CHAPTER XIX
It was close on eleven when the cab drew up before the door of Sidney'slodging in York Street, St. James's, and as luck would have it Sidneyhimself was standing on the doorstep, in the act of inserting hislatch-key in the lock. Gimblet saw himself recognised as he sprangout of the taxi, and saw also a look of unmistakable pleasure in therecognition.
"This man is as innocent as I am," he thought, as the young soldiergreeted him.
"Come in, do," Sidney said, "you're the very man I wanted to see. I wentto your flat this evening, but you'd just gone out, so the porter said.I am anxious to hear if you have any news of my aunt and Miss Turner."
He led the way upstairs as he spoke, and ushered the detective into asitting-room on the first floor, switching on the light as he did so.
Gimblet waited till the door was shut behind them, and then turned agrave face to his host.
"The news is very bad," he said slowly, and waited a moment to give timefor the significance of the words to sink in, and to prepare Sidney forwhat was to come.
"What has happened?" cried Sidney. "Are they hurt? Is Miss Turner----"
He stopped short, grasping the back of a chair.
"I don't know what has happened to Miss Turner," Gimblet said, "but Ihave terrible news of your poor aunt. Mrs. Vanderstein has been foullyand cruelly murdered. I come now from the discovery of her dead body."
"Murdered!" cried Sidney, "murdered! Who by? How? Where?" He sat downmechanically, and stared at Gimblet. "And Miss Turner? Have they killedher too?"
The detective repeated that at present he knew nothing of the youngerlady.
"Good God!" said Sidney, "what a dreadful thing."
Leaning his elbows on the table, he hid his face in his hands for a fewminutes, and Gimblet sat silent opposite him, waiting till he shouldrecover from the first shock of the news.
When Sidney raised his head again the face he disclosed was pale anddrawn.
"Poor Aunt Ruth," he said. "Poor thing, poor thing. To think that sheshould be dead. I can hardly realise it, you know. She has been killedfor her jewels, I suppose, after all. The devils! You haven't caughtthem, have you?" and, as Gimblet only shook his head: "How can such athing be possible here in civilised London? And to think of that beastlyold raven, Chark, going about croaking as he has been, and hinting thatI'd killed her! To think of his being right after all! I don't meanabout my killing her," he added, "but there it is, she's dead; andI come into her money just in time to save me from ruin. I hate thethought of it!" He was talking to himself more than to his listener, andGimblet let him talk. "I almost wish she had altered her will," he wenton, "it's a beastly notion: her death being my profit, you know. And Isuppose they'll say I've murdered her all the more now?" He looked upinterrogatively; then, as he received no answer, his expression changedand he started up, alert and wide awake once more. "I say," said he,"do you think I did it, too?"
Gimblet hesitated a moment before answering.
"As a matter of fact," he said at last, "I do not. I don't think sofor a moment. But that is merely my personal opinion and, to tell youthe truth, I think it will be just as well if you can account for yourmovements since Monday to the satisfaction of more people than myself. Iought to suspect you--it's my business to suspect every one--but, as Isay, I don't."
"I daresay things do look rather black against me," Sidney said; "it'smy fault for not having bothered to defend myself. You see, it seemsso eccentric to me that anyone should think such a thing. It seems soimpossible, and absurd, if you don't mind my saying so. One forgets thatother people don't know what one is capable of as one does oneself, andit never struck me yesterday that you, or Sir Gregory either, mightsuspect me. I did go and see the editor of the worst of the newspapers,and explained things to him, and told him to let old Chark know he waswrong. You may have noticed he's eaten his words in to-day's paper.But I didn't think it necessary to say anything to anyone else. Yousee, I've got what you call an alibi. I was in the country from Mondayevening till yesterday morning. I met a pal almost on Aunt Ruth'sdoorstep when she turned me out of the house, and he got me to go offwith him down to his house near Ascot to play golf, and I was down theretill Wednesday. I had only just come back, in fact, when I came to seeyou. I didn't know about my aunt's disappearance till I read it in thetrain coming up; my friend came up at the same time and stayed with metill I left him at your door. It's waste of time suspecting me; I admitthat it looks as if I ought to have murdered the poor dear, but in viewof the facts that theory doesn't hold water."
