CHAPTER VIII
MORE SUSPICIONS
Women are extraordinary--a platitude, of course, for everybody who hasmixed with women and who possesses a gleam of intelligence knows thatthey are extraordinary, just as he knows, or ought to know, that if theywere not _bizarre_ and mystifying, complex and erratic, they would beless insidiously captivating than they are.
There are, however, exceptions to most rules--some misguided _savant_ ofa bygone epoch formulated a maxim which says that "the exception provesthe rule," obviously an absurd statement, for if one man has no nose onhis face it is no proof that all other men have noses on theirs. AuntHannah constituted an exception to the rule that women are renderedadditionally attractive through being extraordinary. Had she been lessextraordinary she would have been more lovable. As it was she came near,at this time, to being the reverse of lovable, or so it struck me when,upon my endeavour to talk calmly and rationally to her after hearing allthat Jack Osborne had just told us, and striving to induce her to listento reason, she remained prejudiced, illogical.
I should not have cared a button, naturally, had it not been for Dulcieand the estrangement between us that the foolish old lady's behaviourcreated. Dulcie thought no end of her aunt, respected her views andsentiments--she had been brought up to do so, poor child--and, I knew,really loved her. "Well," I said to myself tartly, "she will now have tochoose between Aunt Hannah and me," and feeling cock-sure, after allthat had occurred between us, that I should be the favoured one and thatAunt Hannah would be metaphorically relegated to the scrap-heap, Idecided to approach Dulcie at once.
No, first I must see the original of that telegram, I reflected.Accompanied, therefore, by the police officer, I made my way to the postoffice in Regent Street. Having explained that I wanted to see theoriginal of the telegram "because," as I said, "I think a mistake hasbeen made in transcribing it," I was presently confronted by thepostmaster, a most courteous, obliging person.
"Why, certainly," he said, when I had repeated my untruth. "You shallsee it at once."
I waited in anxious expectancy, chatting lightly with the policeman,while the postmaster looked through the file of the day's messages.
"This is it, I think," he said presently--we were in his private room."But," he went on, glancing from the message that had been sent to theoriginal, "your original message is unsigned. Is that the allegedmistake of which you complain?"
"Unsigned!" I exclaimed, taking both papers from him. "Why yes, so itis! Then how does that message that was sent off come to be signed?"
The original message was type-written. The wording was exactly the sameas that in the telegram received, with this exception--the telegramreceived was signed "Michael Berrington," the typed message had nosignature.
"How do you account for this discrepancy?" I asked quickly.
"If you will kindly wait a moment," he answered, "I will inquire intothis."
He left the room. The policeman, to whom I had handed both messages,was still contemplating them with a look of perplexity in his roundeyes, when the postmaster returned, bringing with him anintelligent-looking girl.
"This," he said, "is the young lady who transmitted the message."
I am afraid I smiled. How long, I wonder, will post-office assistants,and shop girls, bar tenders, and others continue to be "young ladies,"while ladies in the correct sense of the word never think, when talkingof one another, of using terms more distinctive and dignified than"girl" and "woman"?
"Do you remember my sending this telegram this morning?" I asked,looking her full in the eyes.
"I remember taking in the message, but I'm afraid I don't remember yourface, sir," she answered nervously, evidently afraid that I was about toget her into trouble. "You see, we see so many people, and most of themonly for a few moments. I recall rather clearly taking in that message,because it was typed, which most telegrams are not. And--and I thoughtit was handed in by a lady, and not by a gentleman. In fact I feel sureit was. Was it really you who gave it to me to send off?"
"No, it was not," I answered quickly. "A lady? Can you remember what shewas like?"
"I can. She was, I think, really the most beautiful lady I have everseen. She was quite tall, as tall as a man, and she had a lovely figure.It did seem to set off her beautiful clothes so well. Then her face waslovely too--long, dark eyebrows she had, if I remember rightly, and hereyes were large. Oh, and she had a lot of auburn hair--red you mightalmost call it--I don't know which it was really, but I never sawsuch hair."
"Good!" I exclaimed.
I turned to the policeman.
"She has described beyond doubt a woman I know; a woman you willprobably soon know something about too."
