by Louis Tracy
Produced by D Alexander and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
BY GORDON HOLMES
NEW YORK EDWARD J. CLODE 156 FIFTH AVENUE 1905
Copyright, 1905, by EDWARD J. CLODE
_The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass._
CONTENTS
I "_Last Seen at Victoria_!" 1 II _Inspector White_ 12 III _The Lady's Maid_ 22 IV _No. 61 Raleigh Mansions_ 30 V _At the Jollity Theatre_ 41 VI _Miss Marie le Marchant_ 48 VII _In the City_ 56 VIII _The Hotel du Cercle_ 64 IX _Breaking the Bank_ 72 X _Some Good Resolutions_ 83 XI _Theories_ 91 XII _Who Corbett Was_ 101 XIII _A Question of Principle_ 109 XIV _No. 12 Raleigh Mansions_ 119 XV _Mrs. Hillmer Hesitates_ 131 XVI _Foxey_ 142 XVII _A Possible Explanation_ 152 XVIII _What Happened on the Riviera_ 163 XIX _Where Mrs. Hillmer Went_ 175 XX _Mr. Sydney H. Corbett_ 183 XXI _How Lady Dyke Left Raleigh Mansions_ 194 XXII _A Wilful Murder_ 205 XXIII _The Letter_ 216 XXIV _The Handwriting_ 225 XXV _Miss Phyllis Browne Intervenes_ 234 XXVI _Lady Helen Montgomery's Son_ 246 XXVII _Mr. White's Method_ 254 XXVIII _Sir Charles Dyke's Journey_ 264 XXIX _How Lady Dyke Disappeared_ 274 XXX _Sir Charles Dyke Ends His Narrative_ 285 XXXI _Valedictory_ 297
CHAPTER I
"LAST SEEN AT VICTORIA!"
Alice, Lady Dyke, puckered her handsome forehead into a thoughtful frownas she drew aside the window-curtains of her boudoir and tried to lookout into the opaque blackness of a November fog in London.
Behind her was cheerfulness--in front uncertainty. Electric lights, anice fire reflected from gleaming brass, the luxury of carpets andupholstery, formed an alluring contrast to the dull yellow glare of asolitary lamp in the outer obscurity.
But Lady Dyke was a strong-minded woman. There was no trace of doubt inthe wrinkled brows and reflective eyes. She held back the curtains withher left hand, buttoning a glove at the wrist with the other. Fog or nofog, she would venture forth, and she was already dressed for theweather in tailor-made costume and winter toque.
She was annoyed, but not disconcerted by the fog. Too long had sheallowed herself to take things easily. The future was as murky asthe atmosphere; the past was dramatically typified by the pleasantsurroundings on which she resolutely turned her back. Lady Dyke wasquite determined as to her actions, and a dull November night was amost unlikely agent to restrain her from following the course she hadmapped out.
Moving to the light again, she took from her pocket a long, closelywritten letter. Its details were familiar to her, but her face hardenedas she hastily ran through it in order to find a particular passage.
At last she gained her object--to make quite sure of an address. Thenshe replaced the document, stood undecided for a moment, and touched anelectric bell.
"James," she said, to the answering footman, "I am going out."
"Yes, milady."
"Sir Charles is not at home?"
"No, milady."
"I am going to Richmond--to see Mrs. Talbot. I shall probably not returnin time for dinner. Tell Sir Charles not to wait for me."
"Shall I order the carriage for your ladyship?"
"Will you listen to me and remember what I have said?"
"Yes, milady."
James ran downstairs, opened the door, bowed as Lady Dyke passed intoPortman Square, and then confidentially informed Buttons that "themissus" was in a "rare old wax" about something.
"She nearly jumped down my bloomin' throat when I asked her if she wouldhave the carriage," he said.
Her ladyship's mood did not soften when she drifted from the fixedtenure of Wensley House, Portman Square, into the chaos of Oxford Streetand fog at 5.30 on a November evening.
Though not a true "London particular," the fog was chilly, exasperating,tedious. People bumped against each other without apology, 'busescrunched through the traffic with deadly precision, pair-horse vansswept around corners with magnificent carelessness.
In the result, Lady Dyke, who meant to walk, as she was somewhat inadvance of the time she had fixed on for this very important engagement,took a hansom. In her present mood slight things annoyed her. Usually,the London cab-horse is a thoughtful animal; he refuses to hurry; whenhe falls he lies contented, secure in the knowledge that for fiveblissful minutes he will be at complete rest. But this misguidedquadruped flew as though oats and meadow-grass awaited him at VictoriaStation on the Underground Railway.
He raced down Park Lane, skidded past Hyde Park Corner, and grated theoff-wheel of the hansom against the kerb outside the station withineight minutes.
In other words, her ladyship, if she would obey the directions containedin the voluminous letter, was compelled to kill time.
As she stepped from the vehicle and halted beneath a lamp to take aflorin from her purse, a tall, ulster-wrapped gentleman, walking rapidlyinto Victoria Street, caught a glimpse of her face and well-proportionedform.
