been dead half an hour, itseemed plain that at the time she had alleged he had committed suicideat Monte Carlo he was still alive and well.
The room was undisturbed. Nothing appeared out of place. In the windowlooking down into Duke Street, that quiet thoroughfare so near the noisybustle of Piccadilly, and yet so secluded and eminently respectable,stood the writing-table, which he set up after his election, in order toattend to his correspondence. "I must send some letters to myconstituents and to the local papers now and then," he laughinglyexplained when I chaffed him about it. "Scarcely a day goes past butwhat I have to write, excusing myself from being present at some localtea-fight or distribution of school-prizes. To every sixpennymuffin-tussle I'm expected to give my patronage, so that they can stickmy name in red letters on the bill announcing the event. Politics are ahollow farce."
His words all came back to me now as I glanced at that table. Irecollected how merry and light-hearted he had been then, careless ofeverybody, without a single thought of the morrow. Yet of late a changehad certainly come upon him. In my ignorance I had attributed it to theweight of his Parliamentary honours, knowing that he cared nothing aboutpolitics, and had been forced into them by his uncle. Yet there mighthave been an ulterior cause, I reflected. Aline herself might have beenthe cause of his recent melancholy and despair.
She had evidently known him better than I had imagined.
Upon the table I noticed lying a large blue envelope, somewhat soiled,as if it had been carried in his pocket for a long time. It waslinen-lined, and had therefore resisted friction, and instead of wearingout had become almost black.
I took it up and drew out the contents, a cabinet photograph and a sheetof blank paper.
I turned the picture over and glanced at it. It was a portrait ofAline!
She had been taken in a _decollete_ dress, a handsome evening costume,which gave her an entirely different character from the plain dress shehad worn when we had first met. It was a handsome bodice, beautifullytrimmed; and her face, still childlike in its innocence, peered out uponme with a tantalising smile. Around her slim throat was a neckletconsisting of half a dozen rows of seed-pearls, from which some thirtyamethysts of graduated sizes were suspended, a delicate necklet probablyof Indian workmanship. The photograph was beautifully taken by thefirst of the Paris photographers.
There was no address on the envelope; the sheet of note-paper was quiteplain. Without doubt this picture had been in his possession someconsiderable time.
The detective, who had covered the dead man's face with a handkerchief,had passed into the bedroom and was searching the chest of drawers,merely out of curiosity, I suppose, when my eyes caught sight of a scrapof paper in the fireplace, and I picked it up. It was half-charred, butI smoothed it out, and then found it to be a portion of a torn letter.Three words only remained; but they were words which were exceedinglycurious. They were "_expose her true_..." The letter had been torn infragments and carefully burned even to this fragment, but it had onlyhalf consumed, and probably fallen from the bars.
At first I was prompted to hand it to the detective; but on reflectionresolved to retain it. I alone held a key to the mystery, and wasresolved to act independently with care and caution in an endeavour toelucidate the extraordinary affair.
In a few moments the officer made his re-appearance, saying--
"It's strange, very strange, that the valet doesn't come back. If he'snot here very soon, I shall commence to suspect him of having some handin the affair." Then, after a pause, during which his eyes were fixedupon the man whose face was hidden, he added, "I wonder whether, afterall, a crime has been committed?"
"That remains for you to discover," I replied. "There seems no outwardsign of such a thing. The doctor has found no mark of violence."
"True," he said shrewdly. Then, with his eyes fixed upon the carpet, hesuddenly exclaimed, "Ah! what's this?" and bending, picked up somethingwhich he placed in the hollow of his hand, exposing it to my view.
It was a purely feminine object. A tiny pearl button from a woman'sglove.
"A lady's been here recently, that's very evident. We must find out whoshe was."
"A lady!" I gasped, wondering in an instant whether Aline had calledupon him.
"The outer door is open all day, I think you said," he went on.
"Yes."
"In that case it is probable that if she came during this man Ash'sabsence, nobody would see her."
"Very probably," I said. "We can only wait until Ash returns."
"But it's already half an hour since you made the discovery, and nearlyan hour since the gentleman died; yet the man has not returned," thedetective observed dubiously.
At that moment we heard a footstep on the stair, but instead of the deadman's valet, an inspector in uniform entered. The detective brieflyexplained the circumstances in a dry, business-like tone, the inspectorwalked through the rooms with his hands behind his back, and after asurvey of the place, and a promise to send some men to remove the bodyto the mortuary, left again.
So startling had been the discovery, and so curious the whole of theevents of that morning, that I had scarcely felt any grief at the lossof my friend. It did not seem really true that Roddy Morgan, my verybest chum, was actually dead; cut off in a moment in the prime of hismanhood by some mysterious, but fatal, cause, which even the doctor hadnot yet decided.
As the minutes passed, slowly ticked out by the clock upon themantel-shelf, I could not help sharing with the detective some doubtsregarding Ash. Had he absconded?
If murder had actually been committed, then robbery was not the objectof the crime, for on the writing-table were lying a couple of five-poundnotes open, without any attempt at concealment. Roddy was always acareless fellow over money matters.
At last, at nearly half-past two, we heard the click of a key in thelatch, and there entered the man whom we had been awaiting so long.
He walked straight into the sitting-room, but when he saw us, drew backquickly in surprise, muttering--
"I beg pardon, gentlemen."
"No, come in," the detective said, and as he obeyed his eyes fell uponhis master, reclining there with his face covered with the silkhandkerchief.
"Good heavens, sir, what's happened?" he gasped, pale in alarm.
"A very serious catastrophe," the officer answered. "Your master isdead!"
"Dead!" he gasped, his clean-shaven face pallid in fright. "Dead! Hecan't be!"
"Look for yourself," the detective said. "He expired about noon."
Ash moved forward, and raising the handkerchief with trembling fingers,gazed upon the cold, set face of the man whom he had for years served sofaithfully and well.
"What can you tell us regarding the affair?" asked the detective, withhis dark eyes set full upon the agitated man.
"Nothing, sir. I know nothing," he answered.
"Explain what your master was doing when you left, and why you wentout."
"About eleven o'clock, when I was polishing his boots in the kitchen, hecalled me," answered the man, without hesitation. "He gave me a note,and told me to go to the departure platform of King's Cross Station, andwait under the clock there for a youngish lady, who would wear a bunchof white flowers in her breast. I was to ask her if she expected him,and if so, to give her the letter. I took a cab there, waited at thespot he indicated for two whole hours, but saw no one answering thedescription; therefore I returned."
"And the note?" asked the officer.
"Here it is," answered Ash, placing his hand in his coat-pocket, andproducing a letter.
The detective took it eagerly.
"It is not addressed," he remarked in surprise. Then, tearing it open,he took out the single sheet of note-paper.
There was no writing upon it. The paper was perfectly blank.
"This complicates matters," he said, turning to me. "The unknown ladywho had made the appointment at King's Cross evidently wished for ananswer in the affirmative or neg
ative. This was the latter. A blanksheet of paper, denoting that there was nothing to add."
"Extraordinary!" I ejaculated. Then addressing Ash, I asked: "When youleft your master what was he doing?"
"Sitting at the table, sir. He had his cheque-book open, for justbefore I went out he gave me a cheque for my month's wages. They wereoverdue a week, and I was hard up; so I asked for them."
"Did he hesitate to give you them, or did he make any remarks to leadyou to think he was financially embarrassed?" I inquired.
"Not at all, sir. He had forgotten, and added an extra sovereignbecause he had kept me waiting. My master always had plenty of money,sir."
"Do you remember him going to Monte
The Bond of Black Page 11
