A Mysterious Disappearance

  CHAPTER XVII

  A POSSIBLE EXPLANATION

  Bruce now had several lines of inquiry open.

  Apart from the main and vital question as to the exact method of LadyDyke's death, and the identity of the person responsible for it, anumber of important matters required attention.

  Why had Jane Harding quitted her situation so suddenly?

  Whence did she obtain the money that enabled her to blossom forth asMarie le Marchant?

  Who was Sydney H. Corbett?

  Why did Mensmore adopt a false name; and, in any case, why adopt thename of Corbett?

  Why did Mrs. Hillmer exhibit such sudden terror lest her brother mightbe guilty?

  Whom did Mrs. Hillmer marry? Was her husband alive or dead?

  Was the man who conveyed Lady Dyke's body from Raleigh Mansions toPutney responsible also for her death?

  Finally, why did he select that particular portion of the Thames banksfor the bestowal of his terrible burden?

  Many other minor features suggested themselves for careful attention,but the barrister knew that if he elucidated some of the major questionsthe rest would answer themselves.

  The last query promised to yield a good crop of information should it besatisfactorily dealt with. Turning to his notes, he found that theformer owner of the Putney house was a tutor or preparatoryschoolmaster, named the Rev. Septimus Childe.

  Could it be that this was the school in which both Sir Charles Dyke andMensmore were fellow-students? If so, Bruce failed to see why he shouldnot forthwith place the whole of the facts in his possession at theservice of the police, and allow the law to take its course.

  On this supposition, the case against Mensmore was very black; not,indeed, incapable of explanation--for circumstantial evidenceoccasionally plays strange pranks with logic--but of such a grave naturethat no private individual would be justified in keeping his knowledgeto himself.

  The deduction was intensely disagreeable; but Bruce resolved to coercehis thoughts, and do that which was right, irrespective of consequences.

  He did not possess a Clergy List. No letter came from Mrs. Hillmer, sohe walked across the Park to his club in Pall Mall to consult theappropriately bound black and white volume which gives reference to themany degrees of the Church of England.

  Septimus Childe was a distinctive, though simple, name. And it was notthere. There was not a Childe with a final "e" in the whole book.Without that important letter, as his informant might be mistaken, therewere several. Close scrutiny of each man's designation and dutiesconvinced him that though any of these might be one of the particularChilde's children, none answered to the description of the gentleman hesought.

  Of course, he could always apply to Sir Charles Dyke, but he dreadedapproaching the grief-stricken baronet on this matter. Now there was nohelp for it. The barrister was beginning to feel impatient at theconstant difficulties which barred progress in each direction. Afterall, it was a small thing merely to ask his friend if he ever knew areverend gentleman named Childe.

  Bruce was sure that Sir Charles would not be acquainted with Mr. Childe,and also with the fact that the Putney house had served as his school,for it would be strange beyond credence if it were so that he had notmentioned it.

  The weather was still clear and cold, and a wintry sun made walkingpleasant. Claude, on quitting his club, set out again on foot. Hecrossed St. James's Square, Jermyn Street, and Piccadilly, and made hisway to Oxford Street up New Bond Street.

  Not often did he frequent these fashionable thoroughfares, and he had anexcellent reason. When walking, he was given to abstraction, and seldomsaw his acquaintances if he encountered them in unusual quarters. Hewould thus cut dead a woman at whose house he had dined the previousevening, or, when he was in practice at the Bar, fail to notice thesalutation of his own leader.

  To Claude himself this short-coming was intolerable; consciousness of itwhen in the West made him the most alert man in the crowd to noteanybody whom he knew, except on the rare occasions when he forgot hisfailing.

  This morning Bond Street was pleasantly full. People were beginning toreturn to town. Parliament re-assembled in a few days, and he passedmany who were on his visiting list.

  Outside a well-known costumer's he saw a brougham, into which a lady hadjust been assisted by the commissionaire.

  It is no uncommon thing to recognize an acquaintance by the color of hishorse, or the peculiar cut of the coachman's whiskers. This time Bruceknew the driver as well as the equipage, but the lady was not Mrs.Hillmer.

  Instantly he was at the door, with his hat lifted; he assumed anexpression of polite regret as he saw Dobson, the maid, in hermistress's place.

  "Sorry," he said, "I knew the carriage, and thought that Mrs. Hillmerwas inside. She is well, I trust."

  "Not very, sir," answered the maid with an angry pout.

  "Indeed, what is the matter?"

  "Madame is going away, and has put us all on board wages."

  Dobson had some of the privileges of a companion, and resented thisrelegation to the servants' hall.

  "Going away?" cried Bruce. "A sudden departure, eh?"

