CHAPTER IX
Mr. Gimblet lived in a flat in the neighbourhood of Whitehall. It wasa fad of his to be more comfortably housed than most solitary men. Thesituation was conveniently near to Scotland Yard, where officials weremuch in the habit of requiring to see him at odd moments. The view fromthe windows, overlooking the river, was delightful to one of cultivatedand artistic propensities, and the rooms, large and well-proportioned,were capable of displaying to advantage the old and valuable picturesand furniture with which it was the detective's delight to surroundhimself.
Much of his time was spent in curiosity shops, and he was among thefirst to discover that former happy hunting ground of the bargainseeker--the Caledonian market. Many an impatient member of the Force,sent round from the "Yard" to ask Mr. Gimblet's assistance in someobscure case, had, after kicking his heels for an hour or two in thehall, left the flat in desperation, only to meet the detective coming upthe stairs with a dusky, dust-covered picture in his hand, or hugging tohis breast a piece of ancient china.
The younger son of a Midland family, which had moderately enricheditself in the course of the preceding century by commercial transactionsin which a certain labour-saving machine for the weaving industries hadplayed a large part, Mr. Gimblet had received the usual public schooleducation, and had spent two or three subsequent years at Oxford. Hisartistic propensities had always been strongly marked, but his familyshowing much opposition to his becoming an artist, and he himself havinga modest idea of his own genius and doubting his ability to make his wayvery high up the ladder of success by the aid of talent which he knew tobe somewhat limited, he had ended by going into an architect's office,where he had worked with interest and enjoyment for several more years.It was by accident that he discovered his capacity for tracking the mostwary of criminals to his hiding place and for discovering the authorsof mysterious and deeply plotted crimes. It happened that a workmanemployed in the building of a house for which Gimblet had provided thedesign was found murdered in circumstances as peculiar as they weresinister. There appeared to be no clue to the author of the deed, andafter a week or two the official investigators had confessed amongthemselves that they were completely at a loss.
To Gimblet, visiting the scene of the crime in his capacity ofarchitect--but not without an unwonted and hitherto unknown quickeningof the pulse--a piece of board nailed upright where it should havebeen horizontal had proved immediately suggestive; and its removal hadbrought to light certain hastily concealed objects, which with oneor two previously unnoticed trifles had resulted in the capture andultimate hanging of the murderer.
This success had led the young man to feel an interest in othermysterious affairs of the same nature; and it was not long before hefound the task of assisting the police in such researches so muchmore profitable and engrossing than his work as an architect, that hegradually came to give more and more of his leisure to the attempt todiscover secrets and to solve problems which at first sight seemed tooffer no solution. By the time he was thirty there was scarcely a crimeof any importance that he was not called upon to assist in bringinghome to its perpetrator; and he had entirely abandoned the pursuit ofarchitectural learning for that of criminal mankind.
He refused an invitation to become attached to the official staff,although this was conveyed in terms that were in the highest degreeflattering, preferring to be at liberty to decide for himself whetheror no he should take up a case. It was the sensational and odd thatattracted him; and he found that quite enough of this came his way tomake his occupation an extremely profitable one.
Early on Tuesday afternoon Gimblet sat in his dining-room, contemplatingwith some satisfaction a large dish of strawberries and a pot of creamsent him by a Devonshire friend. He was finishing a luncheon which heconsidered well earned, as that morning he had discovered in a narrowback street in Lambeth, and purchased for a mere song, a little pictureblack with age and dirt, in which his hopeful eye discerned a crowdof small but masterfully painted figures footing it to the strains ofa fiddle upon the grass under a spreading tree. Gimblet told himselfthat it was in all probability from the brush of Teniers, and he hadpropped it on the dining-room mantelpiece so that in the intervals ofeating he could refresh his eyes as well as his body. Beside him laythe day's paper which he had hardly had time to read before going outthat morning. He heaped cream upon his strawberries, sprinkled them withsugar, and took, in succession, a spoonful of the mixture, a look at hispicture, and a glance at the paper. With a contented sigh he repeatedthe process.
