The Four Faces: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER VI

  THE HOUSE IN GRAFTON STREET

  One afternoon, some days later, I was sitting in my flat in South MoltonStreet, smoking a pipe and carelessly skimming an evening paper, when myman brought me some letters which had just arrived.

  Several I tossed aside unopened--I recognized the handwritings and wasin no haste to absorb the contents of epistles from acquaintances whosecompany, at the best of times, "bored me stiff," as some Americans say.But the letter was there that I had expected in the morning, and at onceI tore it open.

  Dulcie wrote chiefly about herself--which was all I wanted tohear--about her father and "Aunt Hannah," while two pages she devoted toher little brother Dick, of whom she was inordinately fond.

  Dick, she said, had shown the utmost pluck and endurance throughout hispainful convalescence after his rough-and-tumble with the burglars. Shetold me how he had from the first sat up in bed with his "honourablewounds" upon him, bandaged and swathed, joking and making light of theoccurrence now, as perhaps only the best breed of English schoolboyknows how. One thing still puzzled both little Dick and herself, and forthat matter the whole family, she said--who could the woman be to whomthe thieves had alluded? No word, added Dulcie, had as yet beenforthcoming as to the whereabouts of any of the valuables stolen on thatmemorable day, either family jewels or plate, and the detectives atScotland Yard acknowledged that so far matters were at a deadlock.

  Further on in her newsy letter Dulcie made mention of the fascinatingwidow staying at the Rook Hotel in Newbury, and of her wish to know herbetter. She added incidentally that Mrs. Stapleton had been away sincethe day after the meet at Holt Manor, and that no one knew where she wasstaying. She hoped she would soon be back, she said, as she wished somuch to renew her acquaintance, and to strengthen it. Dulcie then spokeof her Aunt Hannah, who had been particularly amusing and crochety oflate, but added that she was really such a "dear" at heart that peopleall loved her when they came to know her well. "My dear," she wrote,"Aunt Hannah has surpassed herself lately. You know what vigorous likesand dislikes she takes, all of a sudden? Well, now Auntie has conceivedan inordinate aversion for poor Mrs. Stapleton, and seems inclined notonly to give her the cold shoulder, but to hound her down by saying thenastiest things about her, just as the other people in the county didwhen she first came to live among us. I rather believe that she had thisfeeling all along, more or less, but now she seems positively to hateher--though she confesses that she doesn't know why she does! Isn't thatlike Auntie? And now she has been asking me never to notice Mrs.Stapleton, and not to speak to her again when she returns, in fact todrop the acquaintance entirely--and that just as we have called, andI've tried to be nice to her out hunting, and we've had her to dine; Itold you how taken father was with her, and how he took her all over thehouse and showed her simply everything. I really don't see why I shoulddraw back now. Nor does father. As a matter of fact, I don't see how wecan--it has gone too far--and just to satisfy one of dear old Auntie'swhims! She has a good many, as you know, Mike. There is just this onething, however, that sometimes one of her unaccountable whims ordislikes turns out to have been well grounded."

  My darling then went on to speak of her father and of the happiness ourengagement afforded him, happiness tempered, as she could not helpknowing, by the sorrow her leaving him would bring to him, for the mostwonderful confidence and companionship existed between father anddaughter. This sadness, Dulcie went on, came out almost pathetically inher father's even added tenderness to her--he whose tenderness andaffection had always been such a wonderful thing to her since herearliest childhood. But now, she said, her father sometimes followed herabout the house and grounds when she had been absent from him for ashort time, seeking occasion for talks with her, giving her hisconfidence, and consulting her wishes on matters about the gardens andstables in a way that was quite touching. It was as though, now that theparting was so soon to take place, he could not get enough of his onlydaughter's company, as if the old man clung to her more thanever before.

  The closely-written sheets dropped from my hand on to my knee. "Ah, myown little girl," I thought, "who wouldn't miss you--sadly, yes,terribly? Your delightful presence, the truth and honour that seem to bemanifest in your smallest gesture, in every glance from your clear eyes;the companionship of your fearless intellect cutting throughconventionalities like a knife, arriving at the right point with theunerring instinct of a woman, yet with the _naivete_ of a child."

