The Hampstead Mystery

by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Rees

  CHAPTER XXI

  Rolfe went to Hyde Park next day and walked from the Tube stationto Holymead's house at Princes Gate. The servant who answered hisring informed him, in reply to his question, that Mrs. Holymead was"Not at home."

  "Do you know when she will be home?" persisted Rolfe, forestalling anevident desire on the servant's part to shut the door in his face.

  The man looked at Rolfe doubtfully. Well-trained English servant thoughhe was, and used to summing up strangers at a glance, he could not quitemake out who Rolfe might be. But before he could come to a decision onthe point a feminine voice behind him said:

  "What is it, Trappon?"

  The servant turned quickly in the direction of the voice. "It's aer--er--party who wants to see Madam, mademoiselle," he replied.

  "_Parti?_ What mean you by _parti_? Explain yourself, Trappon."

  "A person--a gentleman, mademoiselle," replied Trappon, determined to beon the safe side.

  "Open the door, Trappon, that I may see this gentleman."

  Trappon somewhat reluctantly complied, and a young lady stepped forward.She was tall and dark, with charming eyes which were also shrewd; she hada fine figure which a tight-fitting dress displayed rather too boldly forgood taste, and she was sufficiently young to be able to appear quitegirlish in the half light.

  "You wish to see Madame Holymead?" she said to Rolfe. Her manner wasengagingly pleasant and French.

  Rolfe felt it incumbent upon him to be gallant in the presence of thefair representative of a nation whom he vaguely understood placedgallantry in the forefront of the virtues. He took off his hat with acourtly bow.

  "I do, mademoiselle," he replied, "and my business is important."

  "Then, monsieur, step inside if you will be so good, and I will see you."

  She led Rolfe to a small, prettily-furnished room at the end of the hall,and carefully shut the door. Then she invited Rolfe to be seated, andasked him to state his business.

  But this was precisely what Rolfe was not anxious to do except to Mrs.Holymead herself.

  "My business is private, and must be placed before Mrs. Holymead," hesaid firmly. "I wish to see her."

  "I regret, monsieur, but Madame Holymead is out of town. She went lastweek. If you had only come before she went"--Mademoiselle Chiron lookedgenuinely sorry.

  Rolfe was a little taken aback at this intelligence, and showed it.

  "Out of town!" he repeated. "Where has she gone to?"

  She looked at him almost timidly.

  "But, monsieur, I do not know if I ought to tell you without knowing whoyou are. Are you a friend of Madame's?"

  "My name is Detective Rolfe--I come from Scotland Yard," replied Rolfe,in the authoritative tone of a man who knew that the disclosure was sureto command respect, if not a welcome.

  "Scotland? You come from Scotland? Madame will regret much that she hasmissed you."

  "Scotland Yard, I said," corrected Rolfe, "not Scotland."

  "Is it not the same?" Mademoiselle Chiron looked at him helplessly."Scotland Yard--is it not in Scotland? What is the difference?"

  Rolfe, with a Londoner's tolerance for foreign ignorance, painstakinglyexplained the difference. She looked so puzzled that he felt sure she didnot understand him. But that, he reflected, was not his fault.

  "So you see, mademoiselle, my business with Mrs. Holymead is important,therefore I'll be obliged if you will tell me where I can find her," hesaid. "In what part of the country is she?"

  Mademoiselle Chiron looked distressed. "Really, monsieur, I cannot tellyou. She is motoring, and I should have been with her but that I have _ungros rhume"_--she produced a tiny scrap of lace handkerchief and held itto her nose as though in support of her statement--"and she rings me onthe telephone from different places and tells me the things she doesneed, and I do send them on to her."

  "Where does she ring you up from?" asked Rolfe, eyeing MademoiselleChiron's handkerchief intently.

  "From Brighton--from Eastbourne--wherever she stops."

  "What place was she stopping at when you heard from her last?"

  "Eastbourne, monsieur."

  "And when will she return here?"

  "That, monsieur, I do not know. To-night--to-morrow--next week--she doesnot tell me. If Monsieur will leave me a message I will see that she getsit, for it is always me she wants, and it is always me that talks to her.What shall I tell her when next she rings the telephone? If Monsieur willstate his business I will tell Madame what he tells me. I am Madame'scousin by marriage--in me she has confidence."

  She spoke in a tone which invited confidence, but Rolfe was not preparedto go to the length of trusting the young woman he saw before him,despite her assurance that she was in the confidence of Mrs. Holymead. Herose to his feet with a keen glance at Mademoiselle Chiron'shandkerchief, which she had rolled into a little ball in her hand.

  "I cannot disclose my business to you, mademoiselle," he saidcourteously. "I must see Mrs. Holymead personally, so I shall call againwhen she has returned."

  "But, monsieur, why will you not tell me?" she asked coaxingly. "You area police agent? Have you therefore come to see Madame about the case?"

  Rolfe showed that he was taken aback by the direct question.

  "The case!" he stammered. "What case?"

  "Why, monsieur, what case should it be but that of which I have so oftenheard Madame speak? Le judge--the good friend of Monsieur and MadameHolymead, who was killed by the base assassin! Madame is disconsolateabout his terrible end!" Mademoiselle Chiron here applied thehandkerchief to her eyes on her own account. "Have you come to tell herthat you have caught the wicked man who did assassinate him? Madame willbe overjoyed!"