At the moment he had no work in hand, and no one more thoroughly enjoyedan occasional loaf.
It was good, he felt, to have nothing to do for once; to have time toidle; to eat greedily delicious food; to spend as many hours as he chosein the dusty recesses of second-hand shops; to do a little paintingsometimes; even to be able to arrange beforehand to play a game of golf.Gimblet had an excellent eye, and had been rather good at games in earlydays. He seldom had time now and, if he did go down to a golf groundoccasionally in the afternoons, had to resign himself to play withanyone he could find, as he never knew till the last minute whether hewould be able to get away.
He thought of going this afternoon, and looked at his watch. Therewould be a train from Waterloo in half an hour. Just time to finish hisstrawberries and catch it. That picture would look well when he hadcleaned it. He took up the paper again. It must have been a fine sightlast night at Covent Garden. And what a list of singers. Gimblet, wholoved music, wished he had been there. "The Verterexes might have askedme to their box," he said to himself. "Life is full of ingratitude.After all I did for them."
And then it struck him that he had not done much for the Verterexesafter all, beyond nearly arresting Mr. Verterex by mistake for a murderhe had not committed.
Gimblet laughed.
Then his thoughts reverted lazily to the pleasures of loafing.
"I think I shall give up work," he said to himself. "Why not? I haveenough money put by to keep me, with economy, in moderate comfort.Not quite so many strawberries perhaps," he added regretfully, takinganother mouthful, "but what I want is leisure. Yes. I am decided I willdo no more work. Let the police catch its own burglars!"
He spoke aloud, and defiantly, addressing himself to the picture.
At that moment his servant came into the room.
"A gentleman very anxious to see you, sir," he said. "I have shown himinto the library."
"Ask him to come in here if he's in a hurry," said Gimblet. "I haven'tfinished lunch."
A minute later the man opened the door again, announcing:
"Major Sir Gregory Aberhyn Jones."
Major Sir Gregory Aberhyn Jones was a little man with a pink complexionand a small brown moustache. He was short and rather plumper than hecould wish, but carried himself very uprightly and with a great senseof his own importance, glaring at those who might be so obtuse as notimmediately to recognise it with such concentrated disapproval that itwas usual for the offenders to realise their mistake in the quickestpossible time. Behind a fussy, self-satisfied exterior he hid a fundof kindness and good nature seldom to be met with. Sir Gregory pridedhimself on his youthful appearance, was, in his turn, a source of somepride to one of the best tailors in London, took remarkable interest inhis ties and boots, trained his remaining hair in the way it should go,and, though he was sixty-five, flattered himself that he looked not aday over fifty-nine.
"I am in luck to find you, Mr. Gimblet," he said, advancing withoutstretched hand as Gimblet rose to receive him. "But this is a sadoccasion, a very sad occasion, I fear."
"Dear me," said Gimblet, "I'm sorry to hear that. But won't you sitdown? I thought as my man said you were in a hurry you would rather comein here than wait for me. May I offer you some strawberries? No? I'msorry I can't give you any wine, but I'm a teetotaller, you know. Don'thave any in the house. Afraid you'll think me faddy. And now that theservant has gone, may I ask what is the sad event which has given me thepleasure of seeing you?"
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"Bad habit, drinking water," commented Sir Gregory, seating himself inan arm-chair by the fire-place. "But nowadays young men have no heads.They can't stand it, that's what it is. Show them three or four glassesof port and they say it gives them a headache. Absurd, sir! The countryis rotten through and through. The men can't eat, they can't drink, theycan't even dance! They stroll about a ball-room now in a way that wouldmake you sick. In my days we used to valse properly. But they don'tdance the _deux-temps_ any more, I'm told. They say it makes them giddy!Giddy! Rotten constitutions, that's what we suffer from nowadays. It'sthe same with all this talk of reforming the army. Compulsory serviceindeed," the major snorted. "What should we want compulsory servicefor? In my day one Englishman was as good as twenty Germans or any kindof foreigner. At least he would have been if we'd had a European war,which as it happened was not the case while I was in the Service. Butnow there are actually people who think that if it comes to a fight itwould be an advantage for us to have as many men as the enemy. Theyought to be ashamed of themselves, if there's any truth in it. No, no,the army doesn't need reforming, take my word for it. There are a fewalterations which I could suggest in the uniforms which would make allthe difference in the world, but except for that, what I say is, letsleeping dogs lie."
