CHAPTER XXVIII.
"POOR MRS. COURTENAY."
Ambler appeared to be much concerned regarding the poor man's death.When we had first met beside his vegetable barrow in the London Roadhe certainly seemed a hard-working, respectable fellow, with a voicerendered hoarse and rough by constantly shouting his wares. But by thewhispered words that had passed I knew that Ambler was in hisconfidence. The nature of this I had several times tried to fathom.
His unexpected death appeared to have upset all Ambler's plans. Hegrunted and took a tour round the poorly-furnished chamber.
"Look here!" he said, halting in front of me. "There's been foul playhere. We must lose no time in calling the police--not that they arelikely to discover the truth."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because the poor fellow has been the victim of a secret assassin."
"Then you suspect a motive?"
"I believe that there is a motive why his lips should be closed--astrange and remote one." Then, turning to the old fellow who had beenthe dead man's friend, he asked: "Do you know anyone by the name ofSlade?"
"Slade?" repeated the croaking old fellow. "Slade? No, sir. I don'trecollect anyone of that name. Is it a man or a woman?"
"Either."
"No, sir."
"Do you know if Lanky Lane ever had visitors here--I mean visitors notof his own class?"
"I never 'eard of none. Lanky wasn't the sort o' chap to trouble aboutcallers. He used to spend 'is nights in the Three Nuns wiv us; buthe'd sit 'ours over two o' gin. 'E saved 'is money, 'e did."
"But look here," exclaimed Ambler, seriously. "Are you quite certainthat you've never seen him with any stranger at nights?"
"Never to my knowledge."
"Well," my companion said, "you'd better go and call the police."
When the old fellow had shuffled away down the rickety stairs, Ambler,turning to me, said abruptly:
"That fellow is lying; he knows something about this affair."
I had taken up the empty dram bottle and smelt it. The spirit it hadcontained was rum--which had evidently been drunk from the bottle, asthere was no glass near. A slight quantity remained, and this I placedaside for analysis if necessary.
"I can't see what this poor fellow has to do with the inquiry uponwhich we are engaged, Ambler," I remarked. "I do wish you'd be moreexplicit. Mystery seems to heap upon mystery."
"Yes. You're right," he said reflectively. "Slowly--very slowly, I amworking out the problem, Ralph. It has been a long and difficultmatter; but by degrees I seem to be drawing towards a conclusion.This," and he pointed to the man lying dead, "is another of London'smany mysteries, but it carries us one step further."
"I can't, for the life of me, see what connection the death of thispoor street hawker has with the strange events of the immediate past."
"Remain patient. Let us watch the blustering inquiries of the police,"he laughed. "They'll make a great fuss, but will find out nothing. Theauthor of this crime is far too wary."
"But this man Slade?" I said. "Of late your inquiries have always beenof him. What is his connection with the affair?"
"Ah, that we have yet to discover. He may have no connection, foraught I know. It is mere supposition, based upon a logicalconclusion."
"What motive had you in meeting this man here to-night?" I inquired,hoping to gather some tangible clue to the reason of his erraticmovements.
"Ah! that's just the point," he responded. "If this poor fellow hadlived he would have revealed to me a secret--we should have known thetruth!"
"The truth!" I gasped. "Then at the very moment when he intended toconfess to you he has been struck down."
"Yes. His lips have been sealed by his enemy--and yours. Both areidentical," he replied, and his lips snapped together in that peculiarmanner that was his habit. I knew it was useless to question himfurther.
Indeed, at that moment heavy footsteps sounded upon the stairs, andtwo constables, conducted by the shuffling old man, appeared upon thescene.
"We have sent for you," Ambler explained. "This man is dead--diedsuddenly, we believe."
"Who is he, sir?" inquired the elder of the pair, bending over theprostrate man, and taking up the smoky lamp in order to examine hisfeatures more carefully.
"His name is Lane--a costermonger, known as Lanky Lane. The man withyou is one of his friends, and can tell you more about him than Ican."
"Is he dead?" queried the second constable, touching the thin, pallidface.
"Certainly," I answered. "I'm a doctor, and have already made anexamination. He's been dead some time."
My name and address was taken, together with that of my companion.When, however, Ambler told the officers his name, both were visiblyimpressed. The name of Jevons was well known to the police, who heldhim in something like awe as a smart criminal investigator.
"I know Inspector Barton at Leman Street--your station, I suppose?" headded.
"Yes, sir," responded the first constable. "And begging your pardon,sir, I'm honoured to meet you. We all heard how you beat the C. I.Department in the Bowyer Square Mystery, and how you gave the wholeinformation to Sergeant Payling without taking any of the credit toyourself. He got all the honour, sir, and your name didn't appear atthe Old Bailey."
Jevons laughed. He was never fond of seeing his name in print. He madea study of the ways and methods of the criminal, but only for his owngratification. The police knew him well, but he hid his light underthe proverbial bushel always.