  "Why, hardly that," replied Rolfe, completely off his guard. "But we'reon the track, mademoiselle--we're on the track."

  "And is it that you wanted me to tell Madame?" persistedMademoiselle Chiron.

  "I wanted to ask her a question or two about several things," said Rolfe,who had determined to disclose his hand sufficiently to bring Mrs.Holymead back to London if she had anything to do with the crime. "I wantto ask her about some letters that were stolen--no, I won't saystolen--letters that were removed from Riversbrook. I have been informedthat even if these letters are no longer in existence she can give thepolice a good idea of what was in them."

  The telephone bell in the corner of the room rang suddenly. MademoiselleChiron ran to answer it, and accidentally dropped her handkerchief on thefloor in picking up the receiver.

  Mademoiselle Chiron began speaking on the telephone, but she stoppedsuddenly, staring with frightened eyes into the mirror at the other sideof the room. The glass reflected the actions of Rolfe at the table.Seated with his back towards her, he had taken advantage of her beingcalled to the telephone to examine her handkerchief, which he had pickedup from the floor. He had produced from his pocketbook the scrap of laceand muslin which he had found in the murdered man's hand. He had the twoon the table side by side comparing them, and Mademoiselle Chiron noticeda smile of satisfaction flit across his face as he did so. While shelooked he restored the scrap to his pocket-book, and the pocket-book tohis pocket. Hastily she turned to the telephone again and continued, in avoice which a quick ear would have detected was slightly hysterical.

  Then she hung up the receiver and turned to Rolfe.

  "But, monsieur, you were saying--"

  Rolfe handed the handkerchief to its owner with a courtly bow which heflattered himself was equal to the best French school.

  "I picked this up off the floor, mademoiselle. It is yours, I think?"

  "This?" Mademoiselle Chiron touched the handkerchief with a daintyforefinger. "It is my handkerchief. I dropped it."

  "It is very pretty," said Rolfe, with simulated indifference. "I supposeyou bought that in Paris. It does not look English,''

  "But no, monsieur, it is quite Engleesh. I bought it in the shop."

  "Indeed! A London shop?" inquired Rolfe, with equal indifference.

/>   "The _lingerie_ shop in Oxford Street--what do you call it--Hobson's?"

  "I'm sure I don't know--these ladies' things are a bit out of my line,"said Rolfe, rising as he spoke with a smile, in which there was morethan a trace of self-satisfaction.

  He felt that he had acquitted himself with an adroitness which Crewehimself might have envied. He had made an important discovery andextracted the name of the shop where the handkerchief had been boughtwithout--so he flattered himself--arousing any suspicions on the part ofthe lady. Rolfe knew from his inquiries in West End shops thathandkerchiefs of that pattern and quality were stocked by many of thegood shops, but the fact that he had found a handkerchief of this kind inthe house of a lady who had abstracted secret letters from the murderedman's desk, and had, moreover, discovered the name of the shop where shebought her handkerchiefs, convinced him that he had struck a path whichmust lead to an important discovery.

  Mademoiselle Chiron followed Rolfe into the hall and watched hisdeparture from a front window. When she saw his retreating figure turnthe corner of the street she left the window, ran upstairs quickly, andknocked lightly at the closed door.

  The door was opened by Mrs. Holymead, who appeared to be in a state ofnervous agitation. Her large brown eyes were swollen and dim withweeping, her hair had become partly unloosened, her face was white andher dress disordered. She caught the Frenchwoman by the wrist and drewher into the bedroom, closing the door after her.

  "What did he want, Gabrielle?" she gasped. "What did he say? Has he comeabout--_that_?"

  Gabrielle nodded her head.

  "Gabrielle!" Mrs. Holymead's voice rose almost to a cry. "Oh, what are weto do? Did he come to arrest--"

  "No, no! He was not so bad. He did not come to do dreadful things, butjust to have a little talk.''

  "A little talk? What about?"

  "He wanted to see you, and ask you one or two little questions. I puthim off. He was like wax in my hands. Pouf! He has gone, so why trouble?"

  "But he will come again! He is sure to come again!"

  "No doubt. He says he will come again--in a week--when you return."

  Mrs. Holymead wrung her hands helplessly.

  "What are we to do then?" she wailed.

  "We will look the tragedy in the face when it comes. _Ma foi!_ What haveyou been doing to yourself? For nothing is it worth to look like _that_."With deft and loving fingers Gabrielle began to arrange Mrs. Holymead'shair. "We will have everything right before this little police agentreturns. We will show him he is the complete fool for suspecting you knowabout the murder."

  "But what can you do, Gabrielle?" asked Mrs. Holymead.

  She looked at Gabrielle with her large brown eyes, as though she wereutterly dependent on the other's stronger will for support andassistance. Mademoiselle Chiron stopped in her arrangement of Mrs.Holymead's hair and, bending over, kissed her affectionately.

  "_Ma petite_," she said, "do not worry. I have thought of a plan--oh, amost excellent plan--which I will myself execute to-morrow, and thenshall all your troubles be finished, and you will be happy again."