"I'm very glad to hear what you say," said Gimblet, "and I wish you'dtold me before, though I never really thought you had any directknowledge of the affair. Still, you must confess, Mr. Sidney, that youwere not quite open with me: there was something which you knew, andwhich you kept to yourself when we talked about it."
"I'm blessed if there was!" cried Sidney. "What was it?"
For answer Gimblet took Barbara's telegraph form out of his notebook andhanded it to the young man.
"You didn't tell me you had received this telegram from Miss Turner," hesaid, "not even though I quoted most of its contents to you by way of ahint."
Sidney took the form, and stared at it for a moment.
"It is her writing," he said at last. "I wonder what the deuce shemeant."
He, also, produced a folded paper from his pocket and pushed it acrossthe table to the detective.
It was the message as he had received it.
"You will observe," he said, "that there is no signature. How was Ito know who it came from? As a matter of fact, I guessed, or at leastthought it possible she had sent it, as no one else cares whether Igo to blazes or not. But I've no idea whatever why she chose to thinkI should get some money or good news on Wednesday. I need hardlysay that I didn't. And I saw no reason to speak to you of what onlyconcerns a young lady and myself. It can have no possible bearing on herdisappearance, or that of my aunt."
"You think not?" Gimblet looked at him oddly.
"How could it? I can't imagine what connection there could be. Butof course you're the sort of fellow who can read the secret of darkmysteries in anything, from the Tower Bridge to a baked potato, aren'tyou? So perhaps there's some occult inference that I fail to draw. Bythe way, you've not told me much yet. How did you discover the murder,and where?"
"I found the poor lady's body buried in a house in the north of London,"said Gimblet, "No. 13 Scholefield Avenue. As to how I discovered it,it was by the help of two or three facts from which I was able to drawcertain inferences."
"I wish you would tell me all about it."
"Well," said Gimblet, "as Sir Gregory told you over the telephonethis morning, I heard, as a result of the advertisement I gave youyesterday to have inserted in the papers, that the two ladies were seenby an actress on Monday night, standing under a board 'To Let,' beforea detached house in some street on the way to Carolina Road. I wasunable to find that street yesterday, and it was not until I could gethold of the cabman who had driven the actress that I ascertained thatScholefield Avenue was the only street he had passed through on Mondaynight which contains detached houses. I went there at once and foundout that No. 13 had recently been let, the board having been removedon Tuesday morning. I rang the bell, but no one came to the door, soafter getting the name of the house agent from a neighbour I went to theoffice and interviewed the agent. From him I learnt that the house hadonly been let since Monday, and that the tenant was a man named Westwho had been ready to pay a high rent for immediate possession, and whogave out that he was a recluse, desiring nothing so much as solitude andprivacy. The agent happened to have a spare key of No. 13 ScholefieldAvenue and he sent his clerk down with me to open the door.
"As soon as I got in I ran over the house with my servant, who as wellas Sir Gregory had accompanied me, but there was no one to be seen init, and so I proceeded to make a careful and searching examination. Notto weary you with details, I soon found a considerable number of smallpaste
spangles, or imitation diamonds, such as are sewn on to the moreelaborate and gorgeous kinds of ladies' evening dresses. As I foundseveral of these on the staircase between the hall and the drawing-roomand a good many more in the drawing-room itself, but none in any otherpart of the house, I thought it was likely that, if they came off Mrs.Vanderstein's gown, this was the only room she had visited. There was,of course, the possibility that they had fallen from the dress of someone who had been in the room before the place was let, but I set againstthis the improbability of the mistress of the house or her friends beingrich people who would wear such expensively ornamented materials, andalso the fact that your aunt's maid in describing her toilette to me hadspoken of it as '_diamantee_.'