Instantly his hat was off.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Lady Dyke. Can I be of any service?"
She bit her lip, not unobserved, but the law of Society forced herfeatures into a bright smile.
"Oh, Mr. Bruce, is it you? I am going to see my sister at Richmond.Isn't the weather horrid? I shall be so glad if you will put me into theright train."
Mr. Claude Bruce, barrister and man about town, whose clean-cut featuresand dark, deep-set eyes made him as readily recognizable, knew that shewould have been much better pleased had he passed without greeting. Likethe footman, he wondered why she did not drive in her carriage ratherthan travel by the Underground Railway on such a night. He guessed thatshe was perturbed--that her voluble explanation was a disguise.
He reflected that he could ill afford any delay in dressing for adistant dinner--that good manners oft entail inconvenience--but ofcourse he said:
"Delighted. Have you any wraps?"
"No, I am just going for a chat, and shall be home early."
He bought her a first-class ticket, noting as an odd coincidence that itbore the number of the year, 1903, descended to the barrier, found thatthe next train for Richmond passed through in ten minutes, fumedinwardly for an instant, explained his presence to the ticket-collector,and paced the platform with his companion.
Having condemned the fog, and the last play, and the latest book, theywere momentarily silent.
The newspaper placards on Smith & Son's bookstall announced that a"Great Society Scandal" was on the tapis. "The Duke in the Box" formed atelling line, and the eyes of both people chanced on it simultaneously.
Thought the woman: "He is a man of the world, and an experienced lawyer.Shall I tell him?"
Thought the man: "She wants to take me into her confidence, and I am toobusy to be worried by some small family squabble."
Said she: "Are you much occupied at the Courts just now, Mr. Bruce?"
"No," he replied; "not exactly. My practice is more consultive thanactive. Many people seek my advice about matters of li
ttle interest,never thinking that they would best serve their ends by actingdecisively and promptly themselves."
Lady Dyke set her lips. She could be both prompt and decisive. Sheresolved to keep her troubles, whatever they were, locked in the secrecyof her own heart, and when she next spoke of some trivial topic thebarrister knew that he had been spared a recital.
He regretted it afterwards.
At any other moment in his full and useful life he would have encouragedher rather than the reverse. Even now, a few seconds too late, he wassorry. He strove to bring her back to the verge of explanations, butfailed, for her ladyship was a proud, self-reliant personage--one whowould never dream of risking a rebuff.
A train came, with "Richmond" staring at them from the smoke and steamof the engine.
"Good-bye!" he said.
"Good-bye!"
"Shall I see you again soon?"
"I fear not. It is probable that I shall leave for the South of Francequite early."
And she was gone. Her companion rushed to the street, and almost ran tohis Victoria Street chambers. It was six o'clock. He had to dress anddrive all the way to Hampstead for dinner at 7.30.
* * * * *
At ten minutes past nine Sir Charles Dyke entered Wensley House. Ahandsome, quiet, gentlemanly man was Sir Charles. He was rich--aGuardsman until the baronetcy devolved upon him, a popular figure inSociety, esteemed a trifle fast prior to his marriage, but sobered downby the cares of a great estate and a vast fortune.
His wife and he were not well-matched in disposition.
She was too earnest, too prim, for the easy-going baronet. He respectedher, that was all. A man of his nature found it impossible to realizethat the depths of passion are frequently coated over with ice. Theirunion was irreproachable, like their marriage settlements; but there aremore features in matrimony than can be disposed of by broad seals andlegal phrases.
Unfortunately, they were childless, and were thus deprived of the onegreat bond which unites when others may fail.
Sir Charles was hurried, if not flurried. His boots were muddy and hisclothes splashed by the mire of passing vehicles.
"I fear I am very late for dinner," he said to the footman who took hishat and overcoat. "But I shall not be five minutes in dressing. Tell herladyship--"
"Milady is not at home, Sir Charles."
"Not at home!"
"Milady went out at half-past five, saying that she was going toRichmond to see Lady Edith Talbot, and that you were not to wait dinnerif she was late in returning."
Sir Charles was surprised. He looked steadily at the man as he said:
"Are you quite sure of her ladyship's orders?"
"Quite sure, Sir Charles."
"Did she drive?"
"No, Sir Charles. She would not order the carriage when I suggested it."
The baronet, somewhat perplexed, hesitated a moment. Then he appeared todismiss the matter as hardly worth discussion, saying, as he went upstairs:
"Dinner almost immediately, James."
During the solitary meal he was preoccupied, but ate more than usual, inthe butler's judgment. Finding his own company distasteful, he discussedthe November Handicap with the butler, and ultimately sent for anevening paper.
Opening it, the first words that caught his eye were, "Murder in theWest End." He read the paragraph, the record of some tragic orgy, andturned to the butler.
"A lot of these beastly crimes have occurred recently, Thompson."
