The end of the nightmare was not altogether according to Inspector Jacks’ expectations. He found himself in a small back room, stretched upon a sofa before the open French-windows, through which came a pleasant vision of waving green trees and a pleasanter stream of fresh air. His first instinct was to sniff, and a sense of relief crept through him when he realized that this room, at any rate, was free from abnormal odors. He sat up on the couch. A pale-faced Japanese servant stood by his side with a glass in his hand. A few feet away, the man whom he had come to visit was looking down upon him with an expression of grave concern in his kindly face.
“You are better, I trust, sir?” Prince Maiyo said.
“I am better,” Inspector Jacks muttered. “I don’t know—I can’t imagine what happened to me.”
“You were not feeling quite well, perhaps, this morning,” the Prince said soothingly. “A little run down, no doubt. Your profession—I gather from your card that you come from Scotland Yard—is an arduous one. I came into the room and found you lying upon your back, gasping for breath.”
Inspector Jacks was making a swift recovery. He noticed that the glass which the man-servant was holding was empty. He had a dim recollection of something having been forced through his lips. Already he was beginning to feel himself again.
“I was absolutely and entirely well,” he declared stoutly, “both when I left home this morning and when I entered that room to wait for you. I don’t know what it was that came over me,” he continued doubtfully, “but the atmosphere seemed suddenly to become unbearable.”
Prince Maiyo nodded understandingly.
“People often complain,” he admitted. “So many of my hangings in the room have been wrapped in spices to preserve them, and my people burn dead blossoms there occasionally. Some of us, too,” he concluded, “are very susceptible to strange odors. I should imagine, perhaps, that you are one of them.”
Inspector Jacks shook his head.
“I call myself a strong man,” he said, “and I couldn’t have believed that anything of the sort would have happened to me.”
“I shouldn’t worry about it,” the Prince said gently. “Go and see your doctor, if you like, but I have known many people, perfectly healthy, affected in the same way. I understood that you wished to have a word with me. Do you feel well enough to enter upon your business now, or would you prefer to make another appointment?”
“I am feeling quite well again, thank you,” the Inspector said slowly. “If you could spare me a few minutes, I should be glad to explain the matter which brought me here.”
The Prince merely glanced at his servant, who bowed and glided noiselessly from the room. Then he drew an easy chair to the side of the couch where Mr. Jacks was still sitting.
“I am very much interested to meet you, Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he remarked, with a glance at the card which he was still holding in his fingers. “I have studied very many of your English institutions during my stay over here with much interest, but it has not been my good fortune to have come into touch at all with your police system. Sir Goreham Briggs—your chief, I believe—has invited me several times to Scotland Yard, and I have always meant to avail myself of his kindness. You come to me, perhaps, from him?”
The Inspector shook his head.
“My business, Prince,” he said, “is a little more personal.”
Prince Maiyo raised his eyebrows.
“Indeed?” he said. “Well, whatever it is, let us hear it. I trust that I have not unconsciously transgressed against your laws?”
Inspector Jacks hesitated. After all, his was not so easy a task.
“Prince,” he said, “my errand is not in any way a pleasant one, and I should be very sorry indeed to find myself in the position of bringing any annoyance upon a stranger and a gentleman who is so highly esteemed. At the same time there are certain duties in connection with my every-day life which I cannot ignore. In England, as I dare say you know, sir, the law is a great leveller. I have heard that it is not quite so in your country, but over here we all stand equal in its sight.”
“That is excellent,” the Prince said. “Please believe, Mr. Inspector Jacks, that I do not wish to stand for a single moment between you and your duty, whatever it may be. Let me hear just what you have to say, as though I were an ordinary dweller here. While I am in England, at any rate,” he added with a smile, “I am subject to your laws, and I do my best to obey them.”
“It has fallen to my lot,” Inspector Jacks said, “to take charge of the investigations following upon the murder of a man named Hamilton Fynes, who was killed on his way from Liverpool to London about a fortnight ago.”
