The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  I agreed that it would, though the appointment was obviously a legal fiction, and, the preliminaries being thus arranged, I was presently inducted into the outer office, of which I seemed to be the sole occupant, and installed at a handsome mahogany desk, furnished with blotting-pad, an inkstand with three ink bottles—black, green and red—a pile of paper slips and a number of quill pens.

  At ten o’clock precisely, Mr. Brodribb entered his private office and shut the door; and there descended on the premises a profound silence, through which I could hear faintly the sound of movement in the inner office with an occasional squeak of a quill pen; by which I judged that the communicating door was by no means sound-proof. But I discovered later that there was a second, baize-covered door which could be shut when required to ensure privacy.

  The minutes ran on. Soon the novelty of the situation exhausted itself. I began to be bored by the continued occupancy of the leather-seated stool and to be sensible of a faint yearning for a parcel to deliver. Sitting still was well enough when one was tired, but it was no sort of occupation for an active youth at ten o’clock in the morning. However, it had to be; so failing any opportunity for physical exercise, I directed my attention to the quill pens and the three bottles of ink. I had never used a quill pen and had no consider able experience of coloured inks. Now I proceeded to make a few experiments and was greatly pleased with the results. Beginning with a spirited portrait of Mr. Gomorrah, I discovered the surprising potentialities of a polychromatic medium. The green ink enabled me to do full justice to his complexion, while the red ink imparted a convincing surgical quality to his bandaged head.

  I was adding the finishing touches to this masterpiece of portraiture when I became aware of sounds penetrating the door—not Mr. Brodribb’s door, but another which apparently gave access to an adjoining room. The sounds conveyed the impression of several persons moving about on an oil-clothed floor and were accompanied by the dragging of chairs. But after a short time these sounds died away, and I had just returned to my polychrome portrait when the crescendo music of a pair of creaky boots informed me that someone was approaching the outer door. A moment later, that door was flung open and a largish gentleman with a puffy face, not unadorned with pimples, stamped into the room, and having bestowed on me a disparaging stare, demanded: “Is Mr. Brodribb disengaged?”

  I sprang up from my stool and spluttered at him ambiguously. Meanwhile he stood, holding the door open and looking out into the lobby.

  “Come along!” he exclaimed impatiently addressing some person outside; whereupon the person addressed came along, and in a moment completed my confusion.

  I recognised her instantly, which was the more remarkable since she was strikingly changed since I had last seen her; changed as to her habiliments and even in her person, for then her hair had been jet black whereas now it was of a glaring red. But I knew her all the same. Hers was a face that no make-up could disguise. And if her hair had changed, her eyes had not; and now I saw why they had appeared different in colour. The pupil of the left eye, instead of being a round black spot, was drawn out to the shape of a key hole. Nor did her handsome clothing make any essential change in her appearance. From the moment when my glance fell on her as she entered the room, I never had the shadow of a doubt that she was the ill-omened nurse at whom I had peered through the gutter-hole in Pentecost Grove.

  I suppose I must have gone even beyond Mr. Brodribb’s instructions to ‘have a good look at’ the visitors, for the odd silence was broken by her voice demanding angrily and with a faint foreign accent: “Well! what are you staring at me like that for?”

  I mumbled a semi-articulate apology which she ignored, continuing: “Go at once to Mr. Brodribb and tell him that Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle wish to see him.”

  I pulled myself together rapidly, but incompletely, and, dimly recalling Mr. Brodribb’s directions concerning the slips of paper, I grabbed up the portrait of Gomorrah, and, blundering into his private office without knocking, slapped it down on his writing-table. He regarded it for a moment with a stupefied stare and then exclaimed: “What the dev—”

  But at this point his eye caught the two visitors, who, waiving ceremony, now appeared in the doorway. He rose to receive them, and I hastily made my escape, leaving the door open; an omission the enormity of which I realised when I saw—and heard—Mr. Hardcastle ostentatiously slam it.

  I crept back to my stool and drew a deep breath, conscious that I had made rather a hash of the business, so far. Well, every man to his trade. One couldn’t expect the practice of parcels delivery to produce expertness in the duties of a lawyer’s clerk. Still, I must manage the next visitors better; and having formed this resolution, I fell, naturally enough, into deep reflection on the astonishing thing that had just happened.

