CHAPTER XII
The story had gone abroad by this time. All London knew of the strangedisappearance of the body of Sir Charles Darryll. Of course the wildestrumours were afloat, the cheaper newspapers had details that had beenevolved from the brilliant imagination of creative reporters; a score ofthem had already besieged the manager of the _Royal Palace Hotel_ andwere making his life a burden to him. The thing was bad enough as itstood; enough damage had been done to the prestige of the hotel withoutmaking matters worse in this fashion.
There was nothing further to say at present except that the news wastrue, and that the police had no clue whatsoever for the moment.
"Not that it is the slightest use telling them anything of the kind,"Field muttered. "Whenever there is a mystery the press always gives usthe credit for the possession of a clue. In that way they very oftensucceed in scaring our game away altogether. I don't say that the papersare useless to us, but they do more harm than good."
All the same, Field was not quite at a loss to know what to do. Beatricehad given him a full and accurate description of the two adventurers whohad vanished, leaving no trace behind them. They had suggested that alltheir belongings were at the _European Hotel_, but a question or twoasked there had proved that such was not the case.
"And yet they have gone and covered up their tracks behind them," Fieldsaid. "Why? Miss Darryll--I should say, Mrs. Richford--is quite surethat she did not alarm either of them. Then why did they disappear likethis? Perhaps they were spotted by somebody else over another matter.Perhaps the gentleman who so scared our 'General' in the drawing-room ofthis hotel had something to do with the matter. We shan't get muchfurther on the track of this interesting pair until I have had a talkwith some of the foreign detectives."
"You can, at any rate, look after the missing hotel servants," Marksuggested.
But that was already being done, as Field proceeded to explain. It wasjust possible that they had been the victims of foul play. Most of thenewspaper men had been cleared out by this time, and there being nothingfurther to learn, the hotel resumed its normal condition. People cameand went as they usually do in such huge concerns; the mystery wasdiscussed fitfully, but the many visitors had their own business toattend to, so that they did not heed the half score of quiet andsternfaced men who were searching the hotel everywhere. At the end of anhour there was no kind of trace of anything that would lead to thewhereabouts of the missing men. Colonel Berrington came to the head ofthe grand stairway presently holding a little round object in his hand.
"I have found this," he said. "It is a button with the initials R. P. H.on it, evidently a button from the uniform of one of the servants. Asthere is a scrap of cloth attached to it, the button has evidently beenwrenched off, which points to a struggle having taken place. Don't youfeel inclined to agree with me, Inspector?"
On the whole Inspector Field was inclined to agree. Would ColonelBerrington be so good as to take him to the exact spot where the buttonwas found? The button had been discovered on the first landing, and hadlodged on the edge of the parquet flooring on the red carpet. They werevery thick carpets, as befitted the character of the hotel.
Inspector Field bent down and fumbled on the floor. He had touched apatch of something wet. When he rose his fingers were red as if the dyehad come out of the carpet.
"Blood," he said, as if in answer to Berrington's interrogative glance."Very stupid of us not to think of something like this before. But thesecarpets are so thick and of so dark a colour. Beyond doubt some deed ofviolence has taken place here. See."
The inspector smeared his hand further along the carpet. The red patchwas very large. A little further along the wall there were otherpatches, and there was the mark of a blood-stained hand on the handle ofa door which proved to be locked.
"Is anybody occupying this room at present?" Field asked a hotelservant.
"Not exactly, sir," the man replied. "That door gives on to one of thefinest suites in the hotel. It is rented by the Rajah of Ahbad. HisHighness is not here at present, but he comes and goes as he likes. Hekeeps the keys himself, and the door is only opened by his steward, whocomes along a day or two before his royal master."
"All the same they are going to be opened now," said Field grimly. "Goand tell the manager that I want him here at once. I suppose there aremaster keys to this."
But there were no master keys to the Royal suite; the locks had beenselected by the Rajah himself. It was an hour or more later before alocksmith from Milner's managed to open the door. They were thick doors,sheet lined, and locked top and bottom. Field switched up the electriclights and made a survey of the rooms. The blinds were all down and theshutters up. Suddenly Inspector Field gave a grunt of satisfaction.
"We've got something here, at any rate," he said. "And the poor chapseems to be badly hurt. Carry him out gently and see if the doctor isstill here."
A body lay on the floor; the hands and arms were secured to the sides bystraps; a tightly rolled pad of black cloth was fixed in the poorfellow's mouth. There was a ghastly wound on the side of his head fromwhich the blood was still oozing; a great deal of it had congealed onhis collar. A slight groan proved that the victim was still alive. "It'sthe hall porter," the manager cried. "It's poor Benwort. What a horriblething!"
"Looks like concussion of the brain," Field said. "Thank goodness,here's Dr. Andrews. We will make a further search of these rooms, forit's pretty certain that the other fellow is here also. Ah, I felt verysure that we should find him."
