CHAPTER XIII
A QUESTION OF PRINCIPLE
"If any one calls, I am out," cried Claude to his factotum, as hecrossed the entrance-hall of his well-appointed flat, and flung open thedoor of his library.
"The guv'nor's in a tantrum," observed Smith to his wife, and he settledhimself to renew the perusal of Grand National training reports. He hadjust noticed the interesting fact that last year's winner had "jumped infor the last mile" in a gallop given to a rank outsider, when theelectric bell upset his calculations.
"My master is out," he said, as he opened the door to find Mr. Whitestanding on the mat.
He was about to close the door again, but the detective planted his footagainst the jamb.
"Your master is not out," he answered. "I saw him come in a minutesince. Tell him Mr. White wants to see him."
Smith's dignity was superb. "My master may be hin," he cried, "but 'etold me to say 'e was hout to callers." The aspirates supplied emphasis.
"Tell him what I say at once," and Mr. White gave him his best"accessory-after-the-crime" glance.
"I don't see why I should," snarled Smith, but the squabble ended whenBruce's voice was heard--
"Show him in, Smith, but admit nobody else."
With an air of armed neutrality Smith ushered the representative ofScotland Yard into the library.
"You're not looking very well, sir," said White, his round eyes fixed onBruce with all their power.
"Was it to ask about my health that you came?"
"No, sir, not exactly. But I haven't seen you for quite a while, and aswe are both interested in the same matter I thought I would look you upand compare notes."
Bruce was annoyed by the interruption. He wanted to think, not to bebothered by official theories. He looked hard at Mr. White, wonderingwhether he should tell him all he knew and wash his own hands clear ofthe investigation in future. But there was a second picture before hiseyes. He saw Phyllis Browne's face, not as it was that day at the Tiraux Pigeons, but with the light of happiness in it, with the joyousnessof requited and undisturbed love, with the glow reflected from dancingwaves, and the tremulous smile of innocent pleasure.
It was hard to believe that such a woman could place her heartfelt trustin a man who was possibly a cold-blooded murderer. Such a combinationwas unnatural and horrible. Already Bruce was beginning to doubt theevidence of his analytical senses.
Mr. White meanwhile flattered himself by the thought that the other wastrying to read his thoughts by looking at him fixedly.
"I have been away from home," said Bruce at last. "I had occasion to goto the South of France."
"I thought so. I was sure of it. How do you manage always to get aheadof us?" Mr. White was enthusiastic in his admiring divination.
"You have heard about Sydney H. Corbett?" said the barrister, stillkeeping that inscrutable, calculating gaze upon the policeman.
"Yes. I am on his track. We may be slow, but we are sure in ScotlandYard. May I ask what luck you have had, sir?"
"In what respect?"
"As if you didn't go to Monte Carlo to find Corbett yourself! Really,Mr. Bruce, the scent is too hot this time. You might as well give a'View halloa' if you have seen him."
"Seen Sydney H. Corbett, you mean?"
"That is the gentleman."
For an instant Mensmore's future trembled in the balance. Bruce almostframed the words which would have led to his immediate arrest at thenext port touched by the _White Heather_. But the memory of PhyllisBrowne, of her agony, of the fearful scandal that must fly throughSociety on the Riviera, restrained him. There was no hurry. He must havetime to think.
"I certainly went to Monte Carlo to discover the identity of thatinteresting personage, but I came back, Mr. White, as wise as I went.The only trace I found of him was an undelivered letter awaiting him atthe Hotel du Cercle."
"A letter! Wasn't he there?" Mr. White's face, notwithstanding itsofficial decorum, betrayed its disappointment. This was an unlooked-forcheck.
"He had been there. Other letters came for him earlier, and he hadreceived them."
"But the hotel people--"
"Did not know him. In fact, there cannot be the slightest doubt that Mr.Corbett concealed his identity at Monte Carlo under another name."
"It doesn't matter much," growled the detective. "We will nab him allthe same, if he had fifty names."
"Possibly. But it is wonderful how a man may be under your very nose,and yet you may miss him."