  So this woman’s name was Hardcastle. But Miss Stella’s name was Hardcastle too. Very odd, this. They must be relatives, but yet they had seemed to be strangers, for Miss Stella had referred to her simply as “a woman.” But at this point my train of thought was interrupted by Mr. Hardcastle’s voice, penetrating the door. He was speaking in a loud, excited tone—not to say shouting—and I could hear quite distinctly what he was saying.

  “But, damn it, Brodribb, the man is dead! Been dead a matter of fifteen years or more. You know that as well as I do.”

  There followed a sudden silence, and then I heard the thud of a closing door which I judged to be the baize inner door of Mr. Brodribb’s office; a conclusion that was confirmed by the fact that, thereafter, Mr. Hardcastle’s rather raucous voice percolated through only in a state of extreme attenuation. Even this I tried to ignore, and I had just resumed my speculations on the possible relationship of Mrs. Hardcastle and Miss Stella when I was rendered positively speechless by a new, and even more astonishing, arrival. For, without any warning of premonitory footfalls, the outer door opened softly and gave entrance to none other than Miss Stella herself.

  She was not alone. Closely following her was a very pleasant-looking lady whom I judged, from a recognisable resemblance, to be her mother, and who asked me if Mr. Brodribb was at liberty. Before I could collect my wits to reply, Miss Stella uttered a little cry of surprise and ran to me holding out her hand.

  “You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” she asked, as I took her hand rather shyly.

  “No, indeed, miss,” I answered emphatically. “I shouldn’t be likely to forget you.”

  “This is fortunate!” she exclaimed. “I was afraid that I should never see you again and never be able to thank you.”

  Here she turned to the other lady, who was gazing at us in evident astonishment, and explained: “This is the gentleman who rescued me and brought me home that night. Let me introduce my knight-errant to my mother.”

  On this, the elder lady darted forward and seized both my hands. I thought she was going to kiss me, and shouldn’t have minded if she had. What she was about to say I shall never know, though it is not difficult to guess; for at this moment the door of Mr. Brodribb’s office flew open and Mr. Hardcastle’s voice, raised to an infuriated shout, was heard proclaiming: “It’s a damned conspiracy! You are setting up this impostor for your own ends. But you had better have a care, my friend. You may find it a dangerous game.”

  He stamped out, purple and gibbering with wrath, and close behind him came his wife. Her ghastly white face was indescribable in its concentrated malice and fury; but as soon as I caught sight of it, I knew why Zichlinsky’s face had stirred my memory. She might have been his sister. But this recognition came only in a half-conscious flash, for the sight of her strung me up to readiness for the inevitable clash. And the next moment it came. Mr. Hardcastle had pushed roughly past the two ladies and his wife was following, when, just as they came abreast, Miss Stella turned her head and looked at the woman. As their eyes met, she uttered a cry of terror and shrank back, seizing my arm and making as if she would have taken shelter behind me.

  For a moment there was a strange ef
fect of arrested movement in the room, all the figures standing motionless as in a tableau. Mr. Hardcastle had turned and was staring in angry astonishment; his wife stood glaring at the terrified girl, and Mr. Brodribb looked on with frowning curiosity from the doorway of his office. It was he who broke the silence. “What is it, Miss Stella?”

  “The woman,” she gasped, pointing at Mrs. Hardcastle. “The nurse who took me to that dreadful house.”

  “What the devil does she mean?” demanded Mr. Hardcastle, looking in bewilderment from Miss Stella to his wife.

  “How should I know?” the latter snarled. “The girl is an idiot. Let us get away from this den of swindlers and lunatics.”

  She moved towards the door with an assumed air of unconcern, though I could see that she was mightily shaken by the encounter. Mr. Hardcastle preceded her and wrenched the door open. Then he stood for a moment with the open door in his hand looking out.

  “Don’t block up the door like that, man,” he said, irritably. “Come in or get out of the way.”

  The unseen person elected to come in, and having come in, he promptly shut the door and turned the key. Mr. Hardcastle looked at him fiercely and demanded: “What the devil is the meaning of this, sir?