Having delivered himself of these remarks, Sir Gregory felt in hispocket, drew forth a cigar case, selected a cigar and asked for a match.
"Did you come to persuade me to your views on compulsory service?" askedGimblet pleasantly as he continued to devour his strawberries, whichwere now nearly all gone. "Because I'm afraid it's no good. You can'tpossibly convince me that its adoption is not a vital necessity to thenation."
"I'm sorry to hear you think that," said the other, "for I have thehighest opinion of your intellect. Believe me, when you discovered thefrauds that were being perpetrated at the Great Continental Bank lastyear, I marked you down, Mr. Gimblet, as the man I should consult incase of need. And it is to consult you that I am here. I said it wasa sad occasion. Well, it is sad for me, but I am not yet, as a matterof fact, quite sure whether or no it is desperately so. What hashappened, in a word, is this. A lady to whom I am deeply attached hasdisappeared."
"Disappeared?" said Gimblet, pushing back his chair. He had eaten thelast of the strawberries. "May I ask who the lady is--a relation ofyours?"
"Not exactly. She is a Mrs. Vanderstein, for whom, as I have just said,I have a great regard, I may say an affection. In fact," said SirGregory, leaning forward and speaking in confidential tones, "I don'tmind telling you that she is the lady I have chosen to be the futureLady Aberhyn Jones."
"Indeed. You are engaged to marry her?"
"Not precisely engaged," admitted Sir Gregory, with a slightly troubledlook.
As a matter of strict accuracy, he had proposed to Mrs. Vandersteinabout three times a year ever since the death of her husband; but Mrs.Vanderstein, although tempted by his title, had already been the wifeof one man twice her age and did not intend to repeat the experiment.Still, his friendship was dear to her; he was the only baronet ofher acquaintance and she liked to have him about the house. He hadbeen a director on the board of one of her husband's companies, and,when introduced by him, her pretty face and amiable disposition hadquite captured Sir Gregory's heart, so that he had cultivated Mr.Vanderstein's society to such good purpose as to become a constanthabitue of the house in Grosvenor Street.
After Mr. Vanderstein's death he lost no more time than decency demandedin proposing to his widow; and, though she refused to marry him, andrefused over and over again, yet she did it in so sympathetic a mannerand was so kind in spite of her obstinacy that Sir Gregory believed herabsence of alacrity in accepting his hand to be prompted by anythingrather than a lack of affection. She treated him as her best friend andconsulted him on every question of business, to the wise conduct ofwhich her own shrewdness was a far better guide, and had imperceptiblyfallen into the habit of never making a decision of any importancewithout first threshing out the pros and cons in conversation with him.Nothing so strengthened her faith in the soundness of her own judgmentas his disapproval of any course she intended to adopt.
"For some reason," Sir Gregory continued after a pause, "Mrs.Vanderstein has never consented to an actual engagement. It is thatwhich makes me so uneasy now. Can it be--Mr. Gimblet, I give you my wordI feel ashamed of mentioning such a suspicion even to you--but can it bethat she has fled with another?"
He uttered the last words in such a tragic tone that Gimblet, though hefelt inclined to smile, restrained the impulse, and, summoning up allthe sympathy at his command, inquired again:
"Will you not explain the circumstances to me a little more fully? Whendid the lady vanish? Have you any reason to think she did not go alone?Was there some kind of understanding between you, and what did itamount to?"
