The Childerbridge Mystery

  CHAPTER VIII

  Before Jim could recover from his astonishment at seeing the man whom hehad been led to believe was upon the high seas, standing before him, thecabman had whipped up his horse once more, and was half across theCircus. Springing to his feet, he pushed up the shutter, and bade thedriver pull up as quickly as possible. Then, jumping from the cab, hegave the man the first coin he took from his pocket.

  "Did you see which way that fellow went we so nearly knocked down?" hecried.

  "Went away towards Regent Street, I believe," answered the cabman. "Hehad a narrow shave and it isn't his fault he isn't in hospital now."

  Jim waited to hear no more, but made his way back to the policeman hehad noticed standing beside the fountain in the centre of the Circus.

  "Did you see that man who was so nearly knocked down by a cab a fewminutes ago?" he enquired, scarcely able to speak for excitement.

  "I did," the officer answered laconically. "What about him?"

  "Only that you must endeavour to find him, and arrest him at once," saidJim. "There is not a moment to be lost. He may have got away by thistime."

  "And he's precious lucky if he has," said the policeman. "Never saw acloser thing in my life."

  "But don't you hear me? You must find him at once. Every second we wasteis giving him the chance of getting away."

  "Come, come, there's no such hurry: what's he done that you should be soanxious to get hold of him?"

  By this time Jim was nearly beside himself with rage at the other'sstupidity.

  "That man was the Childerbridge murderer," he replied. "I am as certainof it as I am that I see you standing before me now."

  "Come, come, Sir, that's all very well you know," said the policeman,with what was plainly a kindly intent, "but you go along home and get tobed quietly; you'll be better in the morning and will have forgotten allabout this 'ere murderer."

  After which, without another word, he walked away.

  "Well, of all the insane idiots in the world," muttered Jim, "thatfellow should come first. But I am not going to be baulked; I'll searchfor Murbridge myself."

  He thereupon set off along Regent Street, but before he had gone halfthe length of the street the folly of such a proceeding became apparentto him. He knew that Murbridge had seen him, and, for this reason, wouldmost likely betake himself to the quiet of the back streets. To attemptto find him, therefore, under cover of darkness, and at such an hour,would be well-nigh an impossibility. Then another idea occurred to him.Hailing a cab, he set off for Scotland Yard. On arrival there, he handedin his card, and in due course was received most courteously by thechief officer on duty. He explained his errand, and in doing so showedthe mistake under which Detective-sergeant Robins had been and was stilllabouring.

  "He shall be communicated with at once," said the official. "I supposeyou are quite certain of the identity of the man you saw in PiccadillyCircus, Mr. Standerton?"

  "As certain as I am of anything," Jim replied. "I should recognise himanywhere. I was permitted a full view of his face, and I am quite surethat I am not making a mistake. If only the cabman had pulled up a fewmoments earlier, I might have been able to have stopped him."

  "In that case, you should be able to give us some details of his presentpersonal appearance, which would afford us considerable assistance inour search for him."

  "He was wearing a black felt hat, and a brown overcoat, the collar ofwhich was turned up."

  The officer made a note of these particulars, and promised that theinformation should be dispersed in all directions without loss of time.Then, feeling that nothing more could be done Jim bade him good-night,and drove back to his hotel. In spite of the work he had done that dayhe was not destined to obtain a wink of sleep all night, but tumbled andtossed in his bed, brooding continually over the chance he had missed ofsecuring his father's murderer. If only he had alighted when the cabmanfirst stopped, he might have been able to have secured Murbridge. Nowhis capture seemed as remote as ever; further, indeed, than if he hadbeen, as Robins supposed, on board the vessel bound for South Africa.

  Jim had just finished his breakfast next morning when Robins called tosee him.

  "This is a nice sort of surprise you have given us, sir," said thedetective, when he had made a few commonplace remarks, "I mean yourseeing Murbridge last night; I don't know what to think of it. It seemsto me to be more of a mystery than ever now."

  "The only thing you can think of it is that Murbridge is in London, andnot on board the mail boat as you supposed," Jim replied. "You must havegot upon a wrong track again. I suppose there is no further news of himthis morning?"

  "There was none when I left the Yard," the other replied. "At present weare over-hauling all the doss-houses and shelters, and it is possible wemay make a discovery before long. When you think of the description wehave of him--a man wearing a brown coat and a felt hat--it is not verymuch to go upon. There must be hundreds of men dressed like that inLondon. If only we had a photograph of him it would make the labour agood deal easier."