  “I take it,” replied the newcomer, “that you are Mr. David Hardcastle?”

  “And supposing I am. What then?”

  “And this lady is Mrs. David Hardcastle, formerly Marie Zichlinsky?”

  Mrs. Hardcastle glared at him with an expression that reminded me of a frightened cat. But she made no reply. The answer came from Mr. Brodribb.

  “Yes, Superintendent, she is Mrs. David Hardcastle; and she has been identified by Miss Stella Hardcastle, who is here.”

  The woman turned on him furiously. “So,” she exclaimed, “this is a trap that you had set for us, you sly old devil! Well, Superintendent, what do you want with Mrs. David Hardcastle?”

  The Superintendent looked at Miss Stella and asked:

  “What do you say, Miss Hardcastle? Do you recognise this lady, and if so, what do you know about her?”

  “She is the woman who was dressed as a nurse and who enticed me by false pretences to a house where I was imprisoned and bound with rope and from which this gentleman rescued me.”

  If a look could have killed, ‘this gentleman’ would have been a dead gentleman. As it was, he was only a deeply interested gentleman.

  “This,” exclaimed Mrs. David, “is a parcel of foolery. The girl is mistaking me for some other person if she isn’t merely lying.”

  “We can’t go into that here,” said the Superintendent. “We are not trying the case. I am a police officer and I arrest you for having abducted and forcibly detained Miss Stella Hardcastle, and I caution you that anything that you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.”

  Mrs. Hardcastle was obviously terrified but she maintained a certain air of defiance, demanding angrily: “What right have you got to arrest me? Where is your warrant?”

  “No warrant is necessary in a case of abduction,” the Superintendent explained civilly.

  “But you have only a bare statement. You cannot arrest without an information given on oath.”

  The lady struck me as being remarkably well informed in the matter of police procedure. But the Superintendent knew a thing or two for he replied, still in the same patient and courteous manner: “Miss Hardcastle has already laid a sworn information as to the facts. I assure you that the arrest is perfectly regular and the less difficulties you make, the less unpleasant it will be for us all.”

  During these proceedings Mr. Hardcastle had looked on with an air of stupefaction. All the bluster had gone out of his manner and his puffy face had suddenly turned white and haggard. He now broke in with the bewildered enquiry: “What is this all about? I don’t understand. What are they talking about, Marie?”

  She gave him a single wild, despairing look, and then she made a sudden dash for the door of communication. In a moment she had wrenched it open, only to reveal the presence of two massive plain-clothes officers standing just inside. For one moment she stood gazing at them in dismay; then she turned back and faced the Superintendent. “Very well,” she said, sullenly. “I will come with you if I must.”

  “I am afraid you must,” said he; “and, if you take my advice, you will not make a disagreeable business worse by any sort of resistance.”

  He glanced at the two officers and asked: “Have you got a cab waiting?” and on receiving an affirmative reply, he said, addressing the older of them; “Then you will take charge of this lady, and of course, you will avoid any appearance of having her in custody, provided she accompanies you quietly. You know where to go.”

  As the two officers entered the room and shut the door Mr. Hardcastle turned to the Superintendent. “Is it possible for me to accompany my wife?” he asked.

  The Superintendent shook his head. “I am afraid that is quite impossible,” said he; “but you can attend at the police court and apply for her to be admitted to bail. I will give you the necessary directions presently.”

  Here the senior of the two officers indicated to Mrs. Hardcastle that he was ready to start; whereupon her husband stepped towards her, and, laying his hands on her shoulders, kissed her livid cheek. She pushed him away gently without looking at him, and, with a set face and a firm step, followed the first officer out of the room and was in turn followed by the other.

  As soon as they were gone Mr. Hardcastle looked at my employer, gloomily, but with none of his former bluster. “Is this your doing, Brodribb?” he asked.

  Mr. Brodribb, who looked considerably upset by what had just happened, replied gently: “There was no choice, Mr. Hardcastle. If there had been, you would have been spared the distress of witnessing this catastrophe.”

