A Mysterious Disappearance

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XXI

  HOW LADY DYKE LEFT RALEIGH MANSIONS

  Mr. White was actually inclined to preserve silence while they walked toVictoria Street. The events of the preceding hour had not exactlyconduced to the maintenance, in the eyes of his brother officer, of thatpre-eminent sagacity which he invariably claimed.

  His companion rubbed in this phase of the matter by saying: "I shouldthink, Jim, you will give Raleigh Mansions wide berth for some time tocome, after making two bad breaks there."

  But it was no part of Bruce's scheme that the detective should berendered desperate by repeated failures. "It is not Mr. White's fault,"he said, "that these errors have occurred. They are rather the result ofhis pertinacity in leaving no clue unsolved which promises to lead tosuccess. When this case ends, if ever it does end, I feel sure he willadmit that he has never before encountered so much difficulty inunravelling the most complex problems within his experience."

  "That is so," chimed in the senior detective. "The thing that beats mein this affair is the want of a beginning, so to speak. One wouldimagine it the work of a lunatic if Lady Dyke herself had notcontributed so curiously to the mystery of her disappearance."

  "There you are, White; that is the true scent. Find the motive and wefind the murderer, if Lady Dyke was wilfully put to death."

  "_If_ she was, Mr. Bruce? Have you any doubt about it?"

  "There cannot be certainty when we are groping in the dark. But thegloom is passing; we are on the eve of a discovery."

  At Bruce's residence White's colleague left him. Soon the barrister andthe policeman were sitting snugly before a good fire.

  There Claude took him step by step through each branch of his inquiry asit is known to the reader.

  He omitted nothing. The discovery of Jane Harding and of Mensmore, thelatter's transactions with Dodge & Co., his dramatic _coup_ at MonteCarlo and its attendant love episode--all these were exhaustivelydescribed. He enlarged upon Mrs. Hillmer's anxiety when the tragedybecame known to her, and did not forget Sir Charles Dyke's amazement atthe suggestion that his old playmate might prove to be responsible forthe death of his wife.

  He produced the waxen moulds of the piece of iron found on the body atPutney, and the ornamental scroll from which it had been taken.

  At this bit of evidence Mr. White's complacency forsook him. Thus far hehad experienced a feeling of resentment against Bruce for havingconcealed from him so much that was material to their investigation.

  But when he realized that a powerful link in the chain of events had allalong been placidly resting before his eyes his distress was evident,and the barrister came to his rescue.

  "You are not to blame, White," he said, "for having failed to note manythings which I have now told you. You are the slave of a system. Yourmethod works admirably for the detection of commonplace crime, but assoon as the higher region of romance is reached it is as much out ofplace as a steam-roller in a lady's boudoir. Look at the remarkableseries of crimes the English police have failed to solve of late, merelybecause some _bizarre_ element had intruded itself at the outset. Haveyou ever read any of the works of Edgar Allan Poe?"

  The detective answered in the affirmative. "The Murders of the RueMorgue" and "The Mystery of Marie Roget" were familiar to him.

  "Well," went on Bruce, "there you have the accurate samples of mymeaning. Poe would not have been puzzled for an hour by the vagaries ofJack the Ripper. He would have said at once--most certainly after thethird or fourth in the series of murders--'This is the work of anathletic lunatic, with a morbid love of anatomy and a morbid hatred of acertain class of women. Seek for him among young men who have pestereddoctors with outrageous theories, and who possess weak-minded orimbecile relatives.' Then, again, take the murder on the South-WesternRailway. Do you think Poe would have gone questioning bar-tenders orinquiring into abortive love affairs? Not he! Jealous swains do notcarry pestles about with them to slay their sweethearts, nor do theychoose a four-minutes' interval between suburban stations for frenziedavowals of their passion. Here you have the clear trail of a cleverlunatic, dropping from the skies, as it were, and disappearing in thesame erratic manner. That is why I tell you most emphatically thatneither you nor I have yet the remotest conception as to who reallykilled Lady Dyke."

  "Surely things look black now against this Mensmore?"

  "Do they? How would it have fared with an acquaintance of one of theunfortunate women killed by Jack the Ripper had the police found him inthe locality with fresh blood-stains on his clothes? What would haveresulted from the discovery of a chemist's mortar among the possessionsof one of Elizabeth Camp's male friends? Come now, be honest, and tellme."

  But Mr. White could only smoke in silence.

  "Therefore," continued Bruce, "let us ask ourselves why, and how, it waspossible for Mensmore to commit the crime. Personally, notwithstandingall that we apparently know against him circumstantially, I shouldhardly believe Mensmore if he confessed himself to be the murderer!"

  "Now, why on earth do you say that, Mr. Bruce?"

  "Because Mensmore is normal and this crime abnormal. Because the man whowould blow out his brains on account of losses at pigeon-shooting neverhad brains enough to dispose of the body in such fashion. BecauseMensmore, having temporarily changed his name for some trivial reason,would never resume it with equal triviality with this shadow upon hislife."