The Prince inclined his head.
“I believe,” he said amiably, “that I remember hearing the matter spoken of. It was the foundation of a debate, I recollect, at a recent dinner party, as to the extraordinarily exaggerated value people in your country seem to claim for human life, as compared to us Orientals. But pray proceed, Mr. Inspector Jacks,” the Prince continued courteously. “The investigation, I am sure, is in most able hands.”
“You are very kind, sir,” said the Inspector. “I do my best, but I might admit to you that I have never found a case so difficult to grasp. Our methods perhaps are slow, but they are, in a sense, sure. We are building up our case, and we hope before long to secure the criminal, but it is not an easy task.”
The Prince bowed. This time he made no remark.
“The evidence which I have collected from various sources,” Inspector Jacks continued, “leads me to believe that the person who committed this murder was a foreigner.”
“What you call an alien,” the Prince suggested. “There is much discussion, I gather, concerning their presence in this country nowadays.”
“The evidence which I possess,” the detective proceeded, “points to the murderer belonging to the same nationality as Your Highness.”
The Prince raised his eyebrows.
“A Japanese?” he asked.
The Inspector assented.
“I am sorry,” the Prince said, with a touch of added gravity in his manner, “that one of my race should have committed a misdemeanor in this country, but if that is so, your way, of course, is clear. You must arrest him and deal with him as an ordinary English criminal. He is here to live your life, and he must obey your laws.”
“In time, sir,” Inspector Jacks said slowly, “we hope to do so, but over here we may not arrest upon suspicion. We have to collect evidence, and build and build until we can satisfy any reasonable individual that the accused person is guilty.”
The Prince sighed sympathetically.
“It is not for me,” he said, “to criticize your methods.”
“I come now,” Inspector Jacks said slowly, “to the object of my call upon Your Highness. Following upon what I have just told you, certain other information has come into my possession to this effect—that not only was this murderer a Japanese, but we have evidence which seems to suggest that he was attached in some way to your household.”
“To my household!” the Prince repeated.
“To this household, Your Highness,” the detective repeated.
The Prince shook his head slowly.
“Mr. Jacks,” he said, “you are, I am sure, a very clever man. Let me ask you one question. Has it ever fallen to your lot to make a mistake?”
“Very often indeed,” the Inspector admitted frankly.
“Then I am afraid,” the Prince said, “that you are once more in that position. I have attached to my household fourteen Japanese servants, a secretary, a majordomo, and a butler. It may interest you, perhaps, to know that during my residence in this country not one of my retinue, with the exception of my secretary, who has been in Paris for some weeks, has left this house.”
The Inspector stared at the Prince incredulously.
“Never left the house?” he repeated. “Do you mean, sir, that they do not go out for holidays, for exercise, to the theatre?”
The Prince shook his head.
“Such things are not the custom with us,” he said. “They are my servants. The duty of their life is service. London is a world unknown to them—London and all these Western cities. They have no desire to be made mock of in your streets. Their life is given to my interests. They do not need distractions.”
Inspector Jacks was dumfounded. Such a state of affairs seemed to him impossible.
“Do you mean that they do not take exercise,” he asked, “that they never breathe the fresh air?”
The Prince smiled.
“Such fresh air as your city can afford them,” he said, “is to be found in the garden there, into which I never penetrate and which is for their use. I see that you look amazed, Mr. Inspector Jacks. This thing which I have told you seems strange, no doubt, but you must not confuse the servants of my country with the servants of yours. I make no comment upon the latter. You know quite well what they are; so do I. With us, service is a religion,—service to country and service to master. These men who perform the duties of my household would give their lives for me as cheerfully as they would for their country, should the occasion arise.”
“But their health?” the Inspector protested. “It is not, surely, well for them to be herded together like this?”
The Prince smiled.