A second man, also in the livery of the hotel, lay by a sofa. He seemedto have fared better, for there was no blood on his face, though agreat swelling over his right ear testified to the fact that he had beenseverely handled. He was not insensible, but he hardly knew what he wastalking about as he was placed on his feet.
"Tell us all about it," the inspector said encouragingly. "What reallyhappened?"
"Don't ask me," Catton, the night watchman said, as he held his hands tohis head. "My brain feels as if it had been squeezed dry. Somebody hitme on the head after a lady in grey came and fetched me. A little ladyin grey, with a sad face and grey eyes."
Berrington started violently, and Mark looked up in surprise. The greylady--Beatrice's Slave of Silence--seemed to run through this mysterylike the thread of a story. It was an entirely interesting moment, butunhappily the night watchman could say no more.
"Don't worry me so," he whined. "Put some ice on my head and let mesleep. I dare say I shall be able to puzzle it out in time. Somebodycarried something down the stairs; then the big door opened and thenight porter whistled for a cab. That's all."
The speaker lurched forward and appeared to fall into a comatose state.There was nothing for it but to put him to bed without delay. Fieldlooked puzzled.
"I suppose that poor fellow was talking coherently in snatches," hesaid. "No doubt just after he got that crack on the head he did see abulky package taken downstairs. But then he says he heard the door openand a cab whistled for by the night porter. Now that's impossible,seeing that the night porter got his quietus also. Now who called upthat cab? Evidently somebody did, and no doubt the cab came. Well, weshall find that cab. Saunders, go at once and see what you can do inthe direction of finding that cab."
The mystery seemed to get deeper and deeper the more Field got on thetrack. He could quite understand how it was that both of these hotelservants had been put out of action, so to speak, but who was the greylady who had given the note of warning, and why had those two men beenplaced in the suite of rooms belonging to the Rajah of Ahbad? Thegagging and the hiding were all right, and that line of policy gave allthe more time to the ruffians who had done this thing. Also it waspossible on reflection to understand why the Rajah's room had beenchosen, as no search, but for the bloody door handle, would have beenmade there. But where had those people procured those patent Brahma lockkeys from?
The wild supposition that the Rajah himself was in the business wasabsurd. That idea might be dismissed
on the spot. The more Field thoughtof it the more was he puzzled. He would take an early opportunity ofseeing the Rajah.
"He's a quiet sort of man," the hotel manager explained. "I should fancythat he has an English mother, by the look of him. Anyway, he is Englishto all intents and purposes, having been educated at Eton and Oxford. Heonly took these rooms a few months ago; he was brought here after a badillness, and when he went away he was carried to his carriage. But theysay he's all right now. But, Mr. Inspector, you don't mean to say thatyou think that the Rajah----"
"Has any hand in this business? Of course I don't," Field said testily."I'm just a little put out this morning, so you must forgive my badtemper. The more one digs into the thing, the more black and misty itbecomes. I think I'll go as far as the Yard and have a talk to one ortwo of our foreign men. Well, Saunders?"
"Well, I've done some good," Saunders said. "I have not found the cabmanwe want, but I've got on the track of another who can tell me somethinguseful. He's a night man, and he is waiting down in the hall for you atthis moment, sir."
"I think I'll go along, if you don't mind," Berrington suggested.
Field had no objection to make, and together the two descended to thehall. A little, apple-faced, shrivelled-looking man was waiting forthem. There was no reason to ask his occupation--London cabman waswritten all over him in large letters.
"I can't tell you much, sir," he said. "It was just past two when Iheard the whistle here. I was waiting with my cab at the corner ofShepherd Street. It's out of my line a bit, but I pulled up there in thehopes of getting a return fare. When I heard the whistle I came up withmy cab, but I was just a shade too late. There was another cab beforeme, a black cab with a black horse, a rather swell affair. The driverwas wearing a fur coat and a very shiny top hat. We had a few words, butthe hotel porter told me to be off, and I went back to the stand where Istayed till just daylight. Nobody else left the hotel in a cab."
"This is important," Field muttered. "By the way, would you recognizethe hall porter again? You would! Then come this way and we will see ifyou can."
But the cabman was quite sure that the damaged man lying on the bed atthe top of the hotel was not the same one who had ordered him away a fewhours before. He was quite sure because the lights in the hotel porticowere still full on, and he had seen the hall porter's face quitedistinctly.
"A regular plant," Field exclaimed. "A clever thing indeed. Was theblack cab empty when it came up, or was there anybody inside it?"
"Somebody was inside it," was the prompt reply. "A pale gentleman, verylame he was. He tried to get out of the cab but the driver pushed himback, and he and the hall porter hoisted the big trunk on top of thecab. And that's all, sir."
Berrington listened intently. He was struggling with some confusedmemory in which the grey lady and Stephen Richford were all mixed uptogether. Suddenly the flash of illumination came. He smote his hand onhis knee.
"I've got it," he cried. "I've got it. The lame man of No. 100 AudleyPlace!"
The Slave of Silence Page 12
