of Charlie's inexplicable presence in that deserted house, orperhaps on account of the inspector's British antipathy towardsforeigners; nevertheless, he said nothing regarding that woman's coatwith the tell-tale mark of blood.
Besides, the Doctor and Maud must be somewhere in the vicinity. Nodoubt he would come round to Dover Street in the morning and explain hisunusual removal. The discovery of Rolfe's presence there wasnevertheless inexplicable. The more he reflected upon it, the moresuspicious it seemed. The inspector's curiosity had been aroused byMax's demeanour. The latter had briefly related how he had called, tofind the house empty, and both occupier, his daughter, and the servantsgone.
"Did you see any servant when you were there this evening?"
"Yes; the man-servant Costa."
"Ah, a foreigner! Old or young?"
"Middle-aged."
"A devoted retainer of his master, of course."
"I believe so."
"Then he may have been in his master's secret--most probably was. Whena master suddenly flies he generally confides in his man. I've knownthat in many instances. What nationality was this Petrovitch?"
"Servian."
"Oh, we don't get many of those people in London. They come from theEast somewhere, don't they--a half-civilised lot?"
"Doctor Petrovitch is perfectly civilised, and a highly-cultured man,"Max responded. "He is a statesman and diplomat."
"What! Is he the Minister of Servia?"
"He was--in Berlin, Constantinople, and other places."
"Then there may be something political behind it," the officersuggested, beaming as though some great flash of wisdom had come to him."If so, it don't concern us. England's a free country to all the scumof Europe. This doctor may be flying from some enemy. Russian refugeesoften do. I've heard some queer tales about them, more strange thanwhat them writers put in sixpenny books."
"Yes," remarked Barclay, "I expect you've had a pretty big experience offoreigners down in Whitechapel."
"And at Vine Street, too, sir," was the man's reply, as he leanedagainst the edge of his high desk, over which the flaring gas jetshissed. "Nineteen years in the London police gives one an intimateacquaintance with the undesirable alien. Your story to-night is a queerone. Would you like me to send a man round to the house with you inorder to give it a look over?"
Max reflected in an instant that if that were done the woman's dresswould be discovered.
"Well--no," he replied. "At present I think it would be scarcely worthwhile. I think I know where I shall find the Doctor in the morning.Besides, a friend of mine is engaged to his daughter, so he'll becertain to know their whereabouts."
"Very well--as you wish. But," he said, "if you can't find wherethey're all disappeared to, give us a call again, and we'll try toassist you to the best of our ability."
Max thanked him. A ragged pickpocket, held by two constables, was atthat moment brought in and placed in the railed dock, making loudprotests of "I'm quite innocent, guv'nor. It warn't me at all. I wasonly a-lookin' on!"
So Barclay, seeing that the inspector would be occupied in taking thecharge, thanked him and left.
Outside, he reflected whether he should go direct to Charlie's chambersin Jermyn Street. His first impulse was to do so, but somehow he viewedRolfe with suspicion. If his friend had not seen him--and he believedhe had not--then for the present it was best that he should hold hissecret.
Perhaps the Doctor had sent a telegram to his own chambers. He wouldsurely never leave London without sending him word. Therefore Maxhailed a passing cab and drove to Dover Street.
His chambers, on the first floor, were cosy and well-furnished,betraying a taste in antique of the Louis XIV period. Odd articles offurniture he had picked up in out-of-the-way places, while several ofthe pictures were family portraits brought from Kilmaronock Castle.
The red-carpeted sitting-room, with its big inlaid writing-table, boughtfrom an old chateau on the Loire, its old French chairs and modernbook-case, was lit only by the green-shaded reading lamp, beneath whichwere some letters where his man had placed them.
On a small table at the side was a decanter of whisky, a syphon,glasses, and cigars, and beside them his letters. Eagerly he turnedthem over for a telegram, but there was none. Neither was there aletter from the Doctor. On the writing-table stood the telephoneinstrument. It might have been rung while his man Gustave had beenabsent. That evening he had sent him on a message down to Croydon, andhe had not yet returned.
