A Mysterious Disappearance

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XX

  MR. SYDNEY H. CORBETT

  The detective glanced up at Bruce's chambers while passing throughVictoria Street.

  "I wonder what he would think if he knew what we are after," he said tohis colleague, one of the two who accompanied him when the barrister wasarrested by mistake.

  "What _are_ we after?" said the policeman.

  "This time we are going to nail the right Corbett," was the confidentanswer.

  "Will we cart him off?"

  "Well, now, that depends. I think I am quite right in collaring himunless he explains to my satisfaction, which is hardly likely."

  "The charge is one of murder, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "Who did he kill?"

  "Well, up to now it hasn't come out, for the sake of the family. But ifCorbett is here you will know soon enough."

  "It's a funny way to go to work."

  "Commissioner's orders, my boy. I am not to reveal the la-- the nameuntil it cannot be helped. However, as I have said so much, I don't mindtelling you it's a woman, and a big one too."

  "Big! Fat, do you mean?"

  "No. A woman of high position."

  "Phew! A regular society scandal, I suppose?"

  "That's about the size of it."

  On arrival at Sloane Square they quickly ascended to No. 12 RaleighMansions.

  A stout, elderly woman answered their knock, and a glance at her facerevealed the map of Ireland, although her name was Saxon Robinson.

  "Mr. Corbett in?" inquired White.

  "Faix, he's not."

  "Then where is he?"

  "I don't know, misther, an' if I did I wouldn't be afther telling whenaxed in an oncivil manner."

  "All right, Mrs. ----"

  "Robinson's my name, if that's anny use to ye."

  "Very well, Mrs. Robinson. We wish to have a word with Mr. Corbett, andwe will be much obliged if you can tell us when he is likely to return,if he is in London."

  "Arrah, it's meself is mixed intirely about him. Sure _this_ Mr. Corbettis in London right enough, and is comin' in to dinner in half-an-hour,so by yer lave I'll jist go on wid me wurruk."

  "May we come in and wait for him?"

  Mrs. Robinson surveyed them suspiciously, but seemingly decided in theirfavor.

  "Stip in here, gintlemen both," she said, and conducted them to thesitting-room.

  A fire now burned brightly in the grate wherein Bruce had made hispregnant discovery. The damaged bracket still stared at White, so tospeak, but he saw it not.

  Mrs. Robinson bustled away to the kitchen, and the two officers satsilently waiting developments. Suddenly a thought occurred to White, andhe went into the passage.

  "Mrs. Robinson," he said, "what did you mean by referring to _this_ Mr.Corbett?"

  A quick step came bounding up the stairs, and a key rattled in the lock.

  "You'd betther ax him yerself," responded the housekeeper pithily, andthe door opened to admit a handsome, well-knit man, tall and straight,with the clearly cut features of the true Westerner, and the easycarriage of one accustomed to the freedom of the prairie.

  He was quietly dressed. The only sign that he was not a Londoner wasgiven by his wide-awake felt hat, the last token of environmentrelinquished by a wandering citizen from the region of the Rockies. Inthe semi-darkness of the interior he could but dimly discern the form ofthe detective behind the ready-tongued housekeeper.

  "There's two gintlemen to see ye, Misther Corbett," said she.

  "Well, now, that's curious," he answered cheerfully. "I can only see oneof you, but I'm glad to have you call, stranger, anyway. Come right in.Are you sent by my friend to kinder cheer me up? I find this big city ofyours a powerful kind of tonic after Wyoming. Come right in."

  Mr. White was as greatly nonplussed by the newcomer's attitude as by hisflow of language.

  Within the drawing-room Corbett caught sight of the second detective."Hello! Here's the other one. Ve-ry glad to meet you both. Now, ifyou'll just tell me your names we'll get along straight away, as I guessyou know mine all right."

  The man was genuinely pleased by this unexpected visit. He smilinglypushed towards them a box of cigars, green ones, and helped himself to aweed.

  "My name," said the detective, "is Inspector White, of Scotland Yard,and my friend here accompanies me officially."

  "And hasn't he got a name?"

  "Yes; but it doesn't matter."

  "Well, if it doesn't matter, we won't quarrel. I guess you've got amessage of some sort for me, else you wouldn't trouble to climb thesestairs. Why don't you have el-e-vators in these big buildings?"

  "As I said," began Mr. White, "we are from Scotland Yard."

  "That's so. I've got that fixed O.K. Your name is I. White, fromScotland Yard. I don't know where Scotland Yard is, but we'll worryalong without the geography of it."

  "I am in the police. My title is Inspector. It is not my Christian name.Scotland Yard is the headquarters of the London police."