"Indeed, sir?" he said, interested.
"But about this signature," I went on, again addressing the operator."How does this telegram you sent off come to be signed if the originalwas not signed?"
"It was signed, sir. It must have been. Otherwise the name wouldn't havebeen telegraphed. Ah--I remember!"
"Remember what?"
"The signature was in pencil. Just after the telegram had beendespatched, the lady came in again and asked if she might see themessage again just for a moment--she was not sure if she had saidsomething she had meant to say, she said. I got it and gave it to her,and a moment or two afterwards she gave it back to me, thanking me verymuch for having let her see it. She must have rubbed off the signaturethen. She could do it easy with a damp finger. Of course, I ought tohave looked, but I didn't think to."
"I think we have now solved the mystery--in part," I exclaimedtriumphantly. "This is some abominable conspiracy, and I am going to getto the bottom of it. My name was evidently signed, telegraphed, and thenpurposely obliterated."
After thanking the postmaster for his extreme courtesy and for thetrouble he had taken, and impressing upon him that under nocircumstances was the bright-eyed little operator to be censured, orallowed to get into any trouble, I returned with the policeman, who wasnow quite apologetic, to the house in Grafton Street. The door waslocked. A constable standing by, however, told us that Osborne andEasterton had driven away together in a car--"his lordship's car, whichhis lordship had telephoned for," he said, and that "the two ladies hadgone to the Ritz for tea"--he had heard them say, as they walked away,that they were going there.
Alone I followed them. I know my way about the Ritz as though I livedthere, being there so often with friends, and I soon found Aunt Hannahand Dulcie. They were alone in a cosy private tea-room leading out ofone of the large rooms which is but seldom used, having tea.
I saw Aunt Hannah stiffen as I approached. I saw too--and this disturbedme far more--that Dulcie had been weeping. Her eyes were stillquite moist.
"What do you wish, Mr. Berrington?" Aunt Hannah inquired starchily,sitting bolt upright in her chair as I approached.
I detest the use of the word "wish" in place of "want"; I don't knowwhy, but I always associate it with prim, prudish, highly-conventionalold ladies.
"I have come to explain everything, and to set your mind at rest," Isaid, trying to speak lightly, and intentionally saying "mind" insteadof "minds," for I did not want Dulcie to suppose that I thought sheshared her aunt's grotesque belief in this matter--the belief that Iactually had sent that hateful telegram.
"I hope you will succeed," Aunt Hannah observed, then shut her lipstightly.
She did not offer me a cup of tea, but I feigned not to notice thispaltry affront, and proceeded briefly to relate what had just takenplace at the post office. At last, when I had, as I thought, completelycleared my character, I stopped speaking. To my surprise the old ladyremained as unbending as ever.
"I don't know why I've gone to the trouble of telling you all this," Isaid, hiding the mortification I felt, "but you see, at any rate, that I_had_ an explanation to offer, though I grant you that at present it canonly be a partial one. That is no fault of mine, however."
"'Partial'--yes, it certainly is that," muttered the old lady.
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Aunt Hannah has small green eyes, and they seemed to snap. She still satup stiffly, her entire aspect rigid.
"This," I thought, "is the limit. Decidedly the moment of battle hasarrived"--indeed, the initial encounter had already taken place. I don'tmind confessing that my spirit quailed--for an instant. Then, realizingthat I was "up against it," my courage returned. My engagement to Dulciehung in the balance. I must face the music.
Perhaps at first I overdid it, but something is to be conceded tonervousness. Aunt Hannah kept tapping her teaspoon against her saucerwith nervous little taps. The constant "small noise" was veryirritating. Determined to stop it, I leant suddenly forward across thelittle table, till my face was close to Aunt Hannah's. Anger boiled inmy heart. Sympathy for Dulcie rose up and flooded my mind. Though Iallowed my most charming "boudoir" smile to overspread my face, it wasall I could do not to seize hold of that old lady and shake her.Inwardly I craved to grasp her lean wrists in a firm grip, and force herto listen to reason. "A dear" Dulcie had sometimes called her. "A dear"she might be when in a nice mood, but in the peevish vein she was nowin, her obstinacy held a particularly maddening quality.
