Mr. Ingoldmells paused for a moment and then replied, “Of course I could do so, but I have no proof and if I went to him, he would deny everything of course and it would make him your enemy for life.”
“Besides,” added Robert, “you would put him on his guard and he would escape us.”
The unhappy little man glanced from one to the other in despair.
“Then Poiret is lost,” he screamed. “Is Poiret to stay for the rest of his days in this villain’s power?”
“Not so,” answered Robert, “because soon I hope to put it out of Mr. Yelvertoft’s power to injure anyone. What did he say, when he asked you to introduce him to the Burgh le Marsh’s?”
“The usual. It is nothing specific. He knows that Poiret, he is friends with the count and countess.”
“Then, so long as he hopes you will be useful, so long he will do nothing. Do as he wants. Never allude to the receipt. Introduce him to the count and countess and speak well of him, while I, aided by Mr. Ingoldmells, will do my utmost to unmask this scoundrel and as long as he believes himself to be in perfect security, our task will be much easier.”
Just then the servant answered from the bank and as soon as the man had left the room Ingoldmells took the banknotes and placed them in Poiret’s hand.
“Here is the money for Yelvertoft,” he said. “Take my advice and give it to him this evening with a letter of thanks.”
“A thousand thanks, Monsieur Ingoldmells. Poiret, he will act as you advise.”
“Remember you must not allude in your letter to his introduction to the Burgh le Marsh’s. What do you think, Robert?”
“I think a receipt for the money would be a great thing,” he answered.
“But such a demand would arouse his suspicions.”
“I don’t think so.” He turned to Poiret. “Do you have a servant on whom you can rely?”
“Yes, Poiret has a manservant, Manfred.”
“Good, then give the man a letter and the banknotes in separate envelopes and tell him exactly what he is to do. When he sees the lord, let him pretend to be alarmed at the great responsibility that he is incurring in carrying this large sum and insist on a receipt for his own protection.”
“There is sound sense in that,” said Ingoldmells.
“Oui, oui,” said the little man, “Manfred, he will do exactly so. Please to trust Poiret,” he continued, as a smile of hope spread over his face. “Poiret, he will keep Monsieur Yelvertoft in good humor. He will confide in Poiret and Poiret, he will tell to you everything.”
With these words the former policeman stood up to leave.
“Poiret, he is, how do you say, completely worn out,” he said, wiping his forehead with his monogrammed handkerchief, “and he has the dinner-party tonight. Au revoir, Messieurs,” and with his spirits much improved, he left quickly.
“The heat is on,” said Robert, as soon as they were alone again. “We are on the track of Mr. Yelvertoft. He obviously holds the Count and Countess of Burgh le Marsh as he holds Mr. Poiret. He finds the weak spot and then turns to extortion.”
Dr. Willoughby’s private arrangements were sadly upset by him being compelled to accede to the orders of Berrick to grant hospitality to Will Platts. Even so he never thought of attempting to evade the orders he had received. He reluctantly set himself to his task of trying to form Will’s mind by blunting his conscience to prepare him for the inevitable part that he would soon have to play.
Will on his part found in the doctor a most affable companion. The doctor was pleasant, witty and gifted with great conversational powers. Five days were thus spent breakfasting at well-known restaurants, driving in the park and dining at clubs of which the doctor was a member, while the evenings were passed at Walter Pitstone’s mansion. The doctor played cards with the other guests, while Will and Rhiannon talked together in low whispers or else sat at the piano together.
But every kind of pleasant existence comes to an end and one day Old Man Davidson entered the doctor’s drawing-room, his face glowing with delight.
“I have found you the nicest little flat in the world,” he cried merrily. “It is not as fine as the doctor’s, but more in accordance with your position.”
“Where is it?” asked Will.
Old Man Davidson waited. “You won’t wear out much shoe leather,” he said, winking, “in walking to a certain banker’s mansion, because your lodgings are close to his.”
That Old Man Davidson had an impressive talent for organizing Will realized as soon as he entered his new accommodation, which was in Pavilion Road and consisted of some neat, quiet rooms, just such as an artist, who had conquered the first difficulties on his road to fame and fortune would inhabit. The apartment was on the third floor and consisted of a tiny entrance hall, salon, bedroom and dressing room. A piano stood near the window in the salon. The furniture and curtains were tasteful and in good order, but nothing was new. One thing surprised Will very much, he had been told that the apartment had been taken and furnished three days before and yet it seemed as if it had been inhabited for years and that the owner had merely stepped out a few minutes before. The unmade bed and the food in the pantry added to this impression. On the rug lay a pair of worn silk slippers. The fire had not gone out entirely and a half-smoked cigar lay on the mantelpiece.
On the table in the salon was a sheet of music paper, with a few bars jotted down on it. Will was convinced that he was in another person’s rooms. He said, “Someone has been living in these rooms.”
“We are in your own home, my dear boy,” said Old Man Davidson.
“But it’s as if the original owner just simply walked out?”
Old Man Davidson smiled mysteriously.
“Don’t you know your own home?” he asked. “You’ve been living here for the last twelve months.”
“I don’t understand you,” answered Will, opening his eyes wide in surprise.