  The girl was arranging some parcels on the seat in front of her. She wasnot disinclined for a conversation with this good-looking gentleman, soshe smiled archly, as she said: "Didn't you know, sir? I thought youwould know all about it."

  What he might have ascertained by a longer chat the barrister could nottell, for an interruption occurred. The coachman was more loyal to hismistress than the maid.

  "Beg pardon, sir," he cried, "but the missus told us to hurry"; and hewhipped his steed into the passing stream of carriages.

  "More complications," murmured Claude. "Mrs. Hillmer contemplates abolt. Shall I pay her another visit and surprise her? No, confound it, Iwill not. Let her go, and let things take their course."

  Not in the most amiable frame of mind at this discovery, he pursued hiswalk to Portman Square.

  Sir Charles Dyke was at home. He always was, now.

  "For goodness' sake, Mr. Bruce," whispered Thompson in the hall, "try topersuade Sir Charles to quit smokin', and readin', and thinkin'. He sitsall day in the library and 'ardly has anything to eat."

  Claude reproached himself for having neglected his resolution to stirhis friend into something like animation. He was wondering what heshould do in the matter, when the baronet rose at his entrance, saying,with a weary smile:

  "Well, old fellow, what news?"

  The other suddenly decided to throw all questioning to the winds for themoment. "I have come to bring you out. I won't hear of a refusal. Let uswalk to the club and have lunch and a game of billiards."

  Sir Charles protested. He had slept badly and was tired.

  "All the more reason that you should sleep well to-night. Come, now, beadvised. You will allow yourself to become a hopeless invalid if you goon in this way."

  Dyke unwillingly consented, and they left the house. The older manbrightened up considerably amidst the bustle of the streets. His colorreturned, he talked with some degree of cheerfulness, and even laughedas he said:

  "I never understood you were a doctor, Claude, in addition to your othervaried acquirements. For the first time since--since November last, Ifeel hungry."

  "Why don't you take my advice, and go away for some shooting? It is nottoo late, even now, to go after a hare."

  "I will think of it. I wonder who we shall meet at the club."

  "Lots of fellows, no doubt. And, by the way, you must be prepared forone little difficulty. Suppose they ask about your wife?"

  The baronet's momentary gaiety vanished. He stopped short, and clutchedBruce's arm. "Don't you see," he almost moaned, "that this is the reasonI have remained indoors for so long? What shall I say?"

  "You must make the best of it. Say, off-handedly, you don't know whereshe is--either with relations or in Italy. Anything will do, and it willcreate a false impression."

  "I am sick of false impressions. I cannot do it.
"

  "You must."

  The stronger will prevailed, and they entered the doors of the Imperial,where, of course, Dyke was hailed at once by a dozen men.

  "Hallo, Charlie! Been seedy?"

  "Good gracious, Dyke! have you had influenza? I've missed you formonths, now I come to think of it."

  "I haven't seen your wife for quite a time. How is she?"

  In the multitude of questions there was safety.

  Sir Charles answered vaguely, and a chance arrival created a diversionby announcing that the favorite had broken down in his preparation forthe Grand National.

  Later in the afternoon, the two found themselves ensconced in a quietcorner of the smoking-room. Bruce seized the opportunity.

  "You told me," he said, "that Mensmore and you were at school together?"

  "Did I?" said the baronet.

  "Yes; don't you remember?"

  "I get mixed up in thinking about things. But it is all right. We were."

  "Whereabouts?"

  "Oh, a private establishment kept by an old chap called SeptimusChilde,--Lucky Number was our nickname for him."

  Bruce betrayed no surprise at this startlingly simple statement. He saidcasually:

  "I mean where was the school situated?"

  "At Brighton in my time. But afterwards he shifted to some place nearLondon--something to do with examinations, I fancy."

  "But don't you know where?"

  "How should I? I was at Sandhurst then. I believe the old boy is dead.Why do you ask?"

  "Oh, it has something to do with the inquiry. I won't trouble you nowwith the details."

  "Go on, I can stand it."

  "But where is the good in paining you needlessly?"

  "That stage has passed, old chap. My wife's memory has almost become adream to me."

  "Well, it is an extraordinary thing, but that place where--that house atPutney, you know, must have been the new school of the Rev. SeptimusChilde."

  "How did you learn that?"

  "I have known it for months, ever since the inquest."

  "And you did not tell me?"

  "True, but at the time it seemed of no consequence. Now that Mensmoreturns out to be a pupil of his, and probably passed the remainder of hisearly school days at that very establishment, the incident assumes adegree of importance."

