CHAPTER XI
THE PURSUIT OF THE GENTLEMAN
That was all.
Miss Broad's first blundering impression was that somebody was havinga joke with her--that she was mistaken, had read the words askew. Shelooked again.
No; the error, if error there were, was, to that extent, certainly nothers; the words were there as plain as plain could be, and they only.
'If you want Mr Guy Holland, inquire of Miss May Bewicke.'
They were typewritten, occupying a couple of lines. The rest of thesheet was blank--no address, no date, no signature; not a hint to showfrom whom the message could have come. She looked at the envelope. Theface of it was blank; there was nothing on it, inside or out. Wherewas the boy who had brought it? She turned to see. He had gone, wasout of sight. So far as she could perceive, she had the immediateneighbourhood entirely to herself. What did it mean?
The disappointment was so acute that, as she sank back upon the seat,the earth seemed to be whirling round in front of her. She never quiteknew whether for a second or two she did not lose her sensesaltogether. When next she began to notice things, she perceived thatthe envelope had fallen to the ground, and that the half sheet ofpaper would probably have followed it had it not been detained by afold in her dress. She examined them both again, this time moreclosely, without, however, any satisfactory result.
Of the typewritten words she could make neither head nor tail. Werethey meant as a hint--a warning--what? Anyhow, from whom could theyhave come--to her, there, in the Park? Why had she not asked the boywho had instructed him to give the envelope to her? What a simpletonshe had been!
'"Inquire of Miss May Bewicke." What can it mean? "Inquire of Miss MayBewicke." Unless--'
Unless it meant something she did not care to think of. She left thesentence unfinished, even in her own mind.
She arrived at a sudden resolution. It was too late for church, or shetold herself it was, supposing her to have been in a church-goingmood, which she most emphatically was not. Instead of church she wouldgo to Mr Holland's rooms in Craven Street, and inquire for him there.Under the circumstances, anything, including loss of dignity--and sheflattered herself that dignity, as a rule, was her strong point--wasbetter than suspense.
She had some difficulty in finding a cab. In that district of town,cabs do not ply in numbers on Sunday morning. By the time shediscovered one she was hot, dusty and, she feared, dishevelled. As thevehicle bore her towards the Strand, her sense of comfort did notincrease. If he was not in Craven Street, what should she do? Yesaints and sinners! if he were in gaol!
He was not in Craven Street.
A matronly, pleasant-faced woman opened the door to her.
'Is Mr Holland in?'
'No, miss, he's not.'
'Has he been long gone out?'
'Well, miss, he hasn't been in all night.'
The young lady shivered. The landlady eyed her with shrewd, yet notunfriendly, eyes. She hazarded a question,--
'Excuse me, miss, but are you Miss Broad?'
'That is my name.'
'Would you mind just stepping inside?'
The landlady led the way into a front room. The first thing the younglady saw on entering was her photograph staring at her from the centreof the mantelshelf. A little extra colour tinged her cheeks. Thelandlady glanced from the original to the likeness, and back again.
'It's very like you, miss, if you'll excuse my saying so. You see, MrHolland has told me all about it. You have my congratulations, if Imight make so bold, for a nicer gentleman I never want to see. I wasthat pleased when I saw him come walking in the other day. Did youexpect to see him, miss?'
'I had an appointment with him. He never kept it. As he has never donesuch a thing before, I scarcely knew what to think.'
'Well, miss, the truth is, I hardly know what I ought to say.'
'Say everything, please.'
'It was only his nonsense, no doubt, but when he was going out lastnight I asked him if he should be late. "Well, Mrs Pettifer," he said,"if I am late, you'd better make inquiries for me at WestminsterPolice Station, for that's where I shall be; they'll have locked meup." When Matilda told me this morning that he hadn't been in allnight, I thought of his words directly, because he'd ordered hisbreakfast for eight o'clock this morning, and, as you say, he's alwaysso dependable--Why, miss, whatever is the matter?'
Miss Broad, who had found refuge in an armchair, was looking veryqueer indeed.
'Don't you take on, miss. It was only his fun. Mr Holland's full ofhis jokes. Heaps of gentlemen stay out all night; nothing's happened.'
But the young lady was not to be comforted. She had her own reasonsfor being of a different opinion. That allusion to Westminster PoliceStation did not sound like a joke to her. When she quitted CravenStreet, she directed the cabman to drive her to a certain number inVictoria Street. She was staring as she went at the two typewrittenlines which the mysterious boy had brought in the mysterious envelope.
'I will inquire of Miss Bewicke. It will be better to begin therethan--at the other place. There will be time enough for thatafterwards. If--if she should have locked him up!'
The potentiality was too horrible. She could not bear to contemplateit. Yet, willy-nilly, it intruded on her fears.
She ascended in the lift to Miss Bewicke's apartments. She knockedwith a trembling hand at Miss Bewicke's door. She had to knock asecond time before an answer came. Then the door was opened by a tall,thin, saturnine-looking woman, to whom the visitor took a dislike uponthe spot.
'Is Miss Bewicke at home?'
'Will you walk in?' It was only when Miss Broad had walked in that shelearned that her quest was vain. 'Miss Bewicke is not at home. Shewent to Brighton this morning.'
'This morning? I thought she was going last night.'
'Who told you that?'
There was something in the speaker's voice which brought the blood toMiss Broad's cheeks with a rush. She stammered.
'I--I heard it somewhere.'
'Your information was learned on good authority; very good. Oh, yes,she meant to go last night, but she was prevented.'