  “Yes,” said the Superintendent, who had taken possession of my desk and was writing on one of the paper slips, “we are all very sorry that this trouble has fallen on you. But the trouble was not of our making. Now, here are the particulars that you will want and the directions as to what you had better do. But I must warn you that the magistrate may refuse bail. Still, that is his affair and yours. The police can’t accept bail in a case of this kind.”

  He handed the paper to Mr. Hardcastle, who glanced through it, put it in his pocket, and, without another word, walked dejectedly to the door and passed out of our sight. And with his disappearance there seemed to come a general relaxation of tension. Mr. Brodribb especially appeared to feel the relief, for, as the door closed, he drew a deep breath and murmured: “Thank God that’s over!”

  “Yes,” said Miss Stella’s mother, “it was a dreadful experience, though it is difficult to feel any sort of sympathy except for her unfortunate husband. May I take it, Mr. Brodribb, that this was the business that required my presence here and Stella’s?”

  “Yes,” was the reply. “There were some other matters, but they will have to wait. But I shall hope to do myself the honour of calling on you in the course of the next day or two.”

  “Then our business here is finished for today?”

  Mr. Brodribb glanced at the Superintendent, who replied: “I shall want Miss Hardcastle to identify one or two of the persons who will be charged with the abduction, but it is not urgent, as we have Mr. Gray here and enough evidence of other kinds to cover the arrests. So we need not detain these two ladies any longer.”

  The two ladies accordingly made their adieux to Mr. Brodribb and then bade me a very cordial farewell. As she shook my hand, the elder lady said with a smile: “We have found you at last, Mr. Gray, and we are not going to lose sight of you again. We shall hold Mr. Brodribb responsible for you.”

  With this and a gracious bow to the Superintendent, she passed out of the door which I held open for her, her arm linked in Miss Stella’s, and both acknowledged my bow with a valedictory smile.

  “Now,” said the Superintendent, glancing at his watch, “it is time for us to be moving, Mr. Brod
ribb. I told Dr. Thorndyke that we should be there by half-past eleven and it’s nearly that now.”

  Mr. Brodribb went into his office where, besides securing his hat and stick, he apparently rang a bell, for a dry-looking gentleman—a genuine clerk—made his appearance from a communicating door and looked at his employer enquiringly.

  “I am going now, Bateman,” said Mr. Brodribb. “Did you order the cab?”

  “The cab is now at the door, sir,” replied Mr. Bateman; on which the Superintendent went out and Mr. Brodribb followed, pushing me in front of him. I was naturally somewhat curious as to our destination, but, as I had only to wait until our arrival to satisfy my curiosity, I wasted no effort on speculation, but gave my attention to my fellow passengers’ conversation; from which, however, I did not gather very much.

  “I don’t know why you want me to come,” Mr. Brodribb remarked. “I don’t know anything but what Dr. Thorndyke has told me.”

  The Superintendent chuckled. “You are in much the same position as the rest of us,” said he. “But you may as well see how far we can confirm his information. We’ve got most of these birds in the hand now, and it remains to be seen how much we shall get out of them.”

  “But you can’t interrogate prisoners concerning the crimes that they are charged with.”

  “No, certainly not. But we can let them talk after they have been cautioned, and we can let them make statements if they want to.”

  “Do you think they will want to?” asked Mr. Brodribb.

  “I shall be very surprised if some of them don’t. You see, out of this batch, one or two, or perhaps three, are the actual principals. The rest are accessories. But an accessory, when he sees the rope dangling before his nose, is going to take uncommon care that he isn’t mistaken for a principal in the first degree. He’ll probably lie like Ananias, but it is tolerably easy to sort out the lies and separate the facts.”

  At this point the cab, which had been rumbling down Whitehall, turned in at a large gateway and drew up at the entrance to a building which I decided to be the police headquarters, judging by the constabulary appearance of all the visible occupants. Here we disembarked and made our way to a barely furnished room containing a large table, furnished with writing materials, and a few chairs. Seated at the table with their backs to the windows were Dr. Thorndyke, Dr. Jervis, and a gentleman whom I did not know. Exactly opposite the table was a door, at each side of which a police officer in uniform stood stiffly on guard, which led me to surmise that ‘the birds in hand’ were not very far away.