"The next discovery was a most alarming one. On moving the sofa I sawbeneath it a large stain in the carpet, which various indicationsassured me was the result of some acid that had been upset. From thenature of the damage I was pretty certain that it had been caused bysulphuric acid or vitriol. Now this is a strange thing to find tracesof in a lady's drawing-room, and when you find it in an empty housewhich a young and beautiful lady has been seen to enter, but which shehas never been seen to leave, and when you further reflect that thedisappearance of this lady appears to be complete, and on the factthat when last seen she was wearing a fortune in jewellery, one of twoconclusions appears inevitable, unless you assume that all these factsare entirely unconnected and the result of pure coincidence. Assume themon the contrary to be related to each other, and you are led, as I say,to consider two possibilities. So I asked myself at once whether Mrs.Vanderstein had been decoyed to the house by some demented creature benton assuaging a mad jealousy by throwing vitriol at her, or whether shehad been induced to visit it to satisfy the still more fatal greed ofa robber. And the more I looked at it, the more likely it seemed thatthe poor lady had been murdered for her jewels and that the vitriol wasused to make the recognition of her body, if it should be discovered,a negligible danger. A few minutes later I came across a powder puffperfumed with the peculiar scent your aunt was in the habit of using--Idaresay you know it--and this dispelled any doubts I still had as to herhaving been in the room.
"I still hoped against hope, however, that she might have left italive, and I found some evidence downstairs which led me to think shehad been locked in one of the lower rooms for a time; but if so it musthave been before she was taken up to the drawing-room. In the librarya pane of the window was broken, no doubt by some one trying to escapeor attract attention, and obviously it had been done by a woman, as aman could have opened the window, which was so stiff as to require morethan a woman's strength. The broken glass had been carefully removedfrom the frame, so that, but for the draught, it might well have passedunnoticed.
"That it had been broken since the letting of the house was clear, sinceI found a dustpan full of broken glass, which would not have been leftso by the landlord's servants, or by the charwoman who cleaned up aftertheir departure. The sight of that dustpan filled me with hopes thatwere doomed to disappointment. Nothing offers a better ground for theimpression and retention of finger marks than a piece of shining metal,and I expected to find a whole collection on the tin surface of thepan. But to my astonishment and disgust I could not find a single one;and this strengthened my opinion that I had to deal with deliberatecrime, and that of no ordinary stamp, for it was plain that not only hadsome one cleaned and polished the dustpan after using it, but that theperson who had done so had worn gloves. And it was the same all over thehouse. Not a finger-print to be seen, except in the room with the brokenpane, on the white painted door of which I found several distinct marksof fingers. What more likely than that the poor lady, finding herselflocked into a strange room, should have broken the window and beatenon the door with her hands in a sudden panic? In the same cupboard asthe dustpan was an old newspaper crumpled into a ball, which I found tocontain a handful or so of what appeared to be garden mould, and I couldnot at first imagine why it should be there, though I can account forit now. I had by this time been all over the house and made the mostthorough and exhaustive search, but the only other clue I could discoverwas a negative one.
"I must tell you that I had made sure that there was no article inthe house belonging to the tenant, Mr. West, as he called himself;everything was accounted for in the inventory and belonged to Mr. Mill,the owner. It became clear to me that West must have taken the place fora definite purpose other than the usual one of living in it, and since Iknew that it had been occupied on Monday evening, his object doubtlessfulfilled itself then in a terrible manner and he probably fled fromthe scene of his crime the moment he had, to the best of his ability,removed all traces of it. In his haste he had left the little spangleswhich had scattered themselves in the wake of his victim; and, though hecleaned up the dustpan as if he feared it should tell tales in spiteof the precautionary gloves, he seemed to have thought the broken glasscould not betray him, or else, perhaps, he had no time to dispose of it.But, if he had left nothing behind him, it looked as if he had takensomething away.
"The chairs and sofas in the drawing-room were provided with loosechintz covers, with one exception. There was a small sofa which stoodopposite the door naked and unashamed, in all the hideousness of theoriginal, ugly upholstery. Not only was the tapestry which coveredit of a meretricious nineteenth-century design, quite out of keepingwith the good taste displayed all over the house in the choice ofpattern and decoration, but the legs and arms, which were very much inevidence, were made of brown varnished wood peculiarly objectionable inappearance. It seems to me in the last degree unlikely that in a roomso full of beauty and quiet refinement this one thing should have beenallowed to flaunt its vulgarity, and hold the eye of the visitor withan awful fascination. I felt convinced that West was responsible forits nakedness, and it was quite likely that he, a man doubtless devoidof any artistic sense, would imagine that the absence of that covermight pass unnoticed, as the tapestry resembled the chintzes in generalcolouring."