During the next few minutes neither man spoke. Bruce smiled cynicallyat the thought that he was actually shielding Lady Alice's probableslayer from the minions of the law. He marvelled at himself for hisirresolution. Nevertheless, he would wait. Mensmore could not escape himnow. Perhaps the business might be managed without the dramatic featureswhich would accompany an immediate arrest. And there were some thingsthat required explanation. If his Monte Carlo acquaintance really killedLady Dyke, then he was the strangest criminal whom Bruce had everencountered during the course of his varied career.
The policeman misinterpreted his expression.
"You can't laugh at us this time, Mr. Bruce," he cried. "Scotland Yardand yourself evolved the same theory, eh? And we can't fly off to theSouth of France as readily as you."
"Your skill is profound, no doubt. Indeed, I wonder at it, consideringthe mysterious way in which the missing man left his address at thepost-office."
The other reddened. "That was simple enough, I know; but we were on histrack before that."
"By watching me when I visited his sister."
"You saw me outside the Jollity Theatre, then?"
"Of course. What did you expect?"
Mr. White recovered his placidity. "There's no use quarrelling aboutit," he laughed. "I did get that wrinkle from you. But how on earth werewe to know what to do, when there were seventy-one flats occupied byrespectable people, and one closed for months, the caretaker told us."
"I hope you have ceased your surveillance so far as I am concerned."
"Honor bright, sir. I won't do it again. Besides, we must lay hands onCorbett sooner or later."
"What steps are you taking?"
"The Monte Carlo police are making inquiries. They have his description.It has also gone to America."
"Why America?"
"Because he spent some time there. He only returned from the Statesearly last year. His sister has not seen him for years, and a rare oldrow they had when he turned up. He had not much money, so she helpedhim, and he settled down for a time in the same mansions as herself."
"Who told you all this?"
"Mrs. Hillmer, and a precious lot of trouble she gave me. She is aclever woman that."
"It was rather too bad to pester her about it, poor lady."
"I only followed your lead, sir."
This was so true that Claude changed the conversation.
"What sort of man is Corbett? Have you his description?"
"Yes. Here it is." Mr. White produced a copy of the _Police Gazette_, apublication never seen by the public, but of a large circulation amongthe police of the United Kingdom. The details were fairly accurate as toMensmore's personal appearance, but there was no photograph. Oddlyenough, Bruce was pleased on noting this serious deficiency.
"You did not secure his picture?"
"No. Mrs. Hillmer declared that she had not a single photograph of herbrother in her possession."
"Did she--tell you his real name?" the barrister had almost said, but hedeflected the question. "Did she give you any hint as to a possiblecause for this apparently unnecessary crime?"
"Not a word."
"Then you did not mention Lady Dyke to her?"
"No. Sir Charles has always implored me to keep his wife's name out ofmy inquiries until it became absolutely impossible to conceal it in viewof a public prosecution. He wants to know definitely when that timecomes."
"Why?"
The detective did not reply for a moment. When he spoke he leanedfo
rward and subdued his voice. "I am as sure as I am sitting here, sir,that Sir Charles will not live if any disgrace should come to beattached to his wife's memory."
"Do you mean that he will kill himself?"
"I do. He has changed a great deal since this affair happened. He is notthe same man. He appears to be always mooning about her. And people saythat they were not so devoted to one another when she was alive."
Again did the barrister switch off their talk from an unpleasant topic.
"This description of Corbett is not much use," he said. "It applies toevery athletic young Englishman of good physique and gentlemanlyappearance."
"Quite true. I don't depend on that for his arrest, but it will bevaluable for identification. 'Blue eyes, light brown hair, fresh, clearcomplexion, well-modelled nose and chin.' Some of these things can bechanged by tricks, but not all. For instance, there would be no use insmoking a man with black eyes and irregular features."
"'Smoking' him?"
"Oh, that's our way of putting it. Following him, it means."
"Suppose the French police don't succeed in catching him?"
"We will get him at Raleigh Mansions. He is sure to think that LadyDyke's fate has never been determined, and he will return when theinquiry has blown over, to all appearance."
"You have quite made up your mind, then, that Sydney H. Corbett is themurderer?"
