The Avenger

  CHAPTER XI

  FALSE SENTIMENT

  With his nerves strung to their utmost point of tension Wrayson walkedhomeward with the unseeing eyes and mechanical footsteps of a man unableas yet fully to collect his scattered senses. But for him the events ofthe evening were not yet over. He had no sooner turned the key in thelatch of his door and entered his sitting-room, than he became aware ofthe fact that he had a visitor. The air was fragrant with tobacco smoke;a man rose deliberately from the easy-chair, and, throwing the ash fromhis cigarette into the fire, turned to greet him. Wrayson was soastonished that he could only gasp out his name.

  "Heneage!" he exclaimed.

  Heneage nodded. Of the two, he was by far the more at his ease.

  "I wanted to see you, Wrayson," he said, "and I persuaded yourhousekeeper--with some difficulty--to let me wait for your arrival. Canyou spare me a few minutes?"

  "Of course," Wrayson answered. "Sit down. Will you have anything?"

  Heneage shook his head.

  "Not just now, thanks!"

  Wrayson took off his hat and coat, threw them upon the table, and lit acigarette.

  "Well," he said, "what is it?"

  "I have come," Heneage said quietly, "to offer you some very goodadvice. You are run down, and you look it. You need a change. I shouldrecommend a sea voyage, the longer the better. They say that your paperis making a lot of money. Why not a voyage round the world?"

  "What the devil do you mean?" Wrayson asked.

  Heneage flicked off the ash from his cigarette, and looked for a momentthoughtfully into the fire.

  "Three weeks ago last Thursday, I think it was," he began, reflectively,"I had supper with Austin at the Green Room Club, after the theatre. Hepersuaded me, rather against my will, I remember, for I was tired thatnight, to go home with him and make a fourth at bridge. Austin's flat, asyou know, is just below here, on the Albert Road."

  Wrayson stopped smoking. The cigarette burned unheeded between hisfingers. His eyes were fixed upon his visitor.

  "Go on," he said.

  "We played five rubbers," Heneage continued, still looking into the fire;"it may have been six. I left somewhere in the small hours of themorning, and walked along the Albert Road on the unlit side of thestreet. As I passed the corner here, I saw a hansom waiting before yourdoor, and you--with somebody else, standing on the pavement."

  "Anything else?" Wrayson demanded.

  "No!" Heneage answered. "I saw you, I saw the lady, and I saw the cab.It was a cold morning, and I am not naturally a curious person. Ihurried on."

  Wrayson picked up the cigarette, which had fallen from his fingers, andsat down. He could scarcely believe that this was not a dream--that itwas indeed Stephen Heneage who sat opposite to him, Heneage theimpenetrable, whose calm, measured words left no indication whatever asto his motive in making this amazing revelation.

  "You are naturally wondering," Heneage continued, "why, having seen whatI did see, I kept silence. I followed your lead, because I fancied, inthe first place, that the presence of that young lady was a personalaffair of your own, and that she could have no possible connection withthe tragedy itself. You were evidently disposed to shield her andyourself at the same time. I considered your attitude reasonable, if alittle dangerous. No man is obliged to give himself away in matters ofthis sort, and I am no scandalmonger. The situation, however, hasundergone a change."

  Wrayson looked up quickly.

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "To-night," Heneage said calmly, "I recognized your nocturnal visitorwith the Baroness de Sturm.

  "And what of that?" Wrayson demanded.

  Heneage, who was leaning back in his chair, looking into the fire withhalf closed eyes, straightened himself, and turned directly towards hiscompanion.

  "How much do you know about the Baroness de Sturm?" he asked.

  "Nothing at all," Wrayson answered. "I met her for the first timeto-night."

  Heneage looked back into the fire.

  "Ah!" he murmured. "I thought that it might be so. The young lady isperhaps an old friend?"

  "I cannot discuss her," Wrayson answered. "I can only say that I willanswer for her innocence as regards any complicity in the murder ofMorris Barnes."

  Heneage nodded sympathetically.

  "Still," he remarked, "the man was murdered."

  "I suppose so," Wrayson admitted.

  "And in a most mysterious manner," Heneage continued. "You have gathered,I dare say, from your knowledge of me, that these affairs always interestme immensely. I am almost as great a crank as the Colonel. I have beenthinking over this case a great deal, but I must confess that up toto-night I have not been able to see a gleam of daylight. I had dismissedthe young lady from my mind. Now, however, I cannot do so."

  "Simply because you saw her with the Baroness de Sturm?" Wrayson asked.

  "They are living together," Heneage reminded him, "a condition whichnaturally makes for a certain amount of intimacy."

  "Do you know anything against the Baroness?" Wrayson demanded.

  "Against her?" Heneage repeated thoughtfully. "Well, that depends."

  "Do you mean to insinuate that she is an adventuress?" Wraysonasked bluntly.

  "Certainly not," Heneage replied. "She is a representative of one of theoldest families in Europe, a _persona grata_ at the Court of her country,and an intimate friend of Queen Helena's. She is by no means anadventuress."

  "Then why," Wrayson asked, "should you attach such significance to thefact of her friendship with Miss Deveney?"

  "Because," Heneage remarked, lighting another cigarette, "I happen toknow that the Baroness is at present under the strictest policesurveillance!"

  Wrayson started. Heneage's first statement had reassured him: his laterone was simply terrifying. He stared at his visitor in dumb alarm.