“I’m entirely in earnest, because for more than a year you’ve been established here. If you want a proof of the correctness of my assertion, call up the landlady.” He ran to the head of the staircase and shouted, “Come up, Mrs. Baldock.”
In a few moments a stout old woman came panting into the room.
“And how are you, Mrs. Baldock?” said Old Man Davidson cheerily and continued without waiting for an answer, “I have a word or two to say to you. You know this gentleman, do you not?”
“What a question?”
“What is his name?”
“Mr. Will.”
“Plain Mr. Will and nothing else?”
“Well, sir, it is not his fault if he didn’t know his father or mother.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a musician. He gives lessons on the piano and composes music.”
“Does he do a good business?”
“I can’t say, sir, but I would guess about two or three hundred shilling a month and he makes that do, because he is economical and quiet.”
Old Man Davidson’s face beamed with satisfaction.
“You must have known Mr. Will for some time as you seem so thoroughly acquainted with his habits?” he said.
“Well, I ought to. He’s been here nearly fifteen months and all that time I’ve looked after his room.”
“Do you know where he lived before he came here?”
“Of course I do, because I went to inquire about him in Violet Road. The people there were cut up at him leaving, but you see this was more handy for the music publisher in Carnaby for whom he works.”
“Good, Mrs. Baldock. That will do. You can leave us now.”
As Will listened to this short conversation, he wondered if he was awake or asleep. Old Man Davidson stood at the door and watched the woman go down the stairs. He then closed it carefully and coming up to Will, said, “Well, what do you think of all this?”
At first Will was so astounded that he could hardly find words in which to express himself, but he remembered the words, which Dr. Willoughb
y had drilled into his ears during the last five days, “Let nothing surprise you.”
“I suppose,” he said, “that you’ve taught the old woman her lesson beforehand.”
“Great Scot!” screamed Old Man Davidson in disgust. “If this is the only idea you can come up with after all the things you’ve heard us tell you, our task will not be an easy one.”
Will was hurt by Old Man Davidson’s contemptuous tone of speech.
“I understand well enough, sir,” he answered unhappily, “that this is merely a prologue to a stage play.”
“You’re right, my boy,” he said in a more satisfied voice. “And it is one that is very important. The plot of this play will be revealed to you later on and also the reward you will receive if you play your part well.”
“But why can’t you tell me everything now?”
Old Man Davidson shook his head.
“Have patience, boy!” he said. “Rome was not built in a day. Blindly follow the orders and you will be fine. This is your first rehearsal.”
“What do you mean, rehearsal?”
“All that the good woman told you,” continued Old Man Davidson, “you must convince yourself it is true and when you believe this thoroughly, you’re prepared for the next stage of this play, but until then you must stay quiescent. Remember, you cannot convince others unless you firmly believe it yourself.”
“I’m supposed to be an impostor,” thought Will. A wave of Old Man Davidson’s hand brought him back to reality.
“You must cast aside your old skin and enter that of another. Will Platts, the son of a woman, who kept a small shop in Swansea, Will Platts, the youthful lover of Selma, no longer exists. He died of cold and hunger in a room in the boarding house on Pollard Street as Mr. Clemens will testify to when necessary.”
The tone in which Old Man Davidson spoke showed his intense earnestness and with forceful gestures he drove each idea into Will’s mind.
“You will rid yourself of your former life as you do of an old coat, which you throw aside and forget the very existence of. And not only that, but you must lose your memory and that so entirely, that if someone in the street calls out Platts, you will never turn around.”
Will’s mind seemed to tremble beneath the weight of responsibility for a future crime, which his companion was obviously alluding to.
“Who am I?” he asked with a dry mouth.
A sarcastic smile crossed Old Man Davidson’s face.
“You’re just what the landlady told you, Will and nothing more. Your first memories are of King’s Cross Orphanage. You never knew your parents. You’ve lived here for fifteen months and before that you lived in Violet Road. The landlady knows no more, but if you come with me to Violet Road, the people there can tell you more about your life when you were living in the house. Perhaps, if you prove to be an astute student, we may even take you back to your childhood. We may even find you a father.”
“But,” Will said, “what do I tell Mr. Pitstone or Miss Rhiannon, if they ask about my past?”
“Don’t worry yourself. You will be furnished with all necessary papers, so that you can account for every year of the twenty-five years you spent in this world.”
“Was the person into whose shoes I’m creeping, a composer and a musician like myself?”
Again Old Man Davidson’s patience gave way. He screamed, “Are you acting the part of a fool or are you one for real? No one has ever been here except for you. Did you not hear what the old woman said? She told you that you’re a musician and while you’re waiting until your talents are appreciated by the public, you give lessons in music.”
“And to whom do I give these lessons?”
Old Man Davidson took three visiting cards from a china plate on the mantelshelf.
“Here are three pupils of yours,” he said, “who pay you one hundred shilling per month for two lessons a week and two of them will tell you without a doubt that you’ve taught them for some time. The third, Mrs. Madeley, a widow, will vow that she owes all her success, which is very great, to your lessons. You will go and give these pupils their lessons at the hours written down on their cards and you will be received as if you have been there before and remember to be perfectly at your ease.”
