“And how long ago was this?”
“Just about two years.”
“And you have heard from him since?”
“Oh, yes, fairly regularly. His letters have come from all parts of Europe. He writes wonderful letters—but not a hint as to what he was doing all the time. He did suggest, just at the last, however, that it might be something dangerous—”
“Dangerous?”
“Yes, that was his own word. So I made him promise to send for me immediately if there was anything wrong.” She paused and then said, almost inaudibly: “And now I’ve had this telegram.”
Harrison took the telegram, read it and then re-read it. The lines on his forehead deepened as he read it again.
“Aunt Sarah ill,” it ran. That was all.
“A code, of course,” said Harrison.
“Yes,” was the reply. “That was the message he was to send if he was in danger. I am certain he needs me and yet I feel he needs someone more than myself, someone who can help him, a man who can stand by him., Mr. Harrison, the danger must be terrible for him to send me that telegram at all. I know him so well, and, although he promised to send for me, he would never have done so except in the last resort. I am worried to death.”
“I understand,” said Harrison, soothingly. “It must have been something very serious if he sent it out at all, and he hasn’t signed it either. It comes from Geneva, I see. I wonder what he was doing at Geneva?”
“I have had letters from him from Geneva regularly each year about this time and I must say I was half expecting one from there now but not this telegram.”
“And you have no idea what he was doing there at all?”
“None whatever.”
“Had he any friends who might know?”
“Not to my knowledge. He didn’t make friends. He had a few acquaintances but he never wrote to anybody I know. He only seemed to write to me. And, after two years, people hardly seem to remember him.”
“The house party you went to, would the people who gave it know anything about him?”
“It’s hardly likely. They didn’t know him very well, and besides they’re in Kenya at the moment so they can’t give us any help.”
“All I have to go on, then, is what you’ve just told me.”
“I am afraid so, Mr. Harrison.”
“But I see the telegram’s dated September 15th?”
“I know, I could kill myself,” said the girl, passionately. “It’s been waiting at home for me for three days. I have been in the country and my people only had a vague idea of where I was. And here is Gilbert in terrible trouble and I didn’t know.”
“Two days wasted,” said Harrison gravely.
“I know. I know. It’s horrible. That’s why you must help me.”
“Then what do you want me to do?” asked Harrison.
“I want you to go straight off to Geneva and find out what has happened to him.”
Harrison looked at the girl and the grey eyes looked back at him with implicit trust. He was not tempted by the task. There were few facts and the chances of success were remote indeed. He had a great deal of work to do in London and he had every reason not to go but the grey eyes held him. They would take no denial. “If anybody can help, you can,” they seemed to say. Still he hesitated.
“I would like to help you, Miss Graham,” he started.
“You can’t refuse me like that,” she answered, in an anguished tone. “You must go. They told me I could trust you. I’m not going to appeal to you. You really must go. Money is no object. You can spend what you like. If you cannot find out anything, nobody can. You must go.”
Harrison shook himself and looked into the grey eyes again. It was a job worth doing after all. Even if it was difficult, what of that. He had always told himself he preferred the difficult problems.
“Very well, Miss Graham,” he replied. “I obey orders. I will go. I shall have to take my clerk, of course.”
“Take anybody or any number of people you wish,” she said. “I said you could spend what you want. You can’t think how grateful I am. I know you will be able to help me.”
At that the girl dropped back in her chair and began to sob quietly. Harrison was sitting thinking and waiting for her to grow calmer when a gentle tap came at the door and Henry slipped quietly in. Although he made no noise, his face betrayed the most curious agitation. He made signs with his hands which could only indicate that a visitor of the greatest importance was outside and his mouth was contorted into framing a name. Harrison tried to understand the first laboured contortion but failed utterly. The second, however, was more successful and he guessed “Marplay”. At this he shook his head vigorously but Henry refused to take the hint. He nodded fiercely in return and went out.
Miss Graham’s calm came back quickly enough and she apologised to Harrison for her weakness, a smile shining through her tears as if to reassure him. She explained that she was really much happier in the knowledge that he was going to help her and that the breakdown had been an inevitable reaction after the strain she had gone through.
A few reassuring words from Harrison who showed a confidence he did not feel in the possible help he might give and Henry, having been summoned, showed the girl out past the other woman visitor who was holding a newspaper which she was obviously not reading.
On his return he dashed, as if panic-stricken, past her and went into Harrison’s room.
“We both go off to Geneva in the morning, Henry,” said Harrison. “So it’s obvious I can’t see anybody now. It’ll take us all our time putting off the work we’ve taken on already and making the best arrangements we can.”
“I shan’t be able to get rid of her,” said Henry in the depths of depression.
“I never knew anybody make such an impression on you before,” exclaimed Harrison, somewhat annoyed.
“You said last night you ought to see her,” said Henry.
“But I can’t now,” answered Harrison, sharply. “Tell her to go away. There are far more important things than Miss Jeanne de Marplay at this moment.”