"You know," I said, still smiling hypocritically, "you are really_trying_ to disbelieve me now. You are trying to make mischief betweenDulcie and me--and you enjoy it," and I glanced in the direction of mydarling, whose eyes were shining strangely. "Why don't you answer?" Iwent on, as Aunt Hannah remained silent; I could hear her gulping withrage. At last she spoke:
"What impudence--what unwarrantable impudence!" The words were shot frombetween her teeth. "You--you dare to speak to me like this--you--you--"
"After all, Miss Challoner," I cut in, "it's true. I no more sent that,or any telegram, to Dulcie than I am flying over the moon at thismoment. And if you still disbelieve me, at least tell me why. Yes, Imust know. Don't evade an answer. You have something else in your mind,I can see that, and I am not going to rest until I know what thatsomething is."
"Oh, you very rude young man," she burst out. "Yes, you shall know whatit is! If, as you say, the telegram was not sent by you--and I suppose Imust believe you--why was it not sent to Sir Roland? Such a telegramshould have been sent to him, and not to his daughter--if the stolenproperty had been found, it was for him to come to Town, or even for meto, but certainly it was not Dulcie's place to go gallivanting about inLondon. Now, I maintain it was sent to Dulcie because the sender knewSir Roland to be away from home--and who, but you, knew him to be away?He left only yesterday, and he should return to-night. You knewbecause, so my niece tells me, she told you in a letter that he was toleave home for a day."
"My niece!" Really, Aunt Hannah was qualifying for _opera bouffe!_ Justthen she knocked her spoon so loudly against her cup that itstartled me.
"Don't worry, Dulcie," I said, seeing how distressed she looked. "Youbelieve I didn't send it, anyway--I don't mind what anybody elsethinks," I added spitefully. "The mystery will be cleared up sooner orlater, and 'he laughs longest ...' you know the rest. Only one thing Iwonder," I ended, again facing Aunt Hannah, "if you thought that, whydid you bring Dulcie up to town? Why didn't you leave her at Holt, andcome up alone?"
"I will tell you why," she snapped back. "Because, wilful anddisobedient as she has always been, she refused to stay at Holt and letme come up alone."
Dulcie looked at me without answering, and I read love and confidence inher eyes. That was all I really cared to know, and the look afforded meimmense relief.
I felt there was no good purpose to be served by remaining there longer,so after shaking hands warmly with Dulcie--to the manifold disapprovalof Aunt Hannah, who stared at me frigidly and barely even bowed as Itook my leave--I sauntered out into Piccadilly.
My thoughts wandered. They were not, I must say, of the happiest.Obviously there was an enemy somewhere--it might be enemies. But whocould it be? Why should I have, we have--for Dulcie suffered equally--anenemy? What reason could anyone have for wishing to make Dulcie, or me,or any of the Challoners, unhappy? Everybody I knew who knew them seemedto love them, particularly the tenantry. Sir Roland was looked up toand respected by both county people and villagers for miles around HoltStacey, while Dulcie was literally adored by men and women alike, or soI believed. True, old Aunt Hannah sometimes put people out owing to hereccentricities and her irascible temper, but then they mostly lookedupon her as a rather queer old lady, and made allowances for her, andshe had not, I felt sure, an enemy in the country-side.
As for myself, well, I could not recollect ever doing any particularlybad turn--I had my likes and dislikes among the people I knew,naturally. Then suddenly a thought struck me--my engagement to Dulcie.Could that be--
I smiled as I dismissed the thought--it seemed too grotesque. No; onceand for all I decided that the whole affair could have nothing to dowith any kind of personal animosity. Criminals were at work, desperatecriminals, perhaps, and Osborne and Dulcie and I had chanced to provevery useful as pawns in some scheme of theirs for securing plunder. Iglanced at my watch. It was just five o'clock. Concluding that JackOsborne must now be at his rooms, I drove to the Russell Hotel. Yes, heparticularly wanted to see me; would I please go up at once, the clerksaid when he had telephoned up my name and my inquiry if Mr. Osbornewere at home to anybody.