"But why should he remove it? What could he want with a loose chintzsofa cover?" asked Sidney, as the detective paused.
"I asked myself these questions," continued Gimblet, "and I saw thatthere were only two explanations which met all the facts. It might bethat the chintz bore traces of his crime that at all costs must bedestroyed; it might be, for instance, stained with blood. But in thatcase he would probably have tried to burn it; that would be a difficultjob, and there was no sign of a fire having been lighted lately in anyof the grates. No coal in the cellar and no firewood. He would haveneeded brushes and blacking to make all ship-shape again, and his gratecleaning would probably have been amateurish. Or he might have had ause for the chintz. It would be a handy thing to wrap a dead body inbefore carrying it out to the grave he would dig for it in the garden.For it seemed to me certain that after killing his victim he would haveburied her in the garden. There was a toolshed at the end of it, and Ihunted there for a spade that should show signs of recent use; but to mysurprise there was no spade at all.
"By this time it was dark and late, and I returned to the house with theintention of deferring till to-morrow a search for the grave, which Ifelt sure of finding if it was there. I had little hope that the poorlady had escaped, but it was still quite possible that my theories weremistaken, and that even the signs of vitriol having been used werecapable of some other interpretation; and I gladly admitted to myselfthat I had no actual proof of foul play. And then, just as I was on thepoint of knocking off for the night, an elusive memory that had beentroubling me ever since I entered the house suddenly flashed clearlyinto conscious recollection, and I knew that I had made no mistake.
"When I opened the drawing-room door for the first time I had been awareof a faint odour, which I seemed to catch a whiff of as it passed me,so to speak, and to lose again immediately. During the second in whichI perceived it, its name was on my tongue, but before I could utter itthe smell was gone and with it my knowledge of what it was. I rackedmy brains to remember i
t without the least result; but, though I gaveup the attempt and concentrated every effort on investigating whatwas apparent to my other senses, the thing bothered me, and I did notentirely forget it. As I stood in front of the house after my vainsearch for a spade, it suddenly flashed into my mind what it was that Ihad smelt: it was the never to be mistaken smell of chloroform.
"I was staring absently up at the balcony of the drawing-room when theknowledge came to me, and in an instant another light dawned on me withequal suddenness. There was a great box or stand for plants on thebalcony, and the neighbour who had given me some information as to thetenant had remarked that the mistress of the house would be sad to seeher flowers so neglected. Indeed, they were all faded and withered,and he had implied that it was for want of water. Now, the thoughtthat leapt into my brain as swift and as illuminating as lightning wasthis one: Why should the flowers die for want of water when we havehad constant rain for the last two days? Clearly it was not droughtthat they were suffering from. But how if the _soidisant_ West, havingcruelly murdered your unfortunate aunt, proceeded to uproot the flowersand to bury her, wrapped in the sofa cover, in the flower stand? It wasquite large enough for such a purpose, and if he had then replanted theflowers it was probable enough that they would feel the effects of hisattempt at gardening.
"I went up at once and put this theory to the test. I am very sorry tosay that it proved to be correct in every detail."
Gimblet ceased speaking, and Sidney, who had listened in sad silence,lifted his head, and asked a question.
"The vitriol? They had used it--as you thought?" His voice was hoarse,and his face stern and grim.
"Alas, yes."
"Hanging is too good for such brutes; but I will never rest till theyhang for it. Have you any idea who are the fiends who did this?"
"An idea? Say rather that I have a suspicion," returned Gimblet. "Surelyyou can see the direction in which the circumstances point?"
"Unless it was the chauffeur," said Sidney, "I can't imagine who canhave done it."
"I don't think there is anything in the theory that the chauffeur orany one of the servants had a hand in it. There are several thingswhich make that idea hardly worth considering. But there is one personagainst whom things look very black. Do you mean to say you can't seewho it is?"
"No, I can't," repeated Sidney.