  Memories crowded in upon me, memories of all my happy days with Dulciein the country--in the hunting field, in the gardens about her home, ofafternoons spent among the books and prints and pictures in her father'squiet, book-lined library at Holt, of the evenings in the drawing-roomat the piano, of hours of pleasant talk in the beautiful conservatoriesand on the grassy terraces, and by the lake-side below the tennis lawn.What, I thought, would life be like when at last I had her always withme, brightening my life, filling my own home--our home--with laughterand with the music of her voice! Again and again she rose to myenthralled vision, and ever she was Youth and Love, the vision crownedwith the wonder of her nebulous, brown-gold hair as she gazed at me outof her sweet, clear eyes in which I seemed still to read unfathomablepurity and truth.

  It is a terrible thing to be in love. Some savage races there are whichhold to the belief that the spirits of lovers changing places, give riseto the feverish mental upheaval which we prosaically term "falling inlove," the spirits being restless at their enforced imprisonment andunsatisfied until they have returned each to its appointed sphere. Nowthat I have recovered from the affliction I sometimes wonder if it mightnot with advantage be treated as ordinary maladies and some passionsare--with the aid of drugs. Perhaps some day it will be. Certainly itsoon will be if the eugenists get their way.

  And, thinking of the letter I had just read, which now lay folded in mypocket, my memory drifted backward. For since the day I had met JackOsborne at Brooks's on his return from Nigeria, many incidents hadoccurred which puzzled me. Trifling incidents individually, no doubt,yet significant when considered in the concrete. There was the incident,for instance, of Sir Harry Dawson's declaring in a letter written toLord Easterton from the Riviera that he had never met Gastrell, neverheard of him even, though Lord Easterton had Gastrell's assurance thathe knew Sir Harry Dawson and had intended to call upon him on theevening he had unwittingly entered Lord Easterton's house, which wasnext door.

  Then there was something not quite normal in Gastrell's posing one dayas a married man, the next as a bachelor; also in his pretending at onemoment that he had never seen Osborne and myself before, yet admittingat the next that he had met us. True, he had advanced an apparentlysound reason for this _volte-face_ of his, but still--

  The affair, too, in Maresfield Gardens. That surely was an "incident"which bordered on a mystery. I felt I should never forget ourextraordinary reception that night--the "black out" house, as stagemanagers say; our repeated ringing the door bell; the slow unlocking andunbolting the door; the cautious inquiry; our wait in the darkness afterour admission; the discovery of that horrible serpent with its chillingeyes; the locked door; the sudden entry of Gastrell, and his oddconversation.

  Then the conflagration which had occurred a few days later, and thesubsequent discovery among the _debris_ of a body, charred and stabbed;the apparent ignorance of everybody as to whose body it was; thestatement made by the police that none knew the names of the sub-tenantswho had occupied that house when the fire had broken out, or what hadsince become of them--the actual tenant was in America. Without adoubt, I reflected as I knocked the ashes out of my pipe into the grate,something "queer" was going on, and I had inadvertently got myselfmixed up in it.

  The last "incident" to puzzle me had been that momentary glance ofmutual recognition exchanged between the woman I knew only as "Mrs.Gastrell"--or "Jasmine Gastrell," as Osborne always spoke of her--andMrs. Stapleton, and their subsequent apparent entire lack ofrecognition. That, certainly, had been mos
t odd. What could have beenthe cause of it? Why, knowing each other, did they all at once feign tobe strangers? And the extraordinarily calm way Mrs. Stapleton had,looking me full in the eyes, assured me that she had never before evenseen the woman she had just smiled at. Lastly--though this was of lessconsequence--how came Jack Osborne to be dancing attendance upon thewoman I knew as "Mrs. Gastrell," when he had assured me as we drove awayin the taxi from Maresfield Gardens that night that though he admiredher he mistrusted her?

  I had filled my pipe again, and, as I puffed at it to set it going, onemore thought occurred to me. And this thought, I must say, perplexed meas much as any.

  Hugesson Gastrell was said to have spent the whole of his life, untilsix months previously, in Australia and Tasmania. If that were so, thenhow did he come to have so large a circle of friends, or at any rate ofacquaintances--acquaintances, too, of such distinction and highposition? Was it possible he could in a few months have come to know allthese peers and peeresses and baronets and knights, distinguishedmusicians and actors and actresses, leading members of the learnedprofessions, and all the rest of the Society crowd who had thronged hishouse that evening?