Easterton was with him still; a doctor was on the point of leaving as Ientered the room where Jack sat in his dressing-gown in a big chair,drinking a cup of soup. Already he looked better, I thought, than when Ihad seen him at the house in Grafton Street, barely two hours before.
After exchanging a few remarks with him, and being assured by Eastertonthat the doctor had said that Jack might now see anyone he pleased, Icame straight to the question of the telegram, repeating to him almostword for word what I had told Aunt Hannah.
For nearly a minute after I had stopped speaking he did not utter. Heappeared to be thinking deeply, judging by the way his brows were knit.Then, suddenly looking straight at me, he said:
"Mike, I don't like this business--I don't like it at all. There'ssomething radically wrong about the whole thing. Now, look here, youknow that when I say a thing I mean it. Therefore I tell you this--I amgoing to set to work, as soon as I have quite recovered from thenightmare I have been through, to discover what is happening. I am goingto solve every detail of this mystery, and if there is some gang ofscoundrels at work committing burglaries and what not--because I feelquite sure this affair is in some way connected with the robbery atHolt--I am going to get them convicted. The doctor tells me I shall beperfectly all right in a couple of days. I have nothing to do. You havenothing to do. Will you join me in this attempt I am going to make totrack these men down? I hear it said that you are engaged to be marriedto Dulcie Challoner. If that's so, then you should be even more anxiousthan I am to get this gang arrested--the police say it must be a gang.They have looted some thousands of pounds' worth of jewellery whichpractically belonged to Dulcie Challoner. Think what it will mean to herif through your efforts all that is restored to her. Besides, she willthink you a hero--I mean an even greater hero than she already considersyou, most likely; I confess I don't agree with her, old man. You are avery good chap--but a hero? No. Say, then, will you help me in thissearch? It may prove exciting too; on the other hand, it may not."
Jack's breezy manner and almost boyish enthusiasm appealed to me. Afterall, I had, as he said, nothing on earth to do--I often wished Ihad--and I was rather keen on anything that might lead to or savour ofadventure. Though I was engaged to Dulcie, there were family reasons whythe marriage could not take place at once, and then I thought again ofwhat Jack had just said about the stolen jewels--Dulcie was stillgreatly upset at their loss, and there was even the possibility, Ithought with a smile, that if I were directly or indirectly responsiblefor their recovery Aunt Hannah might eventually deign again to smileupon me--which would, of course, give me great joy!
"Yes, old chap," I said, "I'll do anything you jolly well like. I'm sickof doing nothing."
"First rate!" he answered. "Then that's settled. I've all sorts of ideasand theories about the Holt Manor robbery and this affair of mine, andthat telegram to-day, and other things that have happened--some you knowabout, some you don't. I have a friend who was for twenty years atScotland Yard--George Preston, wonderful chap, knows London upside-downand inside-out, and now he's kicking his heels with nothing to do he'llbe only too glad to earn a bit. You might ring him up for me now, andask him to come here to-morrow."
Somebody knocked, and I went to the door, Jack having told me that hedid not want to see anybody likely to bore him.
It was only an hotel messenger. The clerk in the office had tried toring up the room, he said, but could get no answer. Turning, I saw thatJack had forgotten to replace the receiver the last time he had spoken.
"What do you want?" I asked.
The messenger said that a "young gentleman" had just called. He wantedto see "a Mr. Berrington" who was probably with Mr. Osborne.
"What about?" I said. "And didn't he give his name?"
"He wouldn't say what about, sir, though he was asked. He said it was'most important.' He said to say 'Mr. Richard Challoner.'"
"Dick!" I exclaimed. "Good heavens, what is Dick doing up in London? Oh,go down," I said to the messenger, "and send him up at once."
"It's Dick Challoner," I said, turning to Osborne and Easterton, "SirRoland's boy, the little chap I told you about who behaved so pluckilywhen the thieves at Holt got hold of him. I wonder what _he's_ doing intown, and why he wants to see me."
Then I sat down, lit a cigarette, and waited. I little suspected what anamazing story I was about to hear.
The Four Faces: A Mystery Page 8