  The American's eyes opened wide in wonder at this announcement, and aperplexing thought seemed to occur to him. But he said quietly:

  "I'll figure it out better when you tell me why you've been good enoughto call. And suppose we all sit down. I'm not used to stone pavements.I'm tired."

  "Your name is Sydney H. Corbett?" said the detective severely, though hetook a chair.

  "So my people always told me."

  "And you have occupied these chambers since August last?"

  "Have I?"

  "So I am informed."

  "Get along with your story."

  "You have just returned to England from Wyoming. The New York policecabled me that you arrived in Liverpool yesterday."

  "Did they now? That was real cute of 'em."

  "I want to ask you, in the first instance, the exact date of yourdeparture from this country."

  Before replying to the detective Corbett looked at him fixedly, asthough he was trying to read what was passing in his mind.

  At last he said with a smile:

  "Say, what are you after, Mr. White of Scotland Yard? What's the game?Who's been fooling you?"

  "That is not the way to talk to me, sir. Answer my question fully andproperly, or it may be worse for you."

  "Jehosh! Have you come to wipe the floor with me?"

  "Are you going to reply to me or not?"

  "I'm not going to speak square to any man who comes along and puts athing like you do."

  "Very well. I can get my information by other means. You leave me noalternative--"

  Mr. White had half risen and was about to add, "but to arrest you,"when, with a rapidity known only to those accustomed to "draw" fromboyhood, Corbett whipped a revolver from a hip pocket and covered thebridge of White's nose with the muzzle.

  "Just you sit still, right there, Mr. White of Scotland Yard, or I willlet daylight through you and your nameless friend if he interferes.You'd better believe me. By gad! I won't speak twice."

  Neither White nor his companion were cowards. But they were quitehelpless. They had not grappled with the circumstances with sufficientalertness, and they were utterly at this man's mercy. They were awayfrom the door, and a table separated them from Corbett, while there wasthat in his eye which told them he would shoot if either of them moved.They both sprang to their feet, and glared at him impotently.

  "Now, gentlemen," said Corbett, with the utmost coolness, "let mepersuade you to sit down again and go on with your story, whichinterests me."

  White was scarlet with wrath and annoyance.

  "Let me tell you--" he roared.

  "Sit down!"

  "Make the best of it, Jim," murmured the other policeman; and the queergathering resumed their seats.

  "That's better," said Corbett genially. "Now, we'll have a nice littlechat. Am I correct in supposing that you were about to march me off tojail just now, when I spoilt the proposition?"

  "There's no use in resisting," growled White. "You cannot esca
pe. If youhave an atom of sense left you will come with us quietly, as it's all upwith you."

  "It looks like it," said Corbett, with a grim smile. "But if it's so bada case as all that, there's no desperate hurry, is there?"

  "You're only making matters more difficult for yourself."

  "Maybe. But as I happen to be a citizen of the United States, I allowthat I can't be whipped off to prison just because a fool like youthinks it's good for me. I've been a law-abiding man all my life, andI've lived in places where each man made his own law. If you can showgood cause for your action, I'll stand the racket. At present I regardyou as a blamed idiot."

  The situation overcame the detective. He could only mutter:

  "Time will show who's the idiot."

  "I'm getting hungry, Mr. White of Scotland Yard, and I've a kind ofnotion that the old lady is ready with the eatables. Will you be goodenough to say what you're after?"

  "I came here to ask you to account for your movements, and, failing asatisfactory explanation, to arrest you."

  "On what charge?"

  "For being concerned in the murder of Lady Dyke, on or about November 6last."

  "Lady Dyke?"

  "Yes."

  "Arrest _me_?"

  "Yes."

  "I placed you right away. You are a blamed idiot, Mr. White of ScotlandYard."

  This repetition of his name and address goaded the detective almostbeyond endurance.

  "Now you know the charge," he shouted, "are you coming with us quietly,or--"

  "Or what?"

  The revolver still hovered across the table.

  "Are we going to sit here all night?"

  It was a weak conclusion, but to suggest an attack was sheer madnessunder the conditions.

  "I guess not," was the calm answer. "I want my dinner, and I mean tohave it."

  "Very well. Eat your dinner and have done with it."

  "That's better. You and your friend shall join me. We'll have a nicelittle talk and straighten out matters, which have got kinder mixed."

  This was too much for White's associate. He burst out laughing.

  "I allowed there was a joke in the deal, somewhere," went on Corbett,"but I haven't quite got the hang of it yet. Now, Mr. White of ScotlandYard, are you going to act like a reasonable man, or must I keep yournose in line with the barrel?"

  White was saved from deciding which horn of the dilemma he would landon, for a sharp rat-tat at the door induced silence, and a moment laterBruce's voice was heard inquiring:

  "Is Mr. Corbett in?"