  Suddenly something I had been told at the club an hour or so beforeflashed back into my mind. Another club member besides Easterton had, itseemed, become acquainted with Gastrell through Gastrell's calling atthe wrong house--by mistake.

  A coincidence? Possibly. And yet--

  I sucked meditatively at my pipe.

  Suddenly the telephone rang. Easterton was speaking.

  "What!" I exclaimed, in answer to the startling information he gave me."When did he disappear?"

  "Where was he last seen?"

  "No, he has not been here. I haven't seen him since Gastrell'sreception."

  "Oh, yes, I saw you there."

  "Yes, very extraordinary."

  "No."

  "Oh, no."

  "Good. I'll come to you at once. Are you at Linden Gardens?"

  "Very well, I'll come straight to the club."

  Mechanically I hung up the receiver. Curious thoughts, strangeconjectures, wonderings, arguments, crowded my brain in confusion. Fivedays had passed since the date of Gastrell's reception, when I had seenJack Osborne at supper with the woman he had said he mistrusted. Sincethat evening, according to what Easterton had just told me, nobody hadseen or heard of him. He had not been to his chambers; he had not leftany message there or elsewhere; he had not written; he had neithertelegraphed nor telephoned.

  Where was he? What was he doing? Could some misfortune have befallenhim? Had he--

  I did not end the sentence my mind had formed. Instead I went out,hailed a taxi, and in a few minutes was on my way to Brooks's.

  Outside a house in Grafton Street a group of people stood clusteredabout the door. Others, on the pavement opposite, stared up at thewindows. Two policemen upon the doorstep prevented anyone from entering.

  Leaning forward as my taxi sped by, I peered in through the open door ofthe house, then up at the windows, but there was nothing out of theordinary to be seen. Further down the street we passed three policemenwalking briskly along the pavement in the direction of the house.

  "What's the commotion in Grafton Street?" I inquired of my driver as Ipaid him off at Brooks's.

  "I've no idea, sir," he answered. "Looks as though there was trouble ofsome sort." Another fare hailed him, so our conversation ended.

  I found Easterton awaiting me in a deserted card-room.

  "This may be a serious affair, Berrington," he said in a tone of anxietyas I seated myself in the opposite corner of the big, leather-coveredsettee. "Here five days have gone by, and there isn't a sign of JackOsborne, though he had not told anybody that he intended to absenthimself, had not even hinted to anybody that he had any idea ofdoing so."

  "You say he has not been seen since Gastrell's reception?"

  "Not since then--five days ago. The fellows here at the club are gettingquite alarmed about him--they want to advertise in the newspapers fornews of his whereabouts."

  "That means publicity, a shoal of inquiries, and maybe a scandal," Ianswered thoughtfully. "If Jack has intentionally disappeared for a dayor two and all at once finds himself notorious he will be furious."

  "Just what I tell them," Easterton exclaimed; "I wish you would back meup. You see, Jack hasn't any relatives to speak of, and those he haslive abroad. Consequently the fellows here consider it is what theAmericans call 'up to them' to institute inquiries, even if suchinquiries should necessitate publicity."

  I pondered for a moment or two.

  "You know," I said, "Jack is a curious fellow in some ways--some callhim a crank, but he isn't that. Still, he is something of a 'character,'and absolutely unconventional. I remember his making a bet, once, thathe would punch out a boastful pugilist at the National SportingClub--no, it wasn't at the N.S.C., it was at a place downEast--'Wonderland,' they call it."

  "And did he do it?" Easterton asked.

  "Did he? By heaven, the poor chap he tackled was carried out unconsciousat the end of the second round--Jack's bet was with Teddy Forsyth, andhe pocketed a couple of ponies then and there."

  "Did he really? Capital! And Teddy's such a mean chap; he didn't likepartin', did he?"

  "Like it? He went about for the rest of the night with a face like afuneral mute's."

  "Capital!" Lord Easterton repeated. "But to return to the point, Jack'seccentricities and vagaries can have nothin' to do with hisdisappearance."

