The Man Without A Face

by The Man Without a Face (retail) (epub)

  “And is that all?” asked Philip, himself disappointed.

  “Of course it isn’t,” said Henry. “That’s another of Mr. Harrison’s little ways, Mr. Bamberger. He wouldn’t have told you all this if there was nothing more to come. He usually keeps the surprise until the end.”

  “As a running commentary, Henry, you are rather disconcerting,” said Harrison. “Mr. Bamberger, did your father ever live in Havre?”

  “He may have done,” answered Philip.

  “During the past year?”

  “Good heavens, no!”

  “Did he stay there during the past year?”

  “Certainly not; he never went out of England.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Harrison. “You’re quite certain of that?”

  “Of course I am,” answered Philip. “I’ve been at home myself so I ought to now.”

  “Then my search through the books might have been justified, after all,” said Harrison. “I told you that I was very disappointed when I found nothing in the letterpress of the books. I was going to give up the idea when I realised that I had not been through enough. I had not looked at the flyleaves.”

  “Well?” said Philip, eagerly.

  “Your father occasionally put his name and address in the books he bought. In some earlier ones I found an address in Paris. There were some written on in London, and one or two addresses which showed that he must have bought them on a holiday or business trip, or something like that. They were usually the names of books. But this particular one gave an address in Havre—15, Avenue des Viguerres, Havre. As the book was only published last autumn in England I was rather puzzled. It is an expensive book and not likely to be obtainable in Havre unless your father was staying there for a while and had ordered it to be sent to him. That is why I asked you about it.”

  “And what does it mean?” asked Philip.

  “It’s a long shot,” answered Harrison; “but I’ve thought about it this morning, and I can see no other answer. If we assume that a mysterious person called on your father and gave him some important information, and we further assume that the information mainly consisted of a particular address—”

  “I see,” said Philip.

  “It’s a very heavy load of assumption,” continued Harrison, “and I may be on the wrong track altogether, but if we accept the heavy load, then your father might have been reading this book at the time and have written down the address in this way as the safest manner of concealing it. He would know where to find it, but nobody else would be likely to guess where it was.”

  “That sounds very obvious,” said Philip. “It’s wonderful.”

  “The only thing is,” answered Harrison, “that it may be too ingenious to be true. Still it is worth exploring.”

  At that moment a servant dressed as a butler appeared in the bedroom and made signals to Bamberger.

  “Well, what is it?” said Bamberger, sharply.

  The butler hesitated.

  “Speak out, Dan,” said Bamberger.

  “It’s Miss Marston, sir,” he said

  “Good lord, Livia,” cried Bamberger. “Excuse me, Harrison, I must go down to her.”

  “There is somebody with her,” said the butler.

  Harrison smiled as if expecting the answer. “Miss Williams, sir,” continued the butler, “and Mr. Cross.”

  “Mr. Cross?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the butler, “a friend of Miss Williams’.”

  “Very well, I’ll come,” said Bamberger, and looked across inquiringly at Harrison.

  “I’ve told them Mr. Harrison is here, sir,” said the butler, as if anticipating the query Bamberger intended to make to Harrison.

  “The devil, you have,” said Bamberger.

  “I hope I didn’t do wrong, sir,” said the butler, apologetically. “They asked me if there was anybody here with you, sir, and of course I said Mr. Harrison was.”

  “Quite right,” said Harrison. “There is no earthly reason why you shouldn’t. I’ll follow you down in a minute, Bamberger.”

  The butler looked interrogatively at Bamberger.

  “Go down and tell them I am just coming,” said Philip.

  The butler left the room and Philip was following him when Harrison took his arm and said quickly to him, “You’re going to have a bad time, Bamberger, and I’m sorry, but you said you would trust me, and you’ve got to do so now.”

  “I will,” said Phillip, firmly.

  “One thing I want you to do,” said Harrison, “straight away. Keep your butler with you and send the second man-servant up to me. Don’t give them a chance to speak to each other—that’s the most important thing. I’ll be after you as soon as I possibly can.”

  “Very well,” answered Philip, going out of the room.

  A few moments later there came another knock at the door and, following an invitation to enter, there appeared a young man in footman’s uniform.

  “Come in,” said Harrison. “I want to ask you a question or two. Your name, first?”

  “Higgins, sir.”

  “Well, Higgins,” said Harrison, “I hope you have a good memory.”

  “I hope I have, sir.”

  “About a month ago, Higgins, a strange man came to see Sir Jeremiah.”

  “He did, sir.”

  “Very well; tell me all about him?”

  “I’m hardly likely to forget it, sir,” said Higgins, with a smile. “No effort of memory needed there, sir. It was in the afternoon and I went to the door, sir. We don’t have many callers, sir, and I was rather suspicious. He wasn’t very well dressed and, although he said he was an old friend of Sir Jeremiah’s, I hardly liked to let him in. He wouldn’t give any name either. So I called Mr. Finney.”

  “Mr. Finney being the butler, I presume?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Higgins. “Mr. Finney came and he didn’t like the look of him either. He told him to go away, but the man said he wouldn’t. He must see Sir Jeremiah; it was very important. Mr. Finney was just going to push him outside when along comes Sir Jeremiah himself through the hall. He looks at the man and says ‘Good heavens’ or something like that. ‘Come right in.’ You could’ve knocked me down flat when I heard that. Mr. Finney looked a bit funny, too. So we both stood back and Sir Jeremiah takes the shabby man into his study and closes the door. It was a funny business altogether because he seemed to stay there for hours and Mr. Finney walked up and down, all excited, saying he was certain our poor master was being murdered.”