  This set Jim thinking. In the lumber-room at Childerbridge there was, ashe remembered, a number of cases containing books, photograph albums,etc., which his father had brought with him from Australia, but whichhad never been unpacked. He recalled the fact that his father had toldhim that he had been on intimate terms with Murbridge many years before.Was it not possible, therefore, that among his collections there mightbe some portrait of that individual. He felt inclined to run down andturn the boxes over. What was more, if he did so, he might chance toobtain an interview with Helen. He explained his hopes with regard tothe photograph to the detective, who instantly agreed that it might beworth his while to make the search.

  "In that case I will go down by the eleven o'clock train, and if Idiscover anything, I will wire you and post the photograph on to you bythe evening mail."

  "It is unnecessary for me to assure you it would be an inestimable helpto us in our search," the other answered; "we should have something moredefinite to go upon then."

  True to this arrangement, therefore Jim, Alice, and Terence returned toChilderbridge by the morning train. A carriage met them at the station,and in it they drove through the village. As they were drawing near thepark gates, an exclamation from Alice roused Jim from the reverie intowhich he had fallen, and caused him to glance up the lane that led fromthe main road. To his unspeakable joy, he discovered that Helen wascoming towards them. In a moment the carriage was stopped, and Jimalighted and hastened to meet her.

  "My darling," he cried, "I never counted upon having the happiness ofseeing you so soon. This is most fortunate."

  "But what brings you back to-day, Jim?" Helen replied. "From your letterI gathered that I should not see you for at least a week. There isnothing wrong, I hope?"

  She scanned his face with anxious eyes, and as she did so it occurred toJim that she herself was looking far from well.

  "Nothing is the matter," he answered. "We have merely come down to tryand find some photographs that would help us in our search. But, Helen,you are not looking at all well. Your face frightens me."

  "I am alright," was the reply. "I have been a little worried latelyabout my grandfather, and that probably accounts for my appearance, butwe will not talk of that now. I must say 'How do you do' to Alice."

  She accordingly approached the carriage, and held out her hand to herfriend. They conversed together for a few moments, and then Aliceproposed that Helen should return with them to the Hall, but this being,for more reasons than one, impossible, it was arranged that Jim shouldsee her home across the park, a suggestion which, you may be sure, hewas not slow to take advantage of. They accordingly watched the carriagepass through the lodge gates, and then themselves set out for the DowerHouse. As they walked Jim told his sweetheart of the ill success thathad attended his mission to London.

  "But, Helen," he said at last, as they approached the house, "you havenot told me what it is that is worrying you about your grandfather. Ihop
e he has not been making you unhappy?"

  She hung her head but did not answer.

  "Ah, I can see that he has," he exclaimed, "and I suppose it wassomething to do with me. I wonder whether I should be right if Ihazarded a guess that Mr. Bursfield had been trying again to force youinto giving me up? Is that the case, Helen?"

  "I am afraid in a measure it is," she replied, but with some diffidence."You may be quite sure, however, that whatever he may do it will notinfluence me. You know how truly I love you?"

  "Yes, I know that," he answered, "and I am quite content to trust you. Iknow that nothing Mr. Bursfield can say will induce you to do as heproposes."

  "Remember that always," she said. "But, oh, Jim, I wish he were not sodetermined in his opposition to our marriage. Sometimes I feel that I amacting not only like a traitor to him, but to you as well."

  "That you could never be," Jim returned. "However, keep up a good heart,dear, and you may be sure all will come right in the end. In the futurewe shall look back upon these little troubles, and wonder why we soworried about them."

  A few minutes later they reached the gates leading into the grounds ofthe Dower House. Here Jim bade his sweetheart good-bye, and, havingarranged another meeting for the morrow, set off on his walk to his ownhome. Immediately upon his arrival there, he made his way, accompaniedby Alice, to the lumber-room on the top story of the house, in which theboxes he had come down to over-haul had been placed. How well he couldrecall the day in Australia on which his father had packed them. Littlehad he imagined then that those boxes would next be opened in order todiscover a portrait of the same kind father's murderer. When the firstbox had been overhauled it was found to contain unimportant papersconnected with the dead man's various properties in Australia. In thesecond was a miscellaneous collection; which consisted of a variety ofaccount books, with specimens of ore, wool, and other products of theIsland Continent. It was not until they had opened the third box thatthey began to think they were on the right track. In this were a fewengravings, perhaps half-a-dozen sketch books, filled with pen-and-inkdrawings by Jim's mother, upwards of a hundred novels between thirty andforty years old, and at the bottom a large album filled withphotographs, each of which looked out upon a forgetful world from afloral setting. Jim took it to a window, where he sat down on a box toexamine it.

  To my thinking there is nothing more pathetic than an old album. Whatmemories it recalls of long-forgotten friends; as one looks upon thefaded pictures, how clearly old scenes rise before one.