Henry, with a despairing sigh, turned to go out, when the door opened and the lady herself, with the most winning smile, walked into the room. Henry looked at the newcomer with astonishment. Certainly there was cause for Henry’s susceptibility. Young and undeniably attractive, Jeanne de Marplay knew, to the minutest degree, how to make the most of herself. The clothes of exquisite, if slightly daring, style, the slight but artistic touch of colour on the cheeks, the largeness of the eyes, and her general bearing were such as to attract the notice and admiration of the spectator at the first glance. Using all her feminine effects, she was definitely caparisoned to attract the opposite sex and there could be little doubt of her skilled acquaintance with every twist and turn in the feminine armoury.
“I am so sorry to intrude,” she began, in a musical and pleasantly soft voice. “But I know how busy you are with important matters and I was afraid your clerk might have forgotten me. And as I had very little time to spare—”
“As a matter of fact I am very busy,” said Harrison. “But I can give you a few moments, Miss de Marplay. Will you sit down?”
“It’s frightfully kind of you, Mr. Harrison,” said the young woman, sitting in the chair only recently vacated by Miss Graham. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”
Henry looked to heaven at this remark and left the room, closing the door rather obviously behind him.
“It is really only a few moments, you know,” said Harrison.
“I quite understand that,” was the laughing reply. “You didn’t really intend to see me at all, did you?”
Harrison hesitated. “Of course you didn’t,” she continued. “That’s why I had to force my way in.”
“There’s nothing like being frank, at any rate,” Harrison replied and laughed also.
“I believe in being frank. It’s so disarming, isn’t it? And yet you know where you are. I propose to be very frank wi
th you, Mr. Harrison, and I hope you will like me better for it.”
“I’m certain I shall,” said Harrison. “Now, what do you want? You haven’t come about a divorce, I’m certain of that.”
“Of course you are,” she answered, laughing again. “But I had to find some excuse and that seemed as good as any. By the way, your clerk seems very frightened of me.”
“Naturally, I should say,” replied Harrison. “But what do you really want?”
“Well, I’m a bit of a journalist,” was the answer. “I do bits of gossip and things like that for some of the papers—picture, mostly—and I thought I would like to gossip about you.”
“I appreciate the compliment,” said Harrison. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. That’s one thing I will have nothing to do with. I prefer to be quite anonymous. I don’t want any of your so-called publicity.”
“That’s a pity. Because when one becomes famous and has a name as well known as Clay Harrison the public insist on taking an interest in you.”
“I can’t help that,” replied Harrison, definitely. “I don’t want gossip and I won’t have it. So you’re wasting your time.”
“You see, Mr. Harrison,” said Jeanne de Marplay, smiling and looking fixedly at him, and talking as if he had not spoken at all. “It is far better that gossip should be accurate than inaccurate. We gossip writers must say something, to earn our living, but even we, with our thick hides, prefer the truth if it is to be found.”
“I appreciate your virtue,” he answered drily, giving no indication that he had noticed a certain menacing tone in the words she had last spoken. “But I don’t want to be mentioned at all.”
“I am afraid that’s impossible,” she said. “Now you visited a certain Mrs. Humbleby yesterday—” Harrison stared. “—Yes, we gossip writers know quite a lot. There must be a good story in that visit, Mr. Harrison, but I should hate to use the wrong one. I might have to, of course, but I really should much prefer to give the real facts.”
“I should say, Miss de Marplay,” said Harrison, “that this might be called a kind of blackmail—” she shook her head, “—but I appreciate your cleverness. Where you got ‘your’ knowledge I cannot imagine but you are right over the visit.”
“Of course I am,” she replied triumphantly.
“But I don’t want it mentioned at all,” he said, emphatically.
“I thought I rather suggested an alternative,” was the answer.
“Really, I don’t want it mentioned at all,” he said. “It would be a great mistake at the moment if anything got into the papers about my connection with that business. Now I am asking you a favour. Can I rely on you not to mention it?”
“Of course, Mr. Harrison, if you put it that way. What can I do? It certainly will not be mentioned, you can rest assured of that. But it does prove that you will have to have some contact with gossip writers—at any rate, with me—after all, doesn’t it?”
“I think you win, Miss de Marplay,” he answered, handsomely. “In fact, I’m certain you do.”
“Well,” she continued. “What can you give me about yourself in its place?”
“Quite honestly, nothing at present,” he answered.
“That’s a pity, you know, Mr. Harrison—”
“Because you’ll make something up about me?”
“Not this time,” she answered and again laughed. “You’re excused this time. The main thing is that we understand one another a bit better now, don’t we? You see, you’re rather old-fashioned about publicity, Mr. Harrison.”
“That’s true,” he answered. “And I hope to remain so.”
“You’ll find that impossible,” she said. “But one thing we both understand is that when I do come looking for news again you won’t send me away without seeing me, will you?”
“Of course not,” he replied.
“I know you would like to,” she continued. “But you might learn something from me, as well, mightn’t you, now we understand each other?”
“I quite agree.”