"Mr. Sidney," said the detective slowly, "where do you suppose MissTurner is?"
"I only wish I knew," answered the young man; "it is horrible not toknow. Where do you think she can possibly be? Tell me the truth, Mr.Gimblet: do you believe she is dead?" He spoke harshly, and with avertedeyes.
"No," said Gimblet, "I don't think she is dead."
Something in his tone made Sidney look up. Gimblet was looking athim with a strange expression, and as their eyes met he turned awayuneasily. For a minute Sidney stared at him wonderingly, and then anincredulous enlightenment stole over him.
"You can't mean," he said slowly, "that you imagine she had anyknowledge of the attack on my aunt?"
Gimblet was silent; and his silence was more eloquent than words.
"But it is impossible," cried Sidney, "that anyone out of a lunaticasylum should think such a thing. You don't know her, Mr. Gimblet, sheis the sweetest, dearest girl. The most unselfish, the most devoted, theloyalest girl in the world! How can you hint at it? Oh, I know it isyour business to suspect people, but you go too far! I cannot hear aword against her."
Gimblet turned and faced him.
"Be reasonable, Mr. Sidney," he said, "and accept it as a fact that theyoung lady will be suspected. If she is innocent it will be better totry and clear her than to refuse to hear what there is to be said as toher possible complicity. I understand your feelings, but you must seethat there is nothing to gain by disguising the truth. It is because Ithought it possible that you might feel a keen interest in Miss Turnerthat I have told you I suspect her. I hope you may be able to help me toconvince myself of her innocence, and surely the best way to do that isto try and get at the truth."
"I will try and be reasonable, as you call it," said Sidney, after apause, "and I suppose by that you mean listening to your abominableaccusations. Well, let's hear your evidence, and if I can prevent myselffrom throttling you I will! More than that no man could say," he added,with an attempt at a smile. "And I feel a beast even to allow you tospeak of the thing."
"I am extremely sorry to have to do it," said Gimblet, "but no goodever came of shutting one's eyes to facts, and it's facts that make mesuspect Miss Turner. In the first place, there is the fact that shestands to profit by Mrs. Vanderstein's death to the tune of L30,000."
"That applies to me, too, only more so," interrupted Sidney.
"Yes, and I don't think it of much importance," admitted the detective."I mention it as one of the points which is outside the region ofspeculation, and therefore not negligible. The second fact is that youwere at your wits' end for money."
"I daresay! But what that's got to do with your suspecting Miss Turnerbeats me," cried Sidney.
"It's got this to do, though I'm afraid you will not like my alluding toyour most private affairs--Miss Turner is in love with you. We may callthat fact No. 3."
"There is absolutely no foundation for that statement," said Sidney,flushing hotly, while he could not but be conscious of a strangeacceleration in the beating of his heart.
"Is there not?" asked Gimblet, looking at him thoughtfully. "Well, wewill waive that point if you like. Let us say that Miss Turner has anunusually friendly feeling for you. So friendly that she would go toany length to provide you with the necessary funds. You yourself haveas good as told me so much. You cannot deny that she was the person whourged you to try to get the money by false pretences."
"I am sure she did not look at it in that light," protested Sidney,while inwardly he cursed himself for the slip by which, on the previousday, he had allowed the sex of his friend to escape him.
"I saw you with her in the Park last Sunday, did I not?" said thedetective; "I noticed her expression. I am rather an observant fellow inmy way, you know. I have only seen that look on the faces of people verymuch in love. I find I must go back to that, after all, in spite of yourobjection to the suggestion."
"I do object very much. Miss Turner has no such feelings for me, I amsure, and I can't let you impute them to her."
"I am afraid you must," said Gimblet tranquilly. "People who aremadly in love," he continued, "as I believe her to be, are capableof any sacrifice, of any heroism, or of any villainy. In that stateof exaltation they are apt to lose their sense of proportion, and toconfound extremes; they may see in the basest depths of infamy onlyanother aspect of noble heights of self-abnegation; if the objectof their affections is in danger, they may consider no expedient tooshameful if it can be made to provide a means of extricating him.