“I am not what is called a sportsman in this country, Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he said, “but you shall go to the house of any nobleman you choose, and if you will bring me an equal number of your valets or footmen or chefs, who can compete with mine in running or jumping or wrestling, then I will give you a prize what you will—a hundred pounds, or more. You see, my servants have learned the secret of diet. They drink nothing save water. Sickness is unknown to them.”
The Inspector was silent for some time. Then he rose to his feet.
“Prince,” he said, “what should you declare, then, if I told you that a man of obvious Japanese extraction was seen to enter your house on the morning after the murder, and that he was a person to whom certain circumstances pointed as being concerned in that deed?”
“Mr. Inspector Jacks,” the Prince said calmly, “I was the only person of my race who entered my house that morning.”
The Inspector moved toward the door.
“Your Highness,” he said gravely, “I am exceedingly obliged to you for your courteous attention, and for your kindness after my unfortunate indisposition.”
The Prince smiled graciously.
“Mr. Inspector Jacks,” he said, “your visit has been of great interest to me. If I can be of any further assistance, pray do not hesitate to call upon me.”
XXIII. ON THE TRAIL
Table of Contents
Inspector Jacks studied the brass plate for a moment, and then rang the patients’ bell. The former, he noticed was very much in want of cleaning, and for a doctor’s residence there was a certain lack of smartness about the house and its appointments which betokened a limited practice. The railing in front was broken, and no pretence had been made at keeping the garden in order. Inspector Jacks had time to notice these things, for it was not until after his second summons that the door was opened by Dr. Whiles himself.
“Good morning!” the latter said tentatively. Then, with a slight air of disappointment, he recognized his visitor.
“Good morning, doctor!” Inspector Jacks replied. “You haven’t forgotten me, I hope? I came down to see you a short time ago, respecting the man who was knocked down by a motor car and treated by you on a certain evening.”
The doctor nodded.
“Will you come in?” he asked.
He led the way into a somewhat dingy waiting room. A copy of The Field, a month old, a dog-eared magazine, and a bound volume of Good Words were spread upon the table. The room itself, except for a few chairs, was practically bare.
“I do not wish to take up too much of your time, Dr. Whiles,” the Inspector began,—
The doctor laughed shortly.
“You needn’t bother about that,” he said. “I’m tired of making a bluff. My time isn’t any too well occupied.”
The Inspector glanced at his watch,—it was a few minutes past twelve.
“If you are really not busy,” he said, “I was about to suggest to you that you should come back to town with me and lunch. I do not expect, of course, to take up your day for nothing,” he continued. “You will understand, as a professional man, that when your services are required by the authorities, they expect and are willing to pay for them.”
“But what use can I be to you?” the doctor asked. “You know all about the man whom I fixed up on the night of the murder. There’s nothing more to tell you about that. I’d as soon go up to town and lunch with you as not, but if you think that I’ve anything more to tell you, you’ll only be disappointed.”
The Inspector nodded.
“I’m quite content to run the risk of that,” he said. “Of course,” he continued, “it does not follow in the least that this person was in any way connected with the murder. In fact, so far as I can tell at present, the chances are very much against it. But at the same time it would interest my chief if you were able to identify him.”
The doctor nodded.
“I begin to understand,” he said.
“If you will consider a day spent up in town equivalent to the treatment of twenty-five patients at your ordinary scale,” Inspector Jacks said, “I shall be glad if you would accompany me there by the next train. We will lunch together first, and look for our friend later in the afternoon.”
The doctor did not attempt to conceal the fact that he found this suggestion entirely satisfactory. In less than half an hour, the two men were on their way to town.
Curiously enough, Penelope and Prince Maiyo met that morning for the first time in several days. They were both guests of the Duchess of Devenham at a large luncheon party at the Savoy Restaurant. Penelope felt a little shiver when she saw him coming down the stairs. Somehow or other, she had dreaded this meeting, yet when it came, she knew that it was a relief. There was no change in his manner, no trace of anxiety in his smooth, unruffled face. He seemed, if possible, to have grown younger, to walk more buoyantly. His eyes met hers frankly, his smile was wholly unembarrassed. It was not possible for a man to bear himself thus who stood beneath the great shadow!