He pushed his opera-hat to the back of his head, and stood puzzled as tohow he should act. Green had told him that is master had left for theContinent, and yet had he not with his own eyes seen him fly from thathouse in Cromwell Road?
Yes; there was a mystery--a deep, inexplicable mystery. There was not adoubt of it!
CHAPTER SIX.
MENTIONS A CURIOUS CONFESSION.
When about ten o'clock next morning Mr Warner, buyer of the costumes atCunnington's, noticed the tall, athletic figure of the young man inbrown tweeds known as Mr Evans of Dover Street advance across the drabcarpet with which the "department" was covered, he smiled withinhimself.
The "young ladies" of Cunnington's were not allowed any flirtations. Itwas "the sack" at a moment's notice for any girl being found flirtingeither with one of the male assistants or with an outsider, though he bea good customer. Cunnington's hundred and one rules, with fines rangingfrom threepence to half-a-crown, were stringent ones. Mr Cunningtonhimself, a short, black-bearded man, of keen business instinct, was akindly master; but in such a huge establishment with its hundreds ofemployees, rules must of necessity, be adhered to. Nevertheless, thebuyers or headmen of the various departments each controlled their ownassistants, and some being more lenient than others towards the girls,rules were very often broken.
Cunnington's was, therefore, known to be one of the most comfortable"cribs" in the trade. Assistants who came up to London in search of abillet always went to see Mr Cunnington, and happy he or she whoobtained a personal introduction to him. He had earned his success bydint of hard work. Originally an assistant himself in a Birminghamshop, he had gone into business for himself in Oxford Street, in onesmall establishment, and had, by fair dealing and giving good value,prospered, until great rows of windows testified to the fortune he hadamassed.
Unlike most employers in the drapery trade, he was generous to a degree,and he appreciated devoted service. In his great shops he had many oldhands. Some, indeed, had been with him ever since his first beginning.Those were his trusted lieutenants, of whom "Warner of the Costumes" wasone.
What Warner said was never queried, and, being a kindly man, the girlsin his department did pretty much as they liked.
Max Barclay, or Mr Evans as he had several times given his name, hadrun the gauntlet of the shopwalkers of the outer shops, and penetratedanxiously to the costumes. At that hour there were no customers.Before eleven there is but little shopping in Oxford Street. Buyersthen see travellers, who come in their broughams, and assistantsre-arrange and display their stocks.
On entering the department, Max at once caught sight of the tallfair-haired girl who, with her back to him, was arranging a linencostume upon a stand.
Two other girls glanced across at him, but, knowing the truth, did notask what he required. He was Miss Rolfe's admirer, they guessed, formen did not usually come in alone and buy twenty-guinea ready-madecostumes for imaginary relatives as he had done.
He was standing behind her before she turned suddenly, and blushed insurprise. Warner, sitting in his little glass desk, noticed the lookupon the girl's face and fully realised the situation. He likedMarion's brother, while the girl herself was extremely modest and anexcellent saleswoman. He knew that Charles Rolfe and this Mr Evanswere friends, and that fact had prevented him from forbidding theflirtation to continue.
Evans was evidently a gentleman. Of that he had no doubt.
"Why!" she exclaimed to her lover. "This is really
a great surprise.You are early?"
"Because I wanted to see you, Marion," he answered, quickly.
She noticed his anxiety, and in an instant grew alarmed.
"Why, what's the matter?" she asked, glancing round to see whether theother girls were watching her. "You ought not to come here, you know,Max. I fear Mr Warner will object to you seeing me in business hours."
"Oh! never mind him, darling," he replied, in a low voice. "I want toask you a question or two. Where did you see Maud last night?"
"I met her at the door at Queen's Hall. I was to go to Cromwell Road tocall for her, but she telegraphed to me at the last moment. She
The Pauper of Park Lane Page 6