"I will be perfectly frank with you," said Sir Gregory, "much thebest thing in these cases is to be absolutely candid. You agree withme there? I thought you would. At the same time where a lady isconcerned--you follow me? One must avoid anything that looks likegiving her away. But in this case there is really no reason why Ishould conceal anything from you. Mrs. Vanderstein has never acceptedmy proposals. On the contrary she has refused to marry me on each ofthe occasions when I have suggested it to her. You ask me why? My dearsir, I cannot reply to that question. Who can account for a woman'swhims? Not I, sir, not I. Nor you either; if you will allow me to sayso." Sir Gregory's hands and eyes were uplifted in bewilderment as heconsidered the inexplicable behaviour of woman in general and of Mrs.Vanderstein in particular. "But I have no doubt that in time she wouldhave reconsidered her decision," he went on puffing at his cigar, "thatis to say I _had_ no doubt until this morning."
"And what happened then?" asked the detective.
"I came up from Surrey, where I had been paying a week-end visit,"pursued his visitor, "arriving at my rooms at midday. My servant at onceinformed me that Mrs. Vanderstein had sent a telephone message yesterdayevening, begging me to go immediately to see her and adding that itwas most important. I only waited to change into London clothes, Mr.Gimblet, before I hurried to her house in Grosvenor Street. And when Igot there, what did I hear? 'Pon my soul," exclaimed Sir Gregory, takinghis cigar out of his mouth, "you might have knocked me down with afeather!"
"You heard that the lady had disappeared?"
"Exactly. Not been seen or heard of since last night. Drove away fromher own door, they tell me, in her own motor car; and has never comeback from that hour to this."
"Did she leave no word as to where she was going?"
"None whatever. She dined early, of course, on account of the opera."
"The opera! In that case what makes you think she didn't go there?"
"Of course she went. Didn't I say so? She drove off to Covent Garden andthat's the last that's been heard of her."
"You interest me," said Gimblet. "Was she not seen to leave the operahouse?"
"I don't know about that," said Sir Gregory. "I found the servants verymuch disturbed; and very glad they were, I may say, to see me."
"She has probably met with some accident and has been taken to ahospital," suggested Gimblet. "Have any inquiries been made?"
"I rather think they have been telephoning to the hospitals, but I toldthem not to communicate with the police till I had seen you. Wouldn'tdo, you know. She would dislike it extremely, especially if it turns outas I fear and she has gone off with some other man."
"I can't see why she should have done that," said Gimblet. "She washer own mistress, I suppose, and had no need to conceal her movements.Depend on it," he went on, for the anxiety on Sir Gregory's face movedhim to pity, "she will be found at one of the hospitals; and I adviseyou to make inquiries at them. A woman, alone as she was, would becarried to one of them if she were taken ill or met with a slightaccident that prevented her for the moment from giving her address."
"But she was not alone," urged Sir Gregory. "Miss Turner, her companion,was
with her, of course."
"Indeed," said Gimblet, "you said nothing of there being anyone withher. And what has Miss Turner to say on the subject?"
"She's not there. She's vanished too."
"Really," said the detective. "This is getting interesting. That twoladies should set out for Covent Garden opera house on a gala night andnever return from it, is, to say the least, slightly unconventional.Now, before we go any further," he went on quickly, "what do you wish meto do in the matter?"
"I want you to find Mrs. Vanderstein, naturally," returned Sir Gregory,staring at him in astonishment; "I feel the greatest anxiety on heraccount, the more so since you consider her likely to have met with anaccident."
"But if, as you seem to suspect, the lady has gone off deliberately,will she not be annoyed at our seeking her out? Will she not be angrywith you for trying to discover her movements if she wishes themunknown?"
"I daresay she'd think it dashed impertinent. But I can't help that.She may be in need of me; in fact," cried Sir Gregory with suddenrecollection, "I know she is! Don't I tell you she telephoned for melast night? A most urgent message. That proves she wishes for my helpin some matter of importance to her, and how can I assist her withoutknowing where she is?"