So far from avoiding her, he came over to her side directly he had greeted his hostess.
“This morning,” he said, “I heard some good news. You are to be a fellow guest at Devenham.”
“I am afraid,” she admitted, “that of my two aunts I impose most frequently upon the one where my claims are the slightest. The Duchess is so good-natured.”
“She is charming,” the Prince declared. “I am looking forward to my visit immensely. I think I am a little weary of London. A visit to the country seems to me most delightful. They tell me, too, that your spring gardens are wonderful. What London suffers from, I think, at this time of the year, is a lack of flowers. We want something to remind us that the spring is coming, besides these occasional gleams of blue sky and very occasional bursts of sunshine.”
“You are a sentimentalist, Prince,” she declared, smiling.
“No, I think not,” he answered seriously. “I love all beautiful things. I think that there are many men as well as women who are like that. Shall I be very rude and say that in the matter of climate and flowers one grows, perhaps, to expect a little more in my own country.”
An uncontrollable impulse moved her. She leaned a little towards him.
“Climate and flowers only?” she murmured. “What about the third essential?”
“Miss Penelope,” he said under his breath, “I have to admit that one must travel further afield for Heaven’s greatest gift. Even then one can only worship. The stars are denied to us.”
The Duchess came sailing over to them.
“Every one is here,” she said. “I hope that you are all hungry. After lunch, Prince, I
want you to speak to General Sherrif. He has been dying to meet you, to talk over your campaign together in Manchuria. There’s another man who is anxious to meet you, too,—Professor Spenlove. He has been to Japan for a month, and thinks about writing a book on your customs. I believe he looks to you to correct his impressions.”
“So long as he does not ask me to correct his proofs!” the Prince murmured.
“That is positively the most unkind thing I have ever heard you say,” the Duchess declared. “Come along, you good people. Jules has promised me a new omelet, on condition that we sit down at precisely half-past one. If we are five minutes late, he declines to send it up.”
They took their places at the round table which had been reserved for the Duchess of Devenham,—not very far, Penelope remembered, from the table at which they had sat for dinner a little more than a fortnight ago. The recollection of that evening brought her a sudden realization of the tragedy which seemed to have taken her life into its grip. Again the Prince sat by her side. She watched him with eyes in which there was a gleam sometimes almost of horror. Easy and natural as usual, with his pleasant smile and simple speech, he was making himself agreeable to one of the older ladies of the party, to whom, by chance, no one had addressed more than a word or so. It was always the same—always like this, she realized, with a sudden keen apprehension of this part of the man’s nature. If there was a kindness to be done, a thoughtful action, it was not only he who did it but it was he who first thought of it. The papers during the last few days had been making public an incident which he had done his best to keep secret. He had signalized his arrival in London, some months ago, by going overboard from a police boat into the Thames to rescue a half-drunken lighterman, and when the Humane Society had voted him their medal, he had accepted it only on condition that the presentation was private and kept out of the papers. It was not one but fifty kindly deeds which stood to his credit. Always with the manners of a Prince—gracious, courteous, and genial—never a word had passed his lips of evil towards any human being. The barriers today between the smoking room and the drawing room are shadowy things, and she knew very well that he was held in a somewhat curious respect by men, as a person to whom it was impossible to tell a story in which there was any shadow of indelicacy. The ways of the so-called man of world seemed in his presence as though they must be the ways of some creature of a different and a lower stage of existence. A young man whom he had once corrected had christened him, half jestingly, Sir Galahad, and certainly his life in London, a life which had to bear all the while the test of the limelight, had appeared to merit some such title. These thoughts chased one another through her mind as she looked at him and marvelled. Surely those other things must be part of a bad nightmare! It was not possible that such a man could be associated with wrong-doing—such manner of wrong-doing!
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