"What is your own opinion of the affair, sir?" the officer continued,ready to take his opinion before that of the sergeant of the CriminalInvestigation Department attached to his station.
"Well," said Ambler, "it looks like sudden death, doesn't it? Perhapsit's poison."
"Suicide?"
"Murder, very possibly," was Jevons' quiet response.
"Then you really think there's a mystery, sir?" exclaimed theconstable quickly.
"It seems suspiciously like one. Let us search the room. Come alongRalph," he added, addressing me. "Just lend a hand."
There was not much furniture in the place to search, and before long,with the aid of the constable's lantern, we had investigated everynook and cranny.
Only one discovery of note was made, and it was certainly a strangeone.
Beneath a loose board, near the fireplace, Jevons discovered the deadman's hoard. It consisted of several papers carefully folded together.We examined them, and found them to consist of a hawker's licence, areceipt for the payment for a barrow and donkey, a post-office savingsbank book, showing a balance of twenty-six pounds four shillings, andseveral letters from a correspondent unsigned. They were type-written,in order that the handwriting should not be betrayed, and upon thatflimsy paper used in commercial offices. All of them were of thehighest interest. The first, read aloud by Ambler, ran as follows:--
_"Dear Lane,--I have known you a good many years, and never thought you were such a fool as to neglect a good thing. Surely you will reconsider the proposal I made to you the night before last in the bar of the Elephant and Castle? You once did me a very good turn long ago, and now I am in a position to put a good remunerative bit of business in your way. Yet you are timid that all may not turn out well! Apparently you do not fully recognise the stake I hold in the matter, and the fact that any exposure would mean ruin to me. Surely I have far more to lose than you have. Therefore that, in itself, should be sufficient guarantee to you. Reconsider your reply, and give me your decision to-morrow night. You will find me in the saloon bar of the King Lud, in Ludgate Hill, at eight o'clock. Do not speak to me there, but show yourself, and then wait outside until I join you. Have a care that you are not followed. That hawk Ambler Jevons has scent of us. Therefore, remain dumb and watchful--Z."_
"That's curious," I remarked. "Whoever wrote that letter was incitingLane to conspiracy, and at the same time held you in fear, Ambler."
M
y companion laughed again--a quiet self-satisfied laugh. Then hecommenced the second letter, type-written like the first, butevidently upon another machine.
_"Dear Lane,--Your terms seem exorbitant. I quite understand that at least four or five of you must be in the affair, but the price asked is ridiculous. Besides, I didn't like Bennett's tone when he spoke to me yesterday. He was almost threatening. What have you told him? Recollect that each of us knows something to the detriment of the other, and even in these days of so-called equality the man with money is always the best. You must contrive to shut Bennett's mouth. Give him money, if he wants it--up to ten pounds. But, of course, do not say that it comes from me. You can, of course, pose as my friend, as you have done before. I shall be at the usual place to-night.--Z."_
"Looks as though there's been some blackmailing," one of theconstables remarked. "Who's Bennett?"
"I expect that's Bobby Bennett who works in the Meat Market," repliedthe atom of a man who had accosted us at Aldgate. "He was a friend ofLanky's, and a bad 'un. I've 'eard say that 'e 'ad a record at the OldBailey."
"What for?"
"'Ousebreakin'."
"Is he working now?" Ambler inquired.
"Yes. I saw 'im in Farrin'don Street yesterday."
"Ah!" remarked the constable. "We shall probably want to have a chatwith him. But the chief mystery is the identity of the writer of theseletters. At all events it is evident that this poor man Lane knewsomething to his detriment, and was probably trying to make money outof that knowledge."
"Not at all an unusual case," I said.
Jevons grunted, and appeared to view the letters with considerablesatisfaction. Any documentary evidence surrounding a case ofmysterious death is always of interest. In this case, being of such asuspicious nature, it was doubly so.
"_Are you quite decided not to assist me?"_ another letter ran. It was likewise type-written, and from the same source. _"Recollect you did so once, and were well paid for it. You had enough to keep you in luxury for years had you not so foolishly frittered it away on your so-called friends. Any of the latter would give you away to the police to-morrow for a five-pound note. This, however, is my last appeal to you. If you help me I shall give you one hundred pounds, which is not bad payment for an hour's work. If you do not, then you will not hear from me again.--Z."_
"Seems a bit brief, and to the point," was the elder constable'sremark. "I wonder what is the affair mentioned by this mysteriouscorrespondent? Evidently the fellow intended to bring off a robbery,or something, and Lane refused to give his aid."
"Apparently so," replied Ambler, fingering the last letter remainingin his hand. "But this communication is even of greater interest," headded, turning to me and showing me writing in a well-known hand.
"I know that writing!" I cried. "Why--that letter is from poor Mrs.Courtenay!"
"It is," he said, quietly. "Did I not tell you that we were on the eveof a discovery, and that the dead man lying there could have told usthe truth?"
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