  "Then why have you told me all these things that tell so heavily againsthim?"

  "In order that, this time at least, you may feel that the production ofa pair of handcuffs does not satisfactorily settle the entire business."

  "I promise there shall be no more arrests until this affair is much moredecided than it is at present."

  "Good. I shall make a detective of you after my own heart in time."

  "Yet I cannot help being surprised at the very strange fact that his ownsister should seem to suspect him!"

  "Ah! Now you have struck the true line. Why did she have that fear?There I am with you entirely. Let us ascertain that and I promise you animportant development. Mrs. Hillmer and Mensmore are both concerned inthe disappearance of Lady Dyke, yet neither knew that she haddisappeared, and both are deeply upset by it, for Mrs. Hillmer flies offto warn her brother, and the brother posts back to London the moment itcomes to his ears through her. There, you see, we have a key which mayunlock many doors. For Heaven's sake let it not be battered out of shapethe instant it reaches our hands."

  But Mr. White was quite humble. "As I have told you," he said, "I havedone with the battering process."

  "I am sure of it. And now listen to the most remarkable fact that hasyet come to light. Lady Dyke's body was taken from Raleigh Mansions toPutney in a four-wheeler. The cabman was forthwith locked up by thepolice and clapped into prison for three months. He was releasedyesterday, and will be here within the next quarter of an hour."

  The detective's hair nearly rose on end at this statement.

  "Look here, Mr. Bruce!" he cried, "have you any more startlers up yoursleeve, or is that the finish?"

  "That is the last shot in my locker."

  "I'm jolly glad! I half expected the next thing you would say was thatyou did the job yourself."

  "It wouldn't be the first time you thought that; eh, my friend?"

  White positively blushed.

  "Oh! that's chaff," he said. "But why the dickens did the police lock upthis cabman--the only witness we could lay our hands upon? Why, I myselfquestioned every cabman in the vicinity several times."

  "Because he got drunk on the proceeds of the journey, and subsequentlythought he was Phaeton driving the chariot of the sun. But, there, hewill tell you himself. I met him yesterday morning outside HollowayJail, and persuaded him to come here to-night, provided he has not goneon the spree again with disastrous results."

  The entrance of Smith--obviously relieved to see his master and the"tec" on such good terms--to announce the arrival of "Mr. WilliamMarsh," settled any doubts as to the cabman'
s intentions, and hisappearance established the fact of his sobriety. Three months "hard" hadmade the cab-driver a new man.

  Recognition was mutual between him and Mr. White.

  "Hello, Foxey," cried the latter. "It's you, is it?"

  "Me it is, guv'nor; but I didn't know there was to be a 'cop'here"--this with a suspicious glance at Bruce and a backward movementtowards the door.

  "Do not be alarmed," said the barrister; "this gentleman's presenceimplies no trouble for you. We want you to help us, and if you do sowillingly I will make up that lost fiver you received for driving twopeople to Putney the night you were arrested."

  The poor old cabman became very confused on hearing this staggeringremark. Up to that moment he regarded Bruce as the agent for acharitable association, and there was no harm, he told his "missus," intrying to "knock him for a bit."

  He stood nervously fumbling with his hat, but did not answer. White knewhow to deal with him.

  "Sit down, Foxey, and have a drink. You need one to cheer you up. Answerthis gentleman's questions. He means you no harm."

  "Honor bright?"

  "Honor bright."

  "Well, I don't mind if I do. No soda, thank you, sir. Just a small dropof water. Ah, that's better stuff 'n they keep in Holloway."

  Thus fortified, Marsh had no hesitation in telling them what he knew.Substantially, his story was identical with the version given to Bruceby the ticket collector.

  "Can you describe the gentleman?" said the barrister.

  "No, sir. He was just like any other swell. Tall and well-dressed, andtalked in the 'aw-'aw style. It might ha' been yerself for all I couldtell."

  "Do you think it was I?"

  Foxey scratched his head.

  "No, p'r'aps it wasn't, now I come to rec'llect. He 'ad a moustache, andyou 'aven't. Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but you 'ave a bit of the cut of aparson or a hactor, an' this chap wasn't neither--just an every-day sortof toff."

  "Could you swear to him if you saw him?"

  "That I couldn't, sir. I am a rare 'and at langwidge, but I couldn'tmanage that."

  "Why?"

  "Because that night, sir, I were as full as a tick when I started. Lordlove you, it must 'ave poured out of me afterwards when I startedfightin' coppers. Mr. White, 'e knows, I ain't no fightin' man as arule."

  "And the _lady_? Did you see her?"

  "No, sir. Leastways, I seed a bundle which I took to be a lydy, but herface was covered up with a shawl, and she was lyin' 'eavy in 'is armsas though she was mortal bad. He tell'd me she was sick."

