The Red Room

by William Le Queux

"You are responsible."

  "No one shall know anything, signore," replied the man. "Morgan and themaids are all in ignorance--for you, signore, kept it so cleverly fromthem."

  "A woman never can keep a secret," Kirk answered sharply, "and if we areto fathom the mystery of your master's death not a word must leak out.You know what I have told you."

  "I recollect, signore," the man replied. And, using the Italian oath,he said, "I have promised you, upon the tomb of my sainted mother."

  "Then close this room, and with your brother keep a watchful vigil untilto-morrow."

  And we both went out, and were soon running in the car back towardsBedford Park.

  Arrived at his house, he insisted that I should enter for a "night-cap,"it being then just past three o'clock. Therefore, reluctantly, Iaccompanied him within.

  In his study a tantalus-stand and glasses were upon the table. He hadthrown off his overcoat, and was about to pour me out some whisky, whenthe telephone bell suddenly rang. He put down the glass, and, walkingto the instrument, answered the summons.

  "Hulloa? Yes?" he said.

  Then, as he listened intently, his face blanched. He spoke some quickwords in German, which, unfortunately, I could not follow. They seemedlike instructions.

  Again he listened, but suddenly whatever he heard so appalled him thatthe receiver dropped from his thin, nerveless fingers, and with a low,hoarse cry he staggered across to his big grandfather chair, near whichI was standing, and sank into it, rigid, staring, open-mouthed.

  If ever guilt were written upon a man's face, it assuredly was writtenupon that of Kershaw Kirk at that moment.

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  CERTAIN SUSPICIONS STRENGTHENED.

  To Mabel, my wife, I said nothing. In the circumstances, I deemedsilence golden.

  Kirk's attitude at the telephone had filled me with suspicion.

  During the hours I spent in bed before the dawn I lay thinking. Theproblem was utterly inexplicable, the more so now that the dead man'sdaughter was also dead.

  I was convinced, as I lay there in the darkness, that there wassomething very suspicious in the fact that Kirk, who seemed to rule thehousehold, would not allow the police to have any knowledge of what hadoccurred. Indeed, my own position was somewhat unenviable, for, beingaware that a murder had been committed, was I not legally bound to giveinformation? Was I not liable to prosecution if I failed to do so?

  The mystery surrounding Kershaw Kirk had increased rather thandiminished in that final quarter of an hour I had spent with him as hehad sat staring straight into the fire, uttering scarce a word.

  What had been told him over the telephone had caused an entire change inhis manner. Previously he had been dictatorial and defiant. He was nowcringing, crushed, terror-stricken.

  The grim scenes I had witnessed surged through my brain. The mystery ofit all had gripped my senses. Carefully I analysed each event, tryingto discern some light as to its cause and motive. But I was not aprofessional detective. This was the first time I had found myselfmixed up in a crime by which human life had been lost.

  That the death of Professor Greer was no ordinary crime of violence Ihad quickly recognised. There was some subtle motive both in the crimeitself and in the supposed presence of the Professor in Edinburgh,whereas in reality he was already lying dead in his own laboratory.

  Those instructions to his daughter, which seemed to have been writtenafter his departure from King's Cross, also formed an enigma inthemselves. The dead man had actually sought the assistance of hisworst enemy!

  Yet, when I weighed the circumstances as a whole calmly and coolly, Isaw that if the unknown person to whom the Professor had signalled onthat fateful night could be found a very great point would be gainedtowards the solution of the problem.

  The pulling up and down of the drawing-room blind was, no doubt, inorder to inform some person waiting without of his journey north. Wasthat person who received the signal afterwards the assassin?

  Yet the fact that the crime was committed behind locked doors, that boththe victim and the assassin had to pass within a few feet of where MissEthelwynn was seated, and that into the unfortunate Professor's facesome terribly corrosive fluid had been dashed, formed a problem whichheld me mystified.

  There was something uncanny in the whole inexplicable affair. I nowrealised for the first time how complete was the mystery of theProfessor's death, even apart from the other facts of his signals andhis journey north.