  "Faix, there may be a half-a-dozen of him in by this time," cried Mrs.Robinson. "I dunno where I am, at all, at all. The gintlemen are in theparlor, sir."

  And Bruce entered.

  In order to enfilade the new-comer scientifically, Corbett backed to thecorner. Claude glanced at the three, saw the revolver, and said with acomical air of relief:

  "Thank goodness, nothing has happened. Put away your pistol, Mr.Corbett; you will not need it."

  Although the barrister's manner differed considerably from the brusquemethods adopted by Mr. White, the American remained on his guard. Hesaid stiffly:

  "You all seem to know me fairly well; but if you had the advantage ofcloser acquaintance, you would allow that I am not the man to be rushedon a confidence trick. If somebody doesn't explain quick I will lose mytemper, and there will be trouble."

  "I sympathize with you!" cried Bruce. "But the first thing you mustlearn in this country is to keep dry cigars for your visitors. Ourrespective tastes differ in that respect."

  "I guess I'll cotton to you, stranger; but I'm tired holding thispistol."

  "Put it away, then. I tell you it is not wanted. White, listen to me.You have hit upon the wrong man."

  "Wrong man!" cried the detective, feeling more confident in thebarrister's presence. "Why, I've had a cable about him from New York."

  "Possibly; but you're mistaken, nevertheless. Mr. Corbett has not beenwithin five thousand miles of England for years, possibly not in hislife."

  "Bully for you, stranger!" broke in Corbett.

  "Then who is Mr. Sydney H. Corbett whom you believe, as well as I, to bethe murderer of Lady Dyke?"

  "Steady, White. The last time I saw you I appealed to you to go slow.The man whom you want, simply because he happens to be the real occupantof these rooms, is at present travelling to London as fast he can fromFlorence, and his sister, Mrs. Hillmer, is with him."

  "Florence! Mrs. Hillmer!" gasped the policeman. "I've just arranged tohave her watched there."

  "Your arrangements, though admirable, are somewhat late in the day."

  "Then what is her brother's name?"

  "Albert Mensmore. For some reason, hidden at this moment, he lived hereunder the name of the gentleman who has, I see, been giving you apractical lesson in the art of not jumping at conclusions."

  "Have you known this long?"

  "For some weeks."

  "Then why didn't you tell me?"

  "Because I have no definite reason for connecting Mensmore with LadyDyke's death. If I had, his action in returning to London the moment hehears of the charge would shake my belief."

  "Who told him?"

  "Mrs. Hillmer."

  "Oh, this business is quite beyond me. I can't fathom it a little bit."

  And White sank dejectedly to his chair again.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, gentlemen," said Corbett,pocketing his revolver; "but it dawns upon me that I shan't be requiredto shoot anybody or sleep in jail to-night."

  "Why didn't you answer my questions properly, and save all thisnonsense?"

  "I'll tell you why, sir. The name of a friend of mine has beenmentioned. Albert Mensmore has been more than a brother to me. I allowedyou meant mischief to him, as you thought you were talking to him allthe time. I don't know much about you, but I hope that your first actionwould not be to give away your chum if he is in trouble."

  The detective did not answer, though his look of astonishment atCorbett's declaration of motive was eloquent enough.

  "Before we quit this business," went on the American, "let me say onething. Any man who tells you that Albert Mensmore murdered a woman istelling you a lie. I don't know anything about this Lady Dyke, or howshe may have died, but I do know my friend. He's good in a tight place,but, to think of him killing a woman--Jehosh, it's sickening."

  Mrs. Robinson burst in, with face aflame.

  "Is this palaverin' to go on all night?" she demanded angrily. "Here'sthe dinner sphilin', after all me worry and bother, with the head of mevexed to know who is the masther and who ishn't."

  "All right, mother," laughed Corbett. "Bring in the whole caboodle."

  "Mr. Corbett," said Bruce, "I hope you will come and have lunch with meto-morrow, at this address," handing him a card. "I want to have a longtalk with you. Mr. White, if you come with me I will explain a good dealto you of which you are now in ignorance."

  "Surely, Mr. Corbett will answer a few questions first," said thedetective.

  "Don't you think you have troubled him sufficiently for this evening?Besides, he can tell us nothing. All the explanation is really due tohim, and I propose to give it to him to-morrow. Come, White, this time Ipromise you that a considerable portion of your inquiry shall be clearedup, and I do not speak without foundation, as you have often learnedhitherto."

  So the mysterious Sydney H. Corbett was left in undisturbed possessionof his flat and his dinner, while the trio passed out into the quietudeof the streets.