by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER XIX
WHERE MRS. HILLMER WENT
Sir Charles Dyke, in sending off the hurried announcement of his wife'sdeath, forgot the "society" papers.
Such a promising topic did not come in their way every week, and theymade the most of it. Where did Lady Dyke die? Under what circumstancesdid she die? They rolled the morsel under their tongue in everyconceivable manner.
Details were not forthcoming.
"Our representative called at Wensley House, Portman Square, but wasinformed that Sir Charles was in Yorkshire." Inquiry by a local reporterfrom Sir Charles in person elicited no information. "Lady Dyke is dead,"wrote this enterprising journalist; "of that there can be no manner ofdoubt, but her husband states that for family reasons he is unable tosupply the public with the precise facts concerning his wife's demise."
This ill-advised authentic statement only fanned the flame. An eveningjournal got hold of the proceedings at the Putney Coroner's Court whichinquired into the death of a woman found in the Thames, and, with aportentous display of headlines, published an interview with the doctorgiving particulars of the iron spike found imbedded in the skull.
The paper was also able to state "on the best authority" that at thisinquest Sir Charles Dyke and the missing lady's personal maid werecalled in to identify the body, but failed.
A first-class sensation was in full swing and threatened to reach thequestion stage in the House of Commons when Bruce took hold of affairs.
He went to Sir Charles Dyke's solicitors, and induced them to send outthe following authoritative communication to the press:
"Much unnecessary pain is being caused to Sir Charles Dyke and to the relatives of his late wife by the comments which have appeared in many newspapers regarding Lady Dyke's death. Her ladyship left her home on November 6th to pay a visit to her sister at Richmond, and since that date has not been seen or heard of. There was no possible reason for her disappearance. After a long and agonizing search, her husband and relatives have come to the conclusion that she met with some accident on the date named, with the result that her identity was not established, and she was probably buried from some hospital or other institution long before her friends seriously entertained the thought that she was dead. Every such case of accidental death followed by the interment of unknown persons by the authorities, occurring on or about November 6th, has since been rigidly investigated, but no definite trace has been found of the missing lady. Sir Charles Dyke determined to take the public step of announcing his wife's death in the hope that any hitherto undiscovered clue might thereby come to light. But there are no grounds to suppose that any other explanation of the occurrence than that given will be forthcoming. The investigation has been in the hands of Scotland Yard throughout, so no good purpose can be served by further discussion in the press of what is now, and threatens to remain, a mystery rendered more complex by the simplicity of its leading features."
Several newspapers, of course, pointed out that they were helpingforward the inquiry by noising it abroad, but thenceforth the paragraphsceased, being eclipsed in interest by the revelations of a great divorcecase in which there were no less than six titled co-respondents.
One man was much puzzled by the original obituary notice and thesemi-official statement supplied by the solicitors.
Mr. White did not know what to make of them. He guessed that Bruce hadinspired that "explanation," and he read the concluding sentence manytimes.
"It threatens to remain a mystery, does it not?" he murmured. "Justwait, Mr. Bruce, until I lay my hands on Corbett. Clever as you are, Ithink I will show you that Scotland Yard can occasionally get the betterof your theories. Anyhow, Corbett will have to be very explicit abouthis movements before I am satisfied that he knows nothing about thisbusiness."
He had written to the Chief of Police at Cheyenne, and somethingdefinite would soon come to hand.
Nevertheless, he felt somewhat shaken in his diagnosis of the crime.Wyoming was a long way from London, and the letter from Corbett, whichhe had in his possession, did not exactly confirm his suspicion thatthis man was concerned in the murder of Lady Dyke.
He quickly became aware of Mrs. Hillmer's departure, and at once jumpedto the conclusion that she had recently left England for the UnitedStates. A close scrutiny of the passenger lists at Liverpool andSouthampton did not help him much, and he ultimately resolved to call onBruce, in the hope that a chance exclamation might reveal thebarrister's opinion of the situation.
Claude was not at a loss to account for Mr. White's presence.
"I expected you," he said.
"Really now, may I ask why, sir?"
"Because you have missed Mrs. Hillmer, and you want me to help you findwhere she has gone, and why."
The detective smiled.
"I won't say that you are wrong, sir," he cried. "In these affairs it isalways well to keep an eye on the woman, you know."
"When did Mrs. Hillmer leave Raleigh Mansions?"
"On the 30th."
"It is now February 3. Four days ago, eh?"
"That is the time. She might have left by the American line fromSouthampton or the Cunard from Liverpool on Wednesday, but she did not,and no one answering to her description is booked by the White Starto-morrow."
"Southampton! Liverpool! Do you think she has gone to America?"
"Where else? She's in league with Corbett, somehow, of that I amcertain, and I think that the Monte Carlo address was a mere blind--aclever one, too, as it even deceived you, Mr. Bruce."
"Yes. It did deceive me."
"Then why are you so surprised at the suggestion that the lady shouldattempt to cross the Atlantic?"
"Because I have not your rapid perception of the points of the case."
"That's your way of pulling my leg, Mr. Bruce."
The barrister smiled.
Mrs. Hillmer, of course, had gone to Monte Carlo. Once there she wouldhave little difficulty in tracing the _White Heather_, and overtakingMensmore.
