luncheon I had spoken. He was seated alone,reading a newspaper.
"Ach, sir!" he exclaimed; "I thought perhaps you had left! I'm veryglad you are still here! A most curious circumstance occurred thisafternoon when I went off duty as usual from three till five. I live inForth Street, at the back of the Theatre Royal, and while walkingtowards home along Broughton Street, I came face to face with thegentleman for whom you are searching."
"You've seen him!" I gasped, half inclined to disbelieve the man'sstory, for he was evidently on the look-out for a substantial tip.
"Yes, he recognised me, and tried to avert his face. But I managed toget a good look at him, and am absolutely certain that I'm not mistaken.He was dressed differently, and looks many years younger than when Ifirst saw him wearing his beard."
"Then he is still in hiding here!" I gasped quickly. "Did you followhim?"
"I did. I had to exercise considerable caution, for he evidently fearsthat he is being traced. His attitude was essentially that of a mandreading recognition. He may be suspicious that you are here, sir."
"But have you discovered where he is living?" I demanded breathlessly,my heart leaping.
"Yes, sir," replied the German; "I have."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
I LEARN SOMETHING INTERESTING.
Ten minutes later I was with the German hairdresser on a tram-car, goingup Regent Road, towards Abbey Hill. On turning into the London Road atthe station, we descended, and, crossing the main thoroughfare, enteredone of the narrow, ill-lit turnings on the left, the name of which I wasunable to see.
"I don't know whom to ask for," I remarked to my companion, as wehurried along together.
"I can only point you out the house where your friend is in hiding,"replied the man. "You, of course, know more of his habits than I do."
In a few moments we passed before a tall, drab, dingy-looking house,which the German pointed out was the false Professor's secret abode.
I longed for the presence of Kershaw Kirk, for I knew not how to act. Ireflected, however, that the reason of my journey to Edinburgh was toclear up the mystery, and this thought prompted me to action.
So while he waited in the semi-darkness at the next corner, I returnedto the house and rang the bell. To the door came a rather dishevelledgirl of about eighteen, evidently the daughter of the occupier.
"You have a gentleman living here," I said. "Would you kindly tell himthat Mr. Kirk desires to see him?"
"The gentleman's no longer here, sir," replied the girl, in broadScotch.
"Gone!" I ejaculated.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Martin's who you mean, I suppose, for he's the onlygentleman mother has had. He packed his things, and left for thestation an hour ago."
My heart fell. He had evidently realised that the German was followinghim, and had escaped us!
"Can I see your mother?" I asked. Whereupon I was invited into thesmall narrow hall of the musty-smelling house, and a thin-faced, angularwoman in rusty black came forward.
"Pray pardon my troubling you," I said apologetically, "but I have anurgent message to give to Mr. Martin, who, I understand, has beenstaying with you." It was an advantage that the girl had unwittinglybetrayed the name which the false Professor had adopted.
"Mr. Martin's gone, sir. He left this evening."
"So your daughter tells me. But haven't you any idea where he intendedgoing?"
The woman hesitated, and by that slight pause I felt convinced she knewsomething which she intended keeping to herself.
"No, sir, he left quite suddenly," was her hurried reply. "He had beenout all day, and, returning about five, packed up his things, paid mewhat he owed me, together with a week's rent in lieu of notice, and,getting a cab, drove away."
"To the station--eh?"
"Yes, I heard him tell the man to drive to Princes Street."
"He hadn't been very long with you, had he?"
"About a week. He came on the Monday, telling me that he had beenrecommended by a friend of his, an actor. I let rooms toprofessionals," she added, in explanation.
"He is a very reticent man," I remarked. "I suppose he seldom wentout?"
"No; he used to read all day, and go for just half-an-hour's stroll atnight. He struck me as a rather eccentric man."
"So he is," I laughed. "I'm an old friend of his, so, of course, Iknow. I hope he is not in your debt. If so, please tell me and I'llliquidate it."