'Prevented--by what?'
'I am not at liberty to say. Are you a friend of Miss Bewicke's?'
There was something in the woman's manner which Miss Broad suspectedof being intentionally offensive. She stared at her with bold,insolent eyes, with, in them, what the young lady felt was thesuggestion of an insolent grin. That she knew her, Miss Broad waspersuaded; she was sure, too, that she was completely cognisant of thefact that she was not Miss Bewicke's friend.
'I am sorry to say that I am not so fortunate as to be able to numbermyself among Miss Bewicke's friends. I have not even the pleasure ofher acquaintance.'
'That is unfortunate, as you say. About her friends Miss Bewicke isparticular.'
The suggestion was so gratuitous that Miss Broad was startled.
'Are you a friend of hers?'
'I am her companion; but not for long. You know what it is for onewoman to be a companion to another woman. It is not to be her friend.Oh, no. I have been a companion to Miss Bewicke for many years; butsoon I go. I have had enough.'
The woman's manner was so odd that Miss Broad wondered if she was alittle touched in the head, or if she had been drinking. She lookedround the room, at a loss what to say. Her glance lighted on a largepanel photograph which occupied the place of honour on themantelpiece. It was Mr Holland. She recognised it with a start. It wasthe best likeness of him she had seen. He had not given her a copy,nor any portrait of himself, which was half as good.
Miss Bewicke's companion was watching her.
'You are looking at the photograph? It is Mr Holland, a friend of MissBewicke's, the dearest friend she has in the world.'
'You mean he was her friend?'
'He was? He is--none better. Miss Bewicke has many friends--oh, yes, agreat many; she is so beautiful--is she not beautiful?--but there a
renone of them to her like Guy.'
The woman's familiar use of Mr Holland's Christian name stung MissBroad into silence. That she lied she knew; to say that, to-day, MrHolland was still Miss Bewicke's dearest friend was to attain theheight of the ridiculous. That the young lady knew quite well. She wasalso aware that, for some reason which, as yet, she did not fathom,this foreign creature was making herself intentionally offensive. Nonethe less, she did not like to hear her lover spoken of in such fashionby such lips. Still less did she like to see his portrait where itwas. Had she acted on the impulse of the moment, she would have tornit into shreds. And perhaps she might have gone even as far as thathad she not perceived something else, which she liked, if possible,still less than the position occupied by the gentleman's photograph.
On a table lay a walking-stick. A second's glance was sufficient toconvince her of the ownership. It was his--a present from herself. Shehad had it fitted with a gold band; his initials, which she had hadcut on it, stared her in the face. What was his walking-stick--hergift--doing there?
The woman's lynx-like eyes were following hers.
'You are looking at the walking-stick? It, also, is Mr Holland's.'
'What is it doing here?'
The woman shrugged her shoulders.
'He left it behind him, I suppose. Perhaps he was in too great ahurry, or Miss Bewicke. Sometimes, when one is in a great hurry to getaway, one forgets little things which are of no importance.'
She called his walking-stick--her gift to him--a thing of noimportance! What was the creature hinting at? Miss Broad would notcondescend to ask, although she longed to know.
'As I tell you, Miss Bewicke is not at home. She is at the HotelMetropole at Brighton. Would you like to take Mr Holland'swalking-stick to--her?' There was an accent on the pronoun which thevisitor did not fail to notice. 'What name shall I give to MissBewicke?'
'I am Miss Broad.'
'Miss Broad--Letty Broad? Oh, yes, I remember. They were talking andlaughing about you--Mr Holland and she. Perhaps, after all, you hadbetter not go down to Brighton.'
When the young lady was back in the street, her brain was a tumult ofcontradictions. That the woman who called herself Miss Bewicke'scompanion had, for reasons of her own, been trying to amuse herself ather expense she had not the slightest doubt. That Mr Holland'srelations with Miss Bewicke were not what were suggested she wasequally certain. None the less she wondered, and she doubted. What washis portrait doing there? Still more, what was his walking-stick? Hewas carrying it when they last met. Under what circumstances, betweenthis and then, had it found its way to where it was? Where was MrHolland? That there was a mystery she was convinced. She was almostconvinced that Miss Bewicke held the key to it.
Should she run down to Brighton and find out? She would never restuntil she knew. She had gone so far; she might as well go farther. Shewould be there and back in no time. The cabman was told to drive toVictoria. At Victoria a train was just on the point of starting. MissBroad was travelling Brightonwards before she had quite made up hermind as to whether she really meant to go. When the train stopped atClapham Junction, she half rose from her seat and all but left thecarriage. She might still be able to return home in time for luncheon.But while she dilly-dallied, the train was off. The next stoppage wasat Croydon. There would be nothing gained by her alighting there; soshe reached Brighton, as she assured herself, without ever having hadthe slightest intention of doing it. Therefore, and as a matter ofcourse, when the train rattled into the terminus she was not in thebest of tempers. She addressed sundry inquiries to herself as shedescended to the platform.
'Now what am I to do? I may as well go to the Metropole as I am here.I am not bound to see the woman even if I go. And as for speaking toher'--she curled her lip in a way which was intended to convey avolume of meaning--'I suppose it is possible to avoid the woman, evenif I have the misfortune to be under the same roof with her. Thehotel's a tolerable size; at anyrate, we'll see.
She did see, and that quickly. As she entered the building, the firstperson she beheld coming towards her across the hall was Miss MayBewicke.
Which proves, if proof be necessary, that a building may be large, andyet too small.
The Chase of the Ruby Page 12