She would warn him of the police pursuit, and there would be a scenebetween them.
How would it result? Would Mensmore, guilty, seek safety in flight?Would he, innocent, return to London and demand to be confronted withhis accusers?
For the life of him, Bruce could not say positively. Yet he felt thesituation was too delicate to be dealt with by Mr. White's bludgeonmethods, and he forebore to speak.
The detective interpreted his silence as an admission of inability tofind a satisfactory explanation of Mrs. Hillmer's absence.
He went on:
"Corbett is not at Monte Carlo."
"So I imagined."
"Well, it is a fact. The police have made constant inquiries for him atthe Hotel du Cercle and elsewhere. Not the slightest trace of him can befound."
"I was there myself, you know."
"Yes, sir. I have not forgotten that. But it shows what a clever rascalthe fellow is in concealing his identity. However, he could never havecounted on my discovering that letter of his. Even if he is not inAmerica we shall have some reliable data to go upon in answer to myqueries."
"There I fully agree with you. You will have done a great deal if youthoroughly clear up the mystery regarding Corbett. May I ask you to letme know the result?"
"With pleasure, sir. And now, can I request a favor in return?"
"Certainly."
"Tell me, then, what is, in your opinion, the best way to find Mrs.Hillmer."
Bruce did not expect to be thus openly challenged on the matter. It wasone thing to withhold his own theories and discoveries from thisrepresentative of the majesty of the law, but quite another to refuse tohelp a detective with whom he was nominally working.
Besides, Mrs. Hillmer had four days' start. It would take sometime--possibly a telegram would not be sufficiently explicit--to obtainthe desired assistance from the Continental police. Yes--in thisinstance, Mensmore must take his chances.
"If I were you," said Bruce, slowly weighing his words, "I would inquireat the Continental booking-offices at Victoria and Charing Cross, andfrom the guards in charge of the morning mail trains on the 30th. Infact, it would be quite safe if you were to wire the authorities atMonte Carlo, asking if Mrs. Hillmer is not now at the Hotel du Cercle."
The detective started as though he had been shot.
"What!" he cried, "you think she is there all the time?"
"I think she has been there since Wednesday morning."
"That is what I mean. Why did you not tell me sooner?"
"Because you never asked me. And now, Mr. White, one word of advice. Goslow."
"It's all jolly fine telling me to go slow when I have no reason to gofast. The case even against Corbett is shadowy enough at present."
"Exactly. Wait until you can grasp a substance."
"I will, sir," said White, jamming his hat on; "but when I lay my handson Corbett I will grasp him hard enough."
It took the policeman all that day to satisfy himself that Mrs. Hillmerhad really booked for the Riviera by the Club train from Charing Crosson the preceding Monday.
Just as he verified the fact, came a reply from the Monte Carlo police:
"Mrs. Hillmer arrived at the Hotel du Cercle on Wednesday. Left for Italy same afternoon. Shall we endeavor to trace her?"
"Oh, bother," he growled. "Corbett may be in Jerusalem by this time. Andhere have I been fussing about Wyoming or some other potato-patch in theFar West."
However, he wired again to Monte Carlo:
"Yes. Locate Mrs. Hillmer, if possible. I will then telegraph instructions to local police."
When this message was despatched he felt easier in his mind.
The chase was at least getting warm.
"I cannot arrest him yet," he reflected; "but if I once get fairly onhis track, I will not lose sight of him again if I can help it. Isuppose it will mean a trip to Italy for me. I must lay the evidencebefore the Treasury to see if a warrant is justified."
Two days passed without incident.
Late on Sunday evening, February 5, a Continental telegram was handed tohim at Scotland Yard:
"Mrs. Hillmer's present address, Hotel Imperiale, Florence."
He promptly wired the Chief of Police at Florence:
"Keep Mrs. Hillmer, English visitor, Hotel Imperiale, under surveillance. Also watch her associates, particularly Englishman named Corbett, if there. Letter follows."
"That's a good stroke of business," said he, when the message was sent."Now we shan't be long!"
It was in contented mood that he lit a cigar in his office, beforewalking home for dinner, but a messenger with the badge of theCommercial Cable Company in Northumberland Avenue bustled past him.
"Who's the cable for, boy?" said the detective.
"White, Scotland Yard," was the answer.
"That's me."
He tore open the envelope, and found that the contents were coded, buthe caught the word "Corbett" amidst the unintelligible jumble.
With some excitement he rushed into the office to find the A B C Code,and after some confusion in deciphering the words, this was what heread:
"Regret delay in replying to your communication. Corbett left New York in _White Star_ steamer due Liverpool, February 4."
"February 4? Why, that's yesterday. Good gracious, he's here all thetime. Well, of all the--"
But exclamations were useless. Calling another plain-clothes man toaccompany him, he drove off in mad haste to Sloane Square.
About an hour later Bruce received a typewritten slip gummed on to atelegraph form. It was from Florence, and ran as follows:
"My brother wildly excited regarding allegations. We start for London to-night. Meanwhile fearful complications expected. Mr. Corbett, of Wyoming, my brother's friend, is probably occupying his flat, and may be arrested. We both trust you to save him. Wire us at Modane or Gare du Nord.
"GWENDOLINE HILLMER."
So Bruce also raced off in a hansom towards Sloane Square.