"It looks uncommonly like it. At any rate, he knows something about it.If not, why did he bolt to France two days after the crime? Why has heconcealed his identity? Why does he take pains to receive hiscorrespondence in the manner he has adopted? And, by Jove! suppose heisn't in Monte Carlo at all, but in London all the time!"
The inspector glowed with his sudden inspiration, but Bruce kept him tothe lower level of realities.
"Corbett is, or was, in Monte Carlo. Of that you may be sure. He, andnone other, got the letters sent to the Hotel du Cercle. I cannot forthe life of me imagine why he did not take the last one. But let us lookat what we know. Lady Dyke, we will say, went to Corbett's chambers,secretly and of her own accord. That may be taken as fairly established.Thence there is a blank in our intelligence until she appears as ahardly recognizable corpse, stuffed by hands beneath an old drain-pipein the Thames at Putney. How do you fill up that gap, Mr. White?"
"Simply enough. Corbett, or some other person, persuaded her tovoluntarily accompany him to Putney. She was killed there, and not inLondon. It would be almost a matter of impossibility for any man to haveconveyed her lifeless body from Raleigh Mansions to Putney withoutattracting some notice. One man could _not_ do it. Several might, but itis madness to imagine that a number of people would join together forthe purpose of killing this poor lady."
"The seemingly impossible is often accomplished."
"Do you really believe, then, that she met her death in London?"
"I have quite an open mind on the question."
"You forget that she had resolved early that day to visit her sister atRichmond, and Putney is on the direct road. What more reasonable than toassume--"
"Beware of assumptions! You are assuming all the time that Corbett was aprincipal in her murder."
"Very well, Mr. Bruce. Then I ask you straight out if you don't agreewith me?"
"I do not."
This declaration astounded the barrister himself. Often the mereutterance of one's thoughts is a surprise. Speech seems to stiffen thewavering outlines of reflection, and the new creation may differessentially from its embryo. It was so with Bruce in this instance.
Ever since Mr. White's arrival had aroused him from the positive stuporcaused by the stock-broker's unwitting revelation, Claude Bruce had beenslowly but definitely deciding that Mensmore did not kill Lady Dyke. Hehad seen him, unprepared, facing death as preferable to dishonor. Atsuch moments a man's soul is laid bare. With the shadow of a crime uponhis conscience Mensmore's actions could not have been so genuine andstraightforward as they undoubtedly were.
Mensmore, of course, might in some way be bound up with the mysterysurrounding Lady Dyke's movements. His very utterance in Bruce's roomat the Hotel du Cercle implied as much. That was another matter. Itwould receive his (Bruce's) most earnest attention. But the majorhypothesis, so quickly jumped at by the police, needed much moresubstantiation than it had yet obtained.
That it was plausible was demonstrated by the barrister's readiness toadopt it at the outset. Even now that his impulse to fasten the crime onMensmore had weakened he wondered at his eagerness to defend him.
The detective was even more surprised.
"I don't see how you can take that view," he cried. "Corbett's behavioris, to say the least, unaccountable. If he is an innocent man, then hemust be a foolish one. Besides, why should he necessarily be innocent?This is the first gleam of light we have had in a very dark business,and I mean to follow it up."
The vindictive emphasis of his tone showed that the detective wasannoyed at the other's impassive attitude. He even went so far as todimly evolve a theory that the barrister wished to throw him offCorbett's trail on account of his sympathy for Mrs. Hillmer, but Clauderapidly dispelled this notion.
"You are here, I suppose, to ask my advice in pursuance of ourunderstanding that we are working together in the matter, as it were?"he said.
"Well, something of the kind, sir."
"Then I recommend that we see the inside of that closed flat in RaleighMansions at the earliest moment."
"Do you mean by a search warrant?"
"Certainly not. Do you want the whole neighborhood to know of it? Youhave probably heard of locks being picked before to-day. You and I, andnone other, must have a quiet look around the place without anyonebeing the wiser."
Mr. White hesitated, but the prospect was attractive. "I think I canmanage it," he said, smiling reflectively. "Will six this evening suit?"
"Admirably."
"Then I will call for you."
After a parting glance at Smith, who returned it, nose in air, theinspector ran down the stairs, murmuring, "Blest if I can understand Mr.Bruce. But this is a good move. We may learn something."