  Kirk, this dealer in secrets, admittedly posed as a friend of thefamily. Greer trusted him. To him Ethelwynn had fled for assistance atthe first suspicion of anything being wrong. Therefore would it nothave been easier for him than for anyone else to enter the house insecret and kill the man who had stolen from him that mysterious secret?

  Yet, try how I would, I was unable to rid myself of the grave convictionthat my new acquaintance was cognisant of more than he had told me. Hewas naturally a reserved man, it was true; yet there was an air ofcosmopolitanism about him which spoke mutely of the adventurer.

  His refusal to allow a doctor to see the Professor's daughter wasnothing short of culpable. Had Antonio, that sly, crafty Italian, towhom I had taken such instinctive dislike, summoned a doctor at once, itwas quite possible that the poor girl's life might have been saved.

  But why had she returned to the house in a manner so secret? Why hadshe crept into the dining-room and removed her hat? It would almostseem as though she had returned for good, for if she had intended to goback to her aunt's she would not have taken off her hat and laid itaside.

  And why had she done so in the dining-room, of all places? Why had shenot ascended to her own room? And why, most of all, had she notsummoned Antonio?

  Was it because of fear of him?

  Kirk and Antonio were friends. That I had detected from the very first.The Italian was polite, urbane, servile, yet I saw that the bow wasonly a shallow make-believe. Alone together, the pair would, no doubt,stand upon an equal footing.

  The reason she had returned home was mysterious enough, yet the greaterproblem was the reason why she also had been struck down and the samecorrosive liquid flung into her fair countenance.

  I could not think that Kirk was responsible for this secondassassination, for, unless Antonio had lied, it had been committed atthe very hour when I had been seated with my mysterious neighbour only afew doors away from my own house.

  So, as you may readily imagine, I was still sorely troubled when at lastthe maid brought me my hot water and I rose to dress.

  I quite saw now that the reason why Kirk had called to inspect the newEckhardt tyre was merely in order to make my acquaintance. Yet it wascertainly curious that he should have predicted the visits of the twoother men for the same purpose. After breakfast I went, as usual, tothe garage, but my mind was still full of the events of the previousnight.

  Kirk had arranged to call for me at eleven and return to Sussex Place,where he intended to search for any finger-marks left by the assassin.Eleven o'clock struck, but he did not arrive. In patience I waiteduntil one, and then returned home to luncheon, as was my habit.

  His non-arrival confirmed my suspicions. What, I wondered, could havebeen the purport of that mysterious message in German that he hadlistened to on the telephone just before we had parted?

  At two o'clock I called at his house and rang the door-bell. There wasno response. Both Kirk and his sister were out.

  So I returned to the garage, and with Dick Drake, my stout, round-faced,dare-devil driver, who held two records at Brooklands, and waseverlastingly being fined for exceeding the speed limit, I worked hardupon the refractory engine of a car which had been sent to me forrepair.

  All day it was misty, but towards evening the fog increased, until itbecame thick even in Chiswick, therefore I knew that it must be aregular "London particular" in the West End. One driver, indeed, whohad come in from Romford, said he had taken four hours to cross London.Hence I resolved t
o possess my soul in patience and spend a quietevening at home with my wife and her young sister, who lived with us.

  Curiously enough, however, I found myself, towards six o'clock, againseized by a sudden and uncontrollable desire to return to Sussex Placein search of my mysterious neighbour. I felt within me a keen,irrepressible anxiety to fathom the curious problem which that shabbyman, who declared himself immune from trial in a criminal court, hadplaced before me. Who could he be, that, like the King himself, hecould not be brought before a judge?

  At times I found myself laughing at his absurd statements, and regardingthem as those of a lunatic; but at others I was bound to admit that hisseriousness showed him to be in deadly earnest.

  Well, to cut a long story short, at eight o'clock I took Dick Drake andmanaged to creep over in the fog to Regent's Park on one of the smallcars.

  The door was opened, as before, by Antonio, who perceptibly started whenhe recognised me.

  Yes, Mr.