“And there’s one last thing we might talk about and that’s your enemies.”
“My enemies?”
“Yes, enemies, present and future.”
“That doesn’t worry me.”
“I expect you’re as brave as the average man, Mr. Harrison, but trouble is not worth looking for. You have enemies, I can tell you that.”
Harrison looked at the young woman and the hardness of her voice was in terrible contrast to the soft, almost kindly light in her eyes.
“You know a lot about me,” he said, with a laugh.
“It’s not a joke,” she replied. “I’m deadly serious. You have enemies and I do know a lot about you. I don’t want to alarm you—”
“Thank you,” he said, heavily.
“I repeat I don’t want to alarm you but I suggest that you take a certain amount of care of yourself.”
“In what way?”
“If you think of taking a trip on the Continent in the near future I suggest that you think twice before you do so.”
“I’m too busy to go gallivanting round the Continent,” he answered.
“Very good, too,” she said. “From all I’ve heard you’re a very important member of society. You unravel mysteries with the greatest ease—”
“Of course,” said Harrison, with a laugh.
“And therefore London would miss you, wouldn’t it?”
“Quite,” was the reply.
“So, as the papers say, we shall watch Mr. Harrison’s career with interest,” the young woman laughed herself and started pulling on a glove. Harrison, without really seeming to notice it, was struck by the way it went on jerk by jerk rather than by smoothly drawing it on to the hand.
“Well, good-bye,” she said, standing up and holding out the ungloved hand. “You’re not sorry I called now, are you? These women can do a lot of mischief, can’t they?”
“Not you, I’m sure, Miss de Marplay,” he answered. “I am certainly glad you came and I shall not forget our meeting.”
Chapter IV
The Blotting Pad
Next morning Harrison and Henry were seated in a first-class compartment at Victoria Station ready for the journey to Geneva. Henry had packed all the necessary articles with his customary accuracy. He was rather looking forward to the trip and had been delighted when Harrison had announced it. “These foreigners” amused Henry intensely. They had such queer un-English customs, they talked such utter nonsense and altogether they were a continual comic circus turn to him. As an Englishman he knew his own superiority to them and he also had the comforting knowledge that they admitted it themselves. Harrison gained infinite enjoyment at watching Henry’s special manner of condescension on the Continent. Not that it mattered because this condescension was always bestowed on those whose training prepared them to accept it, such as porters, hotel servants and the like. But it was such a different type of Henry that behaved in this way.
The only flaw in Henry’s pleasure was the weather. The sky was dull and there were ominous gusts of wind along the platform. That looked like a bad crossing, thought Henry, and his heart sank. He was a stout believer in a Channel tunnel. As a Londoner born and bred, Henry had no love for the Channel from above and the thoughts of a bad crossing would assert themselves in his mind although he tried to think of every other possible topic.
Harrison got up and paced up and down the platform, obviously waiting for someone, and a very few minutes before the train was due to start a man hurried up the platform and presented him with a packet.
“Many thanks, Macklin,” said Harrison. “I suppose these are the photographs?”
“Yes, sir, we’ve kept our promise,” was the answer. “But you’re leaving us rather in the lurch.”
“Henry,” said Harrison, putting his head in the carriage window. “Say good morning to Inspector Macklin and also that it’s all your fault.”
“’Morning, Inspector,” said Henry, lean
ing out of the window. “But I don’t know why it’s all my fault.”
“Well, you see, Macklin,” said Harrison, with a smile. “Henry will introduce me to such beautiful ladies that when they suggest I go on a Continental trip I just can’t refuse them.”
“You’re very lucky, sir,” said the inspector. “I’d like a trip like that myself. But are you going to be very long?”
“I hope not,” answered Harrison. “And I’m still very interested in Mrs. Humbleby’s lodger. The more I think about it the more I think there’s something very queer behind it.”
“There is, sir,” replied the inspector. “You may find something about him on your travels.”
“I wish I might be able,” said Harrison. “All the same, I hope you’ll keep me posted as to any developments especially if he is identified.”
“I will, sir,” answered the inspector, and, as the whistle blew, Harrison jotted down an address and passed it to him.
“Looks a bit dirty to-day,” said Harrison, settling down in his corner as the train moved out of the terminus.
“May be all right at the coast,” was Henry’s hopeful answer.
“May be,” said Harrison, “but it’s no good brooding over it, Henry, is it? Let’s try and get our minds clear and in order. We’ve been so busy getting off that we have had no chance for a chat since Miss de Marplay descended on us.” Henry started to look for the invaluable pencil and notebook. “No need for that yet, Henry, I think,” said Harrison.
“I don’t think we’ve got to the note-taking stage yet. We’ve just got to clear our minds. First of all, we agree that she’s a remarkably interesting young woman.”
“You’re not pulling my leg, I hope, sir?” asked Henry cautiously.
“Seriously not,” replied Harrison. “She is—remarkably interesting. She is clever, intelligent, good-looking, un-scrupulous—”
Dusty Death Page 3