  On the first page was a photograph of William Standerton himself, takenwhen he was a young man. His coat was of a strange cut, his trouserswere of the peg-top description, while a magnificent pair of "Dundreary"whiskers decorated his manly face. With a sigh Jim turned the page, todiscover a portrait of his mother, which had been taken on her weddingday. Then followed a long succession of relatives and personal friends,each clad in the same fashion, and nearly all taken in the sameconstrained attitude. But examine each picture as he would, norepresentation of the man he wanted could he discover.

  "Well, I'm afraid that's all," said Jim to Alice, as he replaced thealbum in his box. "I am disappointed, though I cannot say that I hopedto be very successful. I shall have to write to Robins and tell him thatI have found nothing."

  Having relocked the boxes, they descended to the hall once more. It wasgrowing dark, and the dressing bell for dinner had already sounded. Theyaccordingly separated, and went to their respective rooms. If the truthmust be confessed, Jim was more disappointed by the failure of hissearch than he cared to admit.

  "It would have been of inestimable value," he said to himself, "to havea portrait of Murbridge just now."

  He had tied one end of his tie and was in the act of performing the sameoperation with the other, when he stopped and stared at the wall beforehim with half-closed eyes.

  "By Jove!" he said, "I believe I've hit it. I think I know where thereis a portrait of him."

  He recalled a scene that had taken place at Mudrapilla one winter'sevening, many years before, when Alice and he were children. The lamphad been lighted, and to amuse them before they went to bed, theirfather had promised a prize to whichever one of the pair shouldrecognise and describe by name the greater number of the portraits inthe very album he had been looking through that afternoon. Jimremembered how on that occasion he had chanced upon a certain _carte devisite_, showing a tall young man leaning, hat in hand, against a marblepillar.

  "Who is this, father?" He had enquired for he was not able to recognisethe individual portrayed in the picture.

  "Do not ask me," returned his father in a tone that the children neverforgot, so stern and harsh was it. Then, drawing the portrait from thepage, he placed it in the pocket at the end of the book. After that thegame had recommenced, but was played with less vigour than before.

  "I wonder if it could have been the same man?" said Jim. "I cannotremember father ever having expressed such a dislike for any one elsesave Murbridge. After dinner I'll go up and endeavour to find it. It wasthere for many years, for I can recall how I used to creep into thedrawing-room and peep at it on the sly, wondering what sort of villainyhe had committed that was sufficient to prevent his name being mentionedto us. Poor father, it is certain that he was not deceived in him afterall."

  Throughout dinner that evening his mind dwelt on the remembrance of thatscene at Mudrapilla, and as soon as they rose from the table he beggedAlice to excuse him, and went upstairs candle in hand, to recommence hissearch. He left his sister in the drawing-room, and the household wereat supper in the servants' hall, so that, so far as the disposition ofthe house went, he had all the upper floors to himself. Entering thelumber-room, he knelt down and unlocked the box which contained thealbum. To take the book from the box, and to turn to the pocket inquestion was the work of a moment. It had been placed there for thepurpose of holding loose photographs, and it extended the whole width ofthe cover. With a half fear that it might not be contained therein, Jimthrust his hand into the receptacle. He was not to be disappointed thistime, however, for a card was certainly there, and he withdrew it andheld it up to the light with a feeling of triumph. Yes, it was thepicture he remembered, and, better still, _it was the portrait ofRichard Murbridge_. Though it had been taken when the latter was a youngman, Jim recognised his enemy at once. There was the same crafty look inhis eyes, the same carping expression about the mouth. The man who hadbeen so nearly knocked down by the cab on the previous evening was thesame person who, in the picture, posed himself so gracefully beside themarble pillar "This must go to Robins to-night," said Jim, to himself,"copies of it can then be distributed broadcast. It will be strangeafter that if we do not manage to lay hands upon him."

  So saying, he replaced the album in the box, locked the latter, and thenplaced the photograph in his pocket, and prepared to return to Aliceonce more. As he descended the stairs, he extinguished the candle, forthe hanging lamp in the hall below gave sufficient light for him to seehis way. He was only a few steps from the bottom when a curious noise,which seemed to come from the gallery above, attracted his attention. Itresembled the creaking of a rusty hinge, more than anything else. He hadjust time to wonder what had occasioned it, when, to his amazement, hebecame aware of a little black figure passing swiftly along the corridorin the direction of the further wing. A moment later it had vanished,and he was left to place such construction as he pleased upon what hehad seen. For a space, during which a man might have counted twenty, hestood as if rooted to the spot, scarcely able to believe the evidence ofhis senses.

  "Good heavens! The Black Dwarf," he muttered to himself. "I must findout what it means."

  Then he set off in pursuit.