"Yes, Sir Charles. There's bin three since the beginning of the month."
After a pause. "Did you hear that her ladyship had gone to Richmond?"
"Yes, Sir Charles."
"Do you know how she went?"
"No, Sir Charles."
"I wanted to see her to-night, _very_ particularly. Order the broughamin ten minutes. I am going to the Travellers' Club. I shall be homesoon--say eleven o'clock--when her ladyship arrives."
The baronet was driven to and from the club by his own coachman, but onreturning to Wensley House was told that his wife was still absent.
"No telegram or message?"
"No, Sir Charles."
"I suppose she will stay with her sister all night, and I shall have anote in the morning to say so. Just like a woman. Now if I did that,James, there would be no end of a row. Anxiety, and that sort of thing.Call me at 8.30."
An hour later Sir Charles Dyke left the library and went to bed.
At breakfast next morning the master of the house rapidly scanned theletters near his plate for the expected missive from his wife. There wasnone.
A maid was waiting. He sent her to call the butler.
"Look here, Thompson," he cried, "her ladyship has not written. Don'tyou think I had better wire? It's curious, to say the least, going offto Richmond in this fashion, in a beastly fog, too."
Thompson was puzzled. He had examined the letters an hour earlier. Buthe agreed that a telegram was the thing.
Sir Charles wrote: "Expected to hear from you. Will you be home tolunch? Want to see you about some hunters"; and addressed it to his wifeat her sister's residence.
"There," he said, turning to his coffee and sole. "That will fetch her.We are off to Leicestershire next week, Thompson. By the way, I am goingto a sale at Tattersall's. Send a groom there with her ladyship's answerwhen it comes."
He had not been long at the sale yard when a servant arrived with atelegram.
"Ah, the post-office people are quick this morning," he said, smiling.He opened the envelope and read:
"Want to see you at once.--DICK."
He was so surprised by the unexpected nature of the message that he readthe words aloud mechanically. But he soon understood, and smiled again.
"Go back quickly," he said to the man, "and tell Thompson to send alongthe next telegram."
A consignment of Waterford hunters was being sold at the time, and thebaronet was checking the animals' descriptions on the catalogue, whenhe was cheerily addressed:
"Hallo, Dyke, preparing for the shires, eh?"
Wheeling round, the baronet shook hands with Claude Bruce.
"Yes--that is, I am looking out for a couple of nice-mannered ones formy wife. I have six eating their heads off at Market Harborough now."
Bruce hesitated. "Will Lady Dyke hunt this season?" he asked.
"Well, hardly that. But she likes to dodge about the lanes with theparson and the doctor."
"I only inquired because she told me last night that she would probablywinter in the South of France."
"Told you--last night--South of France!" Sir Charles Dyke positivelygasped in his amazement.
"Why, yes. I met her at Victoria. She was going to Richmond to see hersister, she said."
"I am jolly glad to hear it."
"Glad! Why?"
"Because I have not seen her myself since yesterday morning. She wentoff mysteriously, late in the afternoon, leaving a message with theservants. Naturally I am glad to hear from you that she got into thetrain all right."
"I put her in the carriage myself. Have you not heard from her?"
"No. I wired this morning, and expect an answer at any moment. But whatis this about the South of France? We go to Leicestershire next week."
"I can't say, of course. Your wife seemed to be a little upset aboutsomething. She only mentioned her intention casually--in fact, when Iasked if we would meet soon."
The other laughed, a little oddly in the opinion of his astute observer,and dismissed the matter by the remark that the expected message fromhis wife would soon clear the slight mystery attending her movementsduring the past eighteen hours.
The two men set themselves to the congenial task of criticizing thehorses trotting up and down the straw-covered track, and Sir Charles hadpurchased a nice half-bred animal for forty guineas when his groom againsaluted him.
"Please, sir," said the man, "here's another telegram, and Thompson toldme to ask if it was the right one."
> Sir Charles frowned at the interruption--a second horse of a suitablecharacter was even then under the hammer--but he tore open the envelope.At once his agitation became so marked that Bruce cried:
"Good heavens, Dyke, what is it? No bad news, I hope?"
The other, by a strong effort, regained his self-control.
"No, no," he stammered; "it is all right, all right. She has gonesomewhere else. See. This is from her sister, Mrs. Talbot. Still, I wishAlice would consider my natural anxiety a little."
Bruce read:
"I opened your message. Alice not here. I have not seen her for over a week. What do you mean by wire? Am coming to town at once.--EDITH."
The baronet's pale face and strained voice betrayed the significance ofthe thought underlying the simple question.
"What do you make of it, Claude?"
Bruce, too, was very grave. "The thing looks queer," he said; "thoughthe explanation may be trifling. Come, I will help you. Let us reachyour house. It is the natural centre for inquiries."
They hailed a hansom and whirled off to Portman Square. They did not saymuch. Each man felt that the affair might not end so happily andsatisfactorily as he hoped.