"Oh, not at all, sir. He's paid for everything," declared the woman,upon whom my ready offer to pay her lodger's debts had evidently made animpression. "His sudden departure mystified us."
"Did he receive many letters?"
"Only two--and a telegram you sent him--which I found dropped by theside of his dressing-table."
"From me?" I echoed, yet next instant recollecting that I had given myname as Kirk.
"Yes, you telegraphed to him several days ago to meet you at theCaledonian Hotel in Glasgow. You are Mr. Kirk, are you not?"
"Ah, of course, I recollect," I laughed. "Do you think he's gone toGlasgow?" I asked, as the sudden thought occurred to me.
"Well, sir," replied the woman, "as you are such an intimate friend ofMr. Martin's, I think I ought to tell you that, before leaving to-night,he asked me in confidence to repeat any telegram that might come for himto the Caledonian in Glasgow, but asking me at the same time to give noinformation to anyone who might call and make inquiries as to hiswhereabouts."
"Then he's gone to Glasgow to-night!" I exclaimed, with suddenenthusiasm. "If I follow at once, I may find him!"
"I certainly think so, sir," was the woman's response, whereupon I madea hurried adieu, and, rejoining the German, into whose palm I slipped asovereign, was quickly back at the hotel.
I left Princes Street Station at ten minutes to ten that night by theexpress due in Glasgow at eleven. That hour's journey was full ofexcitement, for I was now upon the heels of the false Professor, whosewhereabouts and assumed name Kirk knew, and with whom he had made anappointment.
Was this man, known as Martin, about to meet Kirk?
I laughed within myself when I reflected upon the awkward surprise whichmy presence there would give them. What the lodging-house keeper hadtold me proved conclusively that Kershaw Kirk had conspired to cause thedeath of poor Greer, and that the story he had told me was untrue.
Yet, again, there arose in my mind the problem why, if he were theassassin, or an accomplice of the assassin, should he introduce me intothat house of death--myself a comparative stranger! Alone I sat in thecorner of the railway carriage, thinking it all over, and trying, as Ihad so continuously tried, to discern light in the darkness.
I had been a fool--a confounded fool, not to inform the police of mysuspicions at the outset. The girl Ethelwynn, whom I had seen lyingapparently dead, whose chill flesh I had touched, was alive and well atBroadstairs! Was not that, in itself, a staggering mystery, exclusiveof that secret visit of Kirk's to Foley Street, and the woman's cry inthat foggy night?
Was it any wonder, then, that I was neglecting my business, leaving allto Pelham, with whom I had communicated by telegram several times? Wasit any wonder that, the circumstances being of so uncanny and intricatea nature, I hesitated to tell Mabel, my wife, lest I should draw herinto that web of doubt, uncertainty, and grim tragedy?
I had watched the columns of the _Times_ each day to discover theadvertised message promised by Kirk; but there had been none. I now sawhow I had been as wax in the hands of that clever, smooth-spokencosmopolitan. I believed in men's honesty, a most foolish confidence inthese degenerate days, when morality is sneered at, and honesty isdeclared openly to be "the worst policy."
Alas! in this dear old England of ours truth and justice are to-dayrapidly disappearing. Now that Mammon rules, that divorce is a means ofnotoriety, and that charity begins abroad with Mansion House funds forundeserving foreigners, while our starving unemployed clamour in theirthousands for bread, the old order of things has, a
las! changed.
The honest man--though, be it said, there are still honest, sterling menin business and out of it--goes to the wall and is dubbed a fool; whilethe master-thief, the smug swindler, the sweater, and the promoter ofbogus companies may pay his money and obtain his baronetcy, or his seatin the House of Lords, and thus hall-mark himself with respectability.
While money talks, morality is an absent factor in life, and truth isbut a travesty. Glance only at the list of subscribers to a MansionHouse Fund, the very basis of which is the desire of the Lord Mayor whomay happen to be in office to get his baronetcy, while its supportersare in the main