"There is nothing inherently impossible in imagining that Miss Turner,conscious of nothing but your need, blindly strove to supply it and wasin no mood to boggle at any feasible method. I don't know if you areaware of the character borne by her father. He was a man of the worstreputation: an utterly merciless and unscrupulous swindler. His daughtermay not have escaped the taint of heredity; it is, at all events,conceivable that her principles suffered from her early association withhim. He is said to have died in South America, where he was obliged tofly to escape his just deserts, but there is no proof at all that hereally did die.
"I know that I am for the moment dealing in theory, if I say, supposethis man to be secretly in London and in secret communication withhis daughter. Suppose she let him see how direly she needed moneyat this moment. Might not a scoundrel of his description seize theopportunity to persuade her to help him in some such nefarious businessas the robbery of Mrs. Vanderstein, and secure her silence, if not herassistance, in even a more dastardly business? To return to the realm offact; the order to the motor not to fetch the ladies from the opera wasgiven by Miss Turner. She ran back alone to tell the chauffeur, after
your aunt had gone into the theatre. She had previously sent you thiswire, in which she was very positive that the money you required wouldbe forthcoming.
"She was seen by Miss Finner standing at the door of the house inScholefield Avenue in the company of your aunt, and it is not too muchto presume that she subsequently entered it with her. There would beno imaginable motive to induce a thief or gang of thieves to decoyher to the house: she had no jewels to be deprived of. There would be,on the contrary, every reason why she should be prevented from goinganywhere near the place. Since, then, she assuredly went there on herown initiative, it seems probable that Mrs. Vanderstein was persuaded toaccompany her by the girl herself.
"To go back for the moment to speculation, one may imagine that itwas old Turner who masqueraded as West, the tenant, who is describedas a horsey-looking elderly man who had lived much in a hot climate.This accords with a description of Turner I took the trouble to obtainyesterday, with the exception of the beard or imperial worn by West,which he may easily have grown of late years. It may have been thegirl's father, therefore, who opened the door to the two women, andwho, once he had her safe inside, first locked your aunt in the librarywhile he finished his preparations upstairs, and then led her to thedrawing-room, as in times more in harmony with his deeds he might haveled her to the nearest tree.
"Finally, in support of this theory, or at least of Miss Turner'scomplicity in the affair, we have the facts that the two ladies werelast seen together, and that, while the one has been found robbed andmurdered, the other has departed without a word or a sign. It is onlytoo likely that she is half way to America. The ports are being watched,but by now it is probably too late."
Gimblet finished speaking and sat watching the face of the younger man.Sidney looked troubled, but his manner was confident as he gave hisopinion.
"If she has not been heard of," he said, "it is because for somereason she is unable to communicate with anyone. I have heard all yourarguments attentively, Mr. Gimblet, and I must confess that you havenot in the least convinced me that there is anything in your idea. Itall sounds very plausible, no doubt, but if you knew the young ladyas I have the pleasure of doing you would see that the whole thing isridiculous. No one can be what she is and act in the way you suggest.Her nature is such as to put it out of the question. I can only repeatthat the thing is ludicrously impossible, and that if you knew her youwould be the first to see it. However, I agree with you that the bestway of proving what I say is to find the real murderer. My only fear isthat to-morrow you may discover that she too has been killed and buriedin the garden."
"I am not afraid of that," said Gimblet, "because, as I tell you, ifher presence had not been desirable she would never have been near theplace. She would have been kept as unaware of its existence as you wereyourself. The first essential of such a plan as the murderer must haveconcocted would be to get hold of Mrs. Vanderstein alone and unsuspectedby anyone who was not a confederate."
Sidney made an impatient movement.
"I am absolutely convinced that Miss Turner had nothing whatever to dowith it," he said.
"Well," returned Gimblet as he rose to go, "I hope you are right andthat further investigations will lead me to share your view. If we canlay hands on Mr. West we shall get at the truth, and unless he is verycareful how he disposes of the jewels we are sure to catch him. Fromwhat I hear, Mrs. Vanderstein's rope of pearls is well known to everyjeweller in Europe; and, if he tries to sell so much as one of them,he'll find a very different sort of rope around his neck. Now I must beoff; they are expecting me at Scotland Yard."
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