lines, which he sealed and addressed and handed toone of the reception clerks. Then he shook hands with Coulson and threwhimself into a corner of the cab which was waiting.
"Drive down the Brompton Road," he said to the man. "I'll direct youlater."
It was a quarter past seven when he left the hotel. At half past apoliceman held up his hand and stopped the taxi, to the driver'sgreat astonishment, as he was driving slowly across Melbourne Square,Kensington.
"What's the matter?" the man asked. "You can't say I was exceeding myspeed limit."
The policeman scarcely noticed him. His head was already through the cabwindow.
"Where did you take your fare up?" he asked quickly.
"Savoy Hotel," the man answered. "What's wrong with him?"
The policeman opened the door of the cab and stepped in.
"Never you mind about that," he said. "Drive to the South Kensingtonpolice station as quick as you can."
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