  "Did he? Anything else?"

  "No, sir."

  "Are you sure it was a shawl?"

  A vacuous smile spread over Foxey's countenance as he answered, "I ain'tsure of anythink that 'appened that night."

  "But were you not surprised when a man hired your cab under suchpeculiar circumstances, and paid you such a high fare?"

  "We four-wheelers are surprised at nothink, sir. You don't know all wotgoes on in kebs. Why, once crossin' Waterloo Bridge--"

  "Never mind Waterloo Bridge, Foxey," put in the detective. "Keep yourwits fixed on as much as you can remember of November 6."

  "Where did he tell you to drive to?" went on Bruce.

  "Just Putney. I was to drive my 'ardest. I recollect wantin' to pull upat the Three Bells, but 'e put 'is 'ead out an' said, 'Go on, driver. Iam awfully late already.' So on I went."

  "Where did you stop?"

  "I don't know no more than the child unborn. By that time the drink wasyeastin' up in me. The fare kept me on the road 'e wanted by shoutin'.When we pulled up, 'e carries 'er into a lane. There was a big 'ousethere. I know that all right. After a bit 'e comes back and tips me afiver. With that I whips up the old 'oss and gets back to the ThreeBells. You know the rest, as the girl said when she axed the Bench to--"

  "Yes, we know the rest," interrupted Bruce, "but I fear you are not ableto help us much."

  "This isn't a five-pun' job, eh, guv'nor?" said Foxey anxiously.

  "Hardly at present. We shall see. Can you say exactly where you drew upyour cab when the lady was carried into it?"

  "Sure as death," replied the cabman, in the hope that his informationmight yet be valuable. "It was outside Raleigh Mansions, Sloane Square."

  "We know that--"

  "It seems to me, sir, as ye know as much about the business as I do,"broke in Marsh.

  "Were you in the Square or in Sloane Street?"

  "In Sloane Street, of course. Right away from the Square."

  "Not so very far away, surely."

  Foxey was doubtful. His memory was hazy, and he feared lest he should bemistaken. "No, no," he said quickly, "not far, but still well in thestreet."

  "Were there many people about?"

  "You could 'ardly tell, sir; it was that foggy and nasty. If the lydy'ad bin dead nobody would 'ave noticed 'er that night."

  "Did any one besides yourself see the gentleman carrying the lady intothe cab?"

  "I think not. I don't remember anybody passin' at the time."

  "Did the gentleman keep your cab waiting long at the kerb before hebrought the lady out?"

  "It might 'a' bin a minute or two?"

  "No longer?"

  "Well, sir, it's 'ard for me to say, especially after bein' away for achange of 'ealth, so to speak."

  "Did not the lady speak or move in any manner?"

  "Not so far as I know, sir."

  "And do you mean to tell me that, although you had been drinking, youwere not astonished at the whole business?"

  "I never axes my fares any questions 'cept when they says 'By the hour.'Then I wants to know a bit."

  "Yes; but this carrying of a lady out of a house in such fashion--didnot this strike you as strange?"

  "Strange, bless your 'eart, sir. You ought to see me cartin' 'em offfrom the Daffodil Club after a big night--three and four in one keb, allblind, paralytic."

  "No doubt; but this was not the Daffodil Club at daybreak. It was arespectable neighborhood at seven o'clock, or thereabouts, on a winter'sevening."

  "It ain't my fault," said Foxey doggedly. "Wot was wrong with the lydy?Was it a habduction?"

  "The lady was dead--murdered, we believe."

  The cabman's face grew livid with anxiety.

  "Oh, crikey, Mr. White," he cried, addressing the detective, "I knewnothink about it."

  "No one says you did, Foxey," was the reply. "Don't be frightened. Wejust want you to help us as far as you can, and not to get skeered andlose your wits."

  Thus reassured, Marsh mopped his head and said solemnly:

  "I will do wot lies in my power, gentlemen both, but I wish I 'adn't binso blamed drunk that night."

  "You say you would not recognize your fare if you saw him," continuedBruce. "Could you tell us, if you were shown a certain person, that hewas _not_ the man? You might not be sure of the right man, but you mightbe sure regarding the wrong one."

  "Yes, sir. It wasn't you, and it wasn't Mr. White, and it wasn't a lotof other people I know. I think if I saw the man who really got into mykeb, I would be able to swear that 'e was like him, at any rate."

  "All right. That will do for the present. Leave us your address, so thatwe may find you again if necessary. Here is a sovereign for you."

  When Marsh had gone, Bruce turned to the detective.

  "Well," he said, "if Mensmore were here now, I suppose you would want tolock him up."

  "No," admitted White sadly; "the more I learn about this affair the moremixed it becomes. Still, I don't deny but I shall be glad to haveMensmore's explanation of his movements at that time. And so will you,Mr. Bruce."