"As you say," said Gimblet, "it does look as if she did not wish toleave you unacquainted with her whereabouts. Well, I have nothing todo just now and if you wish me to make inquiries I will do so withpleasure, though I do not think it will prove to be an affair altogetherin my line."
"Thank 'ee. Thank 'ee," mumbled the old soldier with his cigar betweenhis teeth. "That's what I want. Now, how are you going to set about it?"
"I am going to ask you a few questions first. You have not yet furnishedme with that comprehensive clear account in which the trivial detailswhich look so unimportant and may yet be of such moment are neveromitted: the lucid narrative so dear to the detective's heart. I do notthink, if you will pardon my saying so, that I am likely to get it fromyou, Sir Gregory."
Sir Gregory glared, but said nothing; and Gimblet continued, with asmile:
"To begin with, who is Mrs. Vanderstein?"
"The widow of a Jewish money-lender." Sir Gregory spoke somewhatshortly. He considered Gimblet's remarks disrespectful.
"Rich, then?"
"Yes."
"Does she live alone in Grosvenor Street?"
"A young lady, Miss Barbara Turner, lives with her."
"And who is she?"
"She is the daughter of an old pal of Vanderstein's. A man who used totrain his racehorses at Newmarket. He was a bad lot and had to fly thecountry long ago. Dead now, I believe."
"Has Miss Turner any money of her own?"
"Old Vanderstein left her a good large sum, L30,000 I think it is, butMrs. Vanderstein has a life interest in it. The girl has nothing as longas she lives with Mrs. Vanderstein, who, however, I have no doubt, ismost generous to her."
"I suppose you know Miss Turner well? What is she like?"
"Oh, she's a very ordinary girl, rather pretty some people think,apparently. I don't admire the robust, muscular type that isfashionable nowadays. Mrs. Vanderstein is very fond of her."
"That means you don't like her yourself?"
Sir Gregory hesitated. It was not in him, really, to dislike anyonewithout very much provocation, but he always had an idea that Barbarawas laughing at him, and he cherished his dignity.
"I don't suppose there's any harm in the girl," he grunted at last.
"Has Mrs. Vanderstein the full control of her fortune?" asked Gimblet,after a quick look at him.
"I believe she has, absolutely. But if you think I was after her for hermoney," exclaimed Sir Gregory in an angry tone and half rising as hespoke, "you're dashed well mistaken!"
Gimblet hastened to reassure him on this point and he sat down again,still grumbling.
"It was Vanderstein's expressed wish that all the money shouldultimately be left to his nephew, young Joe Sidney," he explained, "andI am sure his widow would not disregard his ideas on that point."
The dining-room faced south-west, and the afternoon sun, creeping round,already shone full on the small square panes of the casement windows, sothat the temperature of the room was rapidly rising to an intolerablewarmth. Gimblet thought of the train that was to have carried him to thegolf links. It would have been unbearably hot in it, he told himself.And the disappearance of a wealthy lady from her house in Londonwas sufficiently unusual to excite his curiosity. Already his vividimagination was seething with guesses and speculations. His resolutionto do no more detective work was utterly forgotten.
"What is Mrs. Vanderstein like to look at?" he asked abruptly.
"She is quite young," began Sir Gregory, "about your own age, I shouldsay. She is not very tall and has dark hair and a perfect figure, notone of those great maypoles of women one sees about so much now, butbeautifully proportioned and just right in every way. She has wonderfulbrown eyes and a smile for every one. I think she is most beautiful,"concluded her old friend simply.
Gimblet got up.
"I will give instructions about having inquiries made at the hospitals,"he said, "though it does seem hardly likely that both ladies should havebeen hurt, without some news of it having come before now. And then letus go round to the house. I should like to see the servants and hearwhat they may have to tell. I hope there may, even now, be some tidingsawaiting you there."
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