  "I came to know of this in rather a curious way," Heneage continued. "Myinformation, in fact, came direct from her own country. She is beingwatched with extraordinary care, in connection with some affair of whichI must confess that I know nothing. She is staying in London, a citywhich I happen to know she detests, without any ostensible reason. Of allparts, she has chosen Battersea as a place of residence. It is hercompanion whom I saw leaving your flat at three o'clock on the morning ofBarnes' murder. I am bound to say, Wrayson, that I find these factsinteresting."

  "Why have you come to me?" Wrayson asked. "What are you going to doabout them?"

  "I am going to set myself the task of solving the mystery of MorrisBarnes' death," Heneage answered calmly. "If I succeed, I am very muchafraid that, directly or indirectly, the presence of Miss Deveney in theflats that night will become known."

  "And you advise me, therefore," Wrayson remarked, "to take a voyage--inplain words, to clear out."

  "Exactly," Heneage agreed.

  Wrayson threw his cigarette angrily into the fire.

  "What the devil business is it of yours?" he demanded.

  Heneage looked at him steadily.

  "Wrayson," he said, "I am sorry that you should use that tone with me. Iam no moralist. I admit frankly that I take this matter up because mypersonal tastes prompt me to. But murder, however great the provocation,is an indefensible thing."

  "I am not seeking to justify it," Wrayson declared.

  "I am glad to hear that," Heneage answered. "I cannot believe, either,that you would shield any one directly or indirectly connected with sucha crime. I am going to ask you, therefore, to tell me what Miss Deveneywas doing in these flats on that particular evening."

  Wrayson was silent. In the light of what he had just been told about theBaroness, he knew very well how Heneage would regard the truth. Ofcourse, she was innocent, innocent of the deed itself and of allknowledge of it. But Heneage did not know her; he would be hard toconvince. So Wrayson shook his head.

  "I can tell you nothing," he said. "I admit frankly my sympathies are notwith you. I should not say a word likely to bring even inconvenience uponMiss D
eveney."

  "Dare you tell me," Heneage asked calmly, "that her visit was to you?No! I thought not," he added, as Wrayson remained silent. "I believethat that young lady could solve the mystery of Morris Barnes' death, ifshe chose."

  Then Wrayson had an idea. At any rate, the disclosure would do no harm.

  "Do you know who Miss Deveney is?" he asked.

  Heneage looked across at him quickly.

  "Do you?"

  "Yes! She is the eldest daughter of the Colonel!"

  "Our Colonel?" Heneage exclaimed.

  Wrayson nodded.

  "Her real name is Miss Fitzmaurice," he said. "Her mother's namewas Deveney."

  Heneage looked incredulous.

  "Are you sure about this?" he asked.

  "Absolutely," Wrayson answered. "I saw her picture the day of the gardenparty, and I recognized her at once. There is no doubt about itwhatever. She and the Baroness were schoolfellows in Brussels. There isno mystery about their friendship at all."

  Heneage was thoughtful for several moments.

  "This is interesting," he said at last, "but it does not, of course,affect the situation."

  "You mean that you will go on just the same?" Wrayson demanded.

  "Certainly! And it rests with you to say whether you will be on my sideor theirs," Heneage declared. "If you are on mine, you will tell me whatMiss Deveney was doing in these flats on that night of all others. If youare on theirs, you will go and warn them that I am determined to solvethe mystery of Morris Barnes' death--at all costs."

  "I had no idea," Wrayson remarked quietly, "that you were ambitious toshine as an amateur policeman."

  "We all have our hobbies," Heneage answered. "Take the Colonel, forinstance, the most harmless, the most good-natured man who ever lived.Nothing in the world fascinates him so much as the details of a tragedylike this, however gruesome they may be. I have seen him handle amurderer's knife as though he loved it. His favourite museum is theprofessional Chamber of Horrors in Scotland Yard. My own interests run ina slightly different direction. I like to look at an affair of this sortas a chess problem, and to set myself to solve it. I like to make asilent study of all the characters around, to search for motives anddissect evidence. Human nature has its secrets, and very wonderfulsecrets too."

  "I once," Wrayson said thoughtfully, "saw a man tracked down bybloodhounds. My sympathies were with the man."

  Heneage nodded.

  "Your view of life," he remarked, "was always a sentimental one."

  "No correct view," Wrayson declared, "can ignore sentiment."

  "Granted; but it must be true sentiment, not false," Heneage said. "Thissentiment which interferes with justice is false sentiment."

  "Justice is altogether an arbitrary, a relative phrase," Wraysondeclared. "I know no more about the case of Morris Barnes than you do. Iknew the man by sight and repute, and I knew the manner of his life, andit seems to me a likely thing that there is more human justice about hisdeath than in the punishing the person who compassed it."

  "There are cases of that sort," Heneage admitted. "That is the advantageof being an amateur, like myself. My discoveries, if I make any, are myown. I am not bound to publish them."

  Wrayson smiled a little bitterly.

  "You would be less than human if you didn't," he said.

  Heneage rose to his feet and began putting on his coat. Wrayson remainedin his seat, without offering to help him.

  "So I may take it, I suppose," he said, as he moved towards the door,"that my visit to you is a failure?"

  "I have not the slightest idea of running away, if that is what youmean," Wrayson answered. "I am obliged to you for your warning, but whatI did I am prepared to stand by."

  "I am sorry," Heneage answered. "Good night!"