“I will follow your instructions.”
“One last piece of information. In addition to your lessons, you also entertain at the salon of Sir Alfred Yelvertoft. This Saturday you will play a charming composition by Giacomo Meyerbeer. You see,” continued Old Man Davidson, taking Will by the arm and showing him around the room, “that nothing has been forgotten and that you’ve lived here for years. You’ve always been a clever young man and you’ve saved up a little money. In this drawer you will find eight certificates of deposit from the Scotland Fidelity Assurance.”
Will wished to ask many more questions, but his visitor was already on the threshold and only paused to add these words, “I will call here tomorrow with Dr. Willoughby.” Then, with a strange smile playing on his lips, he added, “We will make you a count’s long lost son yet.”
The landlady was waiting for Old Man Davidson and as soon as she saw him coming down the stairs immersed in deep thought, out she ran toward him with as much eagerness as her corpulent body would allow.
“Did I do it all right?” she asked.
“Hush!” he answered, pushing her quickly into her office, the door of which stood open. “Hush! Are you mad to talk like this, when you don’t know, who’s listening?”
“I hoped you’d be pleased with my work,” continued the woman, aghast at his sudden anger.
“You did well, very well. You piled up the evidence perfectly. I will have an excellent report to make of you to Mr. Berrick.”
“I’m so glad! So my husband and I are safe?”
The old man shook his head with an air of doubt.
“Well, I can hardly say that yet. The master’s arm is long and strong, but you have numerous enemies. You and your husband both acted very foolishly. And two women can swear that they saw you and your husband with a bunch of keys in your hand on the second floor.”
The fat woman’s face turned a sickly yellow. She clasped her hands and whined piteously, “Don’t speak so loud, sir. I beg of you. The walls have ears and eyes.”
“You made a terrible mistake and there is talk that the matter has reached the ears of the police.”
“But if Mr. Berrick…”
“He, my good woman, is willing to serve you. I’m sure that he will manage to break the inquiry, but, you know, he gives nothing for nothing. He must have implicit obedience.”
“Please tell Mr. Berrick, my husband and I will go through fire for him and my daughter, Eileen, who is twenty-one and unmarried would do anything in the world for him.”
Old Man Davidson recoiled uneasily at the old woman’s show of gratitude.
“All you have to do is to stick firmly to what you’ve said about Will,” he continued, when he recovered his usual tranquility, “and if ever you breathe a word of what you’ve been told to do, he will hand you and your husband over to the law himself.”
It was evident that the reference to the police, struck terror into the woman’s soul.
“Even if I stood on the gallows,” she said, “I would tell them the story about Mr. Will exactly as I’ve been told.”
Her tone was so sincere, that Old Man Davidson addressed her in a kindlier voice.
“Stick to that,” he said, “and on the day on which the young man’s business is settled you will get a paper from me, which will prove your complete innocence and what’s more, you will be able to say even if necessary in court, “I have been grossly maligned.”
“May the dear young man’s business be settled quickly,” she said.
“Don’t have any conversation with him. Answer all the questions he addresses to you with a simple “Yes,” or “No,” and as I said before, watch his every movement.”
Old Man Davidson tipped his hat and left the landla
dy’s office.
In Old Man Davidson’s presence Will had tried to assume an air of bravado, but as soon as he was left alone he was overwhelmed by such mortal terror, that he sank in a half fainting condition into an easy-chair. He knew that he was not about to put on a disguise for a short period. It would be for the rest of his life. Wealth, title and even a wife would all be obtained by a shameful and skilfully planned deception. And he had to commit this deception until the day of his death. He shuddered as he recalled Old Man Davidson’s words, “Will Platts is dead.” How was he going to get away with this? Will knew that he ran the risk that any of his old companions might recognize and denounce him. Would he have on such an occasion sufficient presence of mind to turn laughingly to his accuser and say, “Really, my good gentleman, you’re in error, because I never set eyes on you before?”
He felt that he could not do it and if he had the money he would have fled. But he knew that men like Berrick, Willoughby and Old Man Davidson were not easily eluded and his heart sank as he remembered the various crumbs of information, which each of these men had dropped in front of him. To agree to their dishonest designs and to go along with them would bring the risk of getting caught and tried in a court of law and imprisonment, but it was a risk, which was a long way off and might never come to pass. If he changed his mind, it would bring swift punishment from his co-conspirators, possibly death. The weak-minded young man made his choice and with this decision the last murmurings of his conscience stopped.
The first night he slept badly in his new accommodation, because it seemed to him as if the ghost of the man, whose place he was about to take was hovering over his bed. But with the dawn of day and especially when the hour arrived for him to go out and give his lessons, he felt his courage return to him, though rashness perhaps would be the more correct word. And with an expression of perfect confidence he went to the house of Mrs. Madeley, the oldest of his pupils.
Impelled by the same feeling of curiosity as to how Will would conduct himself, both Dr. Willoughby and Old Man Davidson had been hanging around Pavilion Road and taking advantage of a lorry, which was passing by, they caught a good glimpse of the young man.
Down To The Abbey (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 12) Page 16