  "Why not? How do you know?"

  "Well, why should they? I only hope he hasn't gone and made a fool ofhimself in any way that'll make a scandal or get him into trouble. In away, you know, we are connections. His mother and mine were secondcousins. That's really why I feel that I ought to do somethin' to findout what has happened to him. Do you--do you think he can have got mixedup with some woman?"

  "I won't say that I actually think so, but I think it's more thanpossible."

  "No! Why? What woman?"

  At that instant I remembered that the woman I had in my mind was thewoman who on board the _Masonic_ had, so Jack had told me, calledherself Hugesson Gastrell's wife, and called herself his wife again atthe house in Maresfield Gardens. But Gastrell had told Easterton, or atany rate led him to suppose, he was unmarried. How, then, could I referto this woman by name without causing possible friction betweenEasterton and his tenant, Gastrell?

  "I am afraid I can't tell you, Easterton," I said after an instant'shesitation. "I don't want to make mischief, and if what I think ispossible is not the case, and I tell you about it, I shall have mademischief."

  Easterton was silent. For some moments he remained seated in his cornerof the settee, looking at me rather strangely.

  "I quite understand what you mean, Berrington," he said at last. "Still,under the circumstances I should have thought--and yet no, I dare sayyou are right. I may tell you candidly, though, that I can't helpthinkin' you must be mistaken in your supposition. Jack doesn't careabout women in that way. He never has cared about them. The only thinghe cares about is sport, though, of course, he admires a pretty woman,as we all do."

  To that observation I deemed it prudent to make no reply, and at thatmoment a waiter entered and came across the room to us.

  "Your lordship is wanted on the telephone," he said solemnly.

  "Who is it?" Easterton asked, looking up.

  "Scotland Yard, my lord."

  "Oh, say, hold the line, and I'll come down."

  "Have you informed the police, then?" I asked quickly, when the servanthad left the room.

  "Yes. I went to Scotland Yard this mornin', but I told them not to let aword about the disappearance get into the newspapers, if they could helpit, until they heard further from me, and they promised they wouldrespect my wish. You had better come down with me. They may have foundout something."

  I waited outside the glass hutch, which effectually shut in all sound,watching Lord Easterton's face below the electric light. Hi
s lips movedrapidly, and by the way his expression suddenly changed I judged that hewas hearing news of importance. After talking for a minute or two hehung up the receiver, pushed open the door and came out. His facebetrayed his emotion.

  "Come over here," he said in a curious tone. "I have something to tellyou."

  I followed him a little way down the passage which led to thecard-rooms. When we were out of sight and earshot of the club servantshe stopped abruptly and turned to me.

  "Jack has been found," he said quickly. "He was found gagged and boundin a house in Grafton Street half an hour ago. He is there now, and thepolice are with him."

  "Good God!" I exclaimed. "How did they identify him?"

  "He was not unconscious. The police want me to go there at once. Come."

  We walked up to Grafton Street, as it was such a little way, alsoEasterton wanted to tell me more. The Inspector who had just spoken tohim had not told him what had led to the police entering the house inGrafton Street, or if anybody else had been found upon the premises. Hehad only told him that Scotland Yard had for some weeks had the houseunder surveillance--they had suspected that something irregular wasgoing on there, but they did not know what.

  "I expect they have a pretty shrewd idea," Easterton added, as wecrossed Piccadilly, "but they won't say what it is. Hello! Just look atthe crowd!"

  Up at the end of Dover Street, where Grafton Street begins, the roadwaywas blocked with people. When we reached the crowd we had somedifficulty in forcing our way through it. A dozen policemen were keepingpeople back.

  "Are you Lord Easterton?" the officer at the entrance asked, asEasterton handed him his card. "Ah, then come this way, please, m'lord.This gentleman a friend of yours? Follow the constable, please."

  We were shown into a room on the ground floor, to the right of the hall.It was large, high-ceilinged, with a billiard table in the middle. Halfa dozen men were standing about, two in police uniform; the remainder Iguessed to be constables in plain clothes.

  Suddenly I started, and uttered an exclamation.

  Seated in a big arm-chair was Dulcie Challoner, looking pale,frightened. Beside her, with her back to me, stood Aunt Hannah!