  Sir Charles looked earnestly at his friend as he put his next question:"Tell me, Claude, do you seriously believe that Mensmore had anything todo with my wife's death?"

  "I cannot honestly give you a satisfactory answer."

  "But what do you think?"

  "If you press me I will try to put my opinion into words. Mensmore wasin some mysterious way associated with the crime; but the degree ofassociation, and whether conscious or unconscious, I do not know."

  "What do you mean by 'conscious or unconscious'?"

  "I am sure that Lady Dyke met her death in his residence; but it isimpossible to say now if he was aware of her presence. He was in Londonat the time, that is quite certain."

  "Do the police know all this?"

  "No."

  "I am glad of it. Mensmore did not kill my wife. The suggestion isabsurd--wildly absurd."

  "Things look black against him, nevertheless."

  "I tell you it is nonsense. You are on the wrong track, Bruce. Whatpossible reason could he have had to decoy my wife to his flat and theremurder her?"

  "None, perhaps."

  "Then why do you hesitate to agree with me?"

  "Because there is a woman in the case."

  "Another woman?"

  "Yes; Mensmore's sister, or half-sister, to be exact. She also lives inRaleigh Mansions."

  "Indeed. So all kinds of things have been going on without my knowledge.Yet you promised faithfully to keep me informed of every incident thattranspired."

  "I am sorry, Dyke; but you were so upset--"

  "Upset, man. Don't you realize that this affair is all I have to thinkabout in the world?"

  The baronet was so disturbed that Claude at once made up his mindto tell him as little as possible in the future. These constantpossibilities of rupture between them must be avoided at all hazard.

  To change the conversation he said: "Never mind; this time you mustpardon my inadvertence. How do your wife's people bear the continuedmystery of her disappearance?"

  "At first they were awfully cut up. But lately they have been reconciledto her death, which they say must have resulted from accident, and thather identity must have been mixed up with that of some other person.Such things do happen, you know. Anyway, her sister has gone intomourning for her. You didn't hear, I suppose, that I have made my littlenephew my heir?"

  "Was that step necessary at your time of life?"

  "I shall never marry again, Bruce."

  "Well, let us drop the subject. You have done right as regards the boyunder present circumstances; but, as a man of the world, I only pointout that it is an unwise thing to bring up a youngster in expectation ofsomething which chance might determine differently."

  "Chance! There is no chance! My wife cannot return from the grave!"

  "True. You have done right, no doubt. But the suddenness of the thingcaused me to speak unwittingly."

  They were silent for a little while, when Sir Charles returned to thesubject nearest his heart.

  "Has your search developed in other directions?"

  Bruce fenced with the query. "To be candid," he said, "I am now mostbusily engaged in the not very difficult task of throwing dust in theeyes of the police. My motives are hardly definite to myself, but I donot want this unfortunate man, Mensmore, to be arrested until I havepersonally become convinced of his guilt."

  "You are right. Your instinct seldom fails you. I question if he ever,to his own knowledge, saw my wife."

  "Ah! You see you have hit upon the difficulty. Show me her reason formaking that secret journey, and I will tell you how she met her death."

  His concluding words sank to a murmur. An old friend of Dyke's hadentered the room and came toward them.

  A few minutes later Bruce quitted the Imperial and drove to hischambers, where he found a note from the ticket collector stating thatFoxey's name was William Marsh.

  The day was still young, and the barrister paid a visit to the WestLondon Police Court, where the records soon revealed the conviction ofthe cab-driver and the period of his sentence.

  "Let me see," said the resident inspector, "his time at Holloway is upon February 6. That is a Monday, and as Sunday doesn't count, he will beliberated on the 4th, about 8 A.M. That is the habit, sir, in the matterof short sentences. If you want to see him when he leaves the jail youcan either wait at the gates or at the nearest public-house, where theprisoners go for their first drink. They seldom or never miss."

  Bruce thanked the official and returned home.

  He was on the point of going out to drive, when he received a letterfrom Sir Charles Dyke. It ran:

  "_My Dear Claude_,--Today's experiences have taught me to take the inevitable step of announcing my wife's death. Hence, I have forwarded the enclosed notice to an advertisement agency, with instructions to insert it in the principal papers. I have also decided to follow your advice and leave town for a few days. I am going to Wensley, my place in Yorkshire, should you happen to want me.

  "Yours, "CHARLES DYKE."

  The notice read:

  "DYKE.--On November 6, Alice, wife of Sir Charles Dyke, Bart., suddenly, at London."

  Next morning it figured in the obituary columns of many newspapers.Bruce, though taken back by the suddenness of his friend's resolve, sawno reason to endeavor to dissuade him. In the words of the letter, itwas "the inevitable step."