  “What did you think, Higgins?”

  “Well, sir, if I may say so, I thought Mr. Finney was making a lot of fuss. He seemed to be one of Sir Jeremiah’s friends and that was enough for me. Eventually Sir Jeremiah and the shabby man did come out and Sir Jeremiah saw him to the door and shook hands with him most heartily. After that he sent for Mr. Finney and, judging by Mr. Finney’s temper afterwards, he put him on the carpet for trying to send his friend away.”

  “You didn’t catch his name, Higgins?”

  “No, sir,” said Higgins. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Do you think Mr. Finney did?”

  “I should very much doubt it, sir.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nothing important, sir.”

  “What do you mean by nothing important?”

  “Well, sir, if you want to hear everything about the shabby man—”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Really it doesn’t seem very important, but it struck me as rather queer at the time. The next day Mr. Finney said to me, ‘you might get sacked for letting in a man like that one yesterday.’ That fairly took my breath away because I thought he was a friend of Sir Jeremiah. But I find it best not to say anything, even when I’m surprised, sir, so I waited. He then said that Sir Jeremiah was so tender-hearted he couldn’t refuse to see people like that, so it was my job in future to keep a closer eye on them and never to let anybody like that get in again, especially the shabby man
himself. I thought it was very unjust, but I took it whence it came and said I’d be more careful. Jack, that’s the man down at the lodge, sir, had the same warning, and Mr. Finney told him that if ever the shabby man got up to the house again Jack would have to go and no argument.”

  “Were those Sir Jeremiah’s instructions, do you think, Higgins?”

  “I shouldn’t have thought so myself, sir,” was the reply, “but Mr. Finney suggested they were.”

  “That is really all, then, Higgins?” asked Harrison.

  “I think so, sir,” said Higgins. “The shabby man never came again—to my knowledge, at any rate. I may have made it more important than it really was, sir, but very little happens here, you know—”

  “I am very grateful to you, Higgins,” answered Harrison, “for a very interesting story. I don’t think you had better discuss this conversation with Mr. Finney.”

  “No, sir?” queried Higgins, raising his eyebrows.

  “He might think it wasn’t important enough to rake up again and you don’t want any more trouble.”

  “That’s true, sir,” said Higgins. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

  “Thank you very much, Higgins,” said Harrison. “I don’t think there’s anything else.”

  As Higgins departed, Harrison turned to Henry. “A very good morning’s work,” he said, “and now you may rise from your very unvirtuous couch. Get dressed as soon as you can and hang about, for I may want you. Now I’m off for a rather difficult meeting with Miss Livia Marston and the wonderful Miss Williams.”

  “A most unfortunate accident,” said Henry, gloomily.

  “Accident?” asked Harrison, blankly, leaving Henry to feel more bewildered than ever as to the direction his master’s investigations were taking.

  Downstairs Harrison found a quartet who were obviously finding the atmosphere a little strained, although Miss Williams, with her charming smile, was trying to infuse a little lightness into the proceedings.

  “Good morning, Mr. Harrison,” she said, advancing to him almost effusively, and giving his hand a distinctly cordial shake. “I hardly expected to have the pleasure of meeting you again so soon.”

  “Didn’t you?” said Harrison, bluntly.

  “Of course not,” answered Miss Williams. “I suppose one cannot expect gallantry from detectives, but I must admit, for my part, if anyone had told me yesterday morning that I should see you here now I shouldn’t have believed them.”

  “I must say,” said Harrison, “it’s a very great pleasure to renew the acquaintance, Miss Williams.”

  “That’s an improvement,” she answered, smiling upon him. “You don’t know Mr. Cross, I suppose?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Lucky for Mr. Cross,” said Miss Williams. “It’s always best never to have met a detective before. But let me introduce you. Mr. Clay Harrison, the famous detective, Mr. Cross, a friend of mine.”

  Harrison bowed, and Mr. Cross did likewise but, in doing so, Harrison thought he detected an involuntary drawing together of the heels which suggested a lingering trace of Teutonic militarism and left the impression that Mr. Cross’s name might once have been spelt with a “k” instead of a “c” in its German homeland.

  Meanwhile Livia Marston sat and glowered. She gave no sign of recognition of Harrison and Harrison made no effort in return. Philip Bamberger was sitting in a downcast attitude as if he had already paid heavily for his presumption in daring to entertain Harrison against Miss Livia’s express wishes.

  A deep silence fell on the company and it was Miss Williams who decided to break it.

  “It would be quite interesting to know why you are here, Mr. Harrison,” she said, “but one never gets anything for waiting in this world, so I’ll tell you why I am here and then I shall feel entitled to hear your story.”

  “Value for value,” said Harrison. “Your story’s got to be good enough to deserve mine in return.”

  “It is a very charming story at any rate,” said Mr. Cross, speaking for the first time.

  “You see, Mr. Harrison, I have one admirer, at any rate,” said Miss Williams, “although you may not believe it.”

  “Of course I believe it,” was the reply. “I may not have the facility of phrase of Mr. Cross but you number me among your most rank admirers already, Miss Williams.”

  At this Livia Marston gave a look of supreme disgust and started to speak but did not continue.

  “How splendid of you, Mr. Harrison,” answered Miss Williams, looking deeply into his eyes. “I think you deserve a good story after that. But I’m afraid it’s a poor one, especially as it hasn’t been very successful.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Harrison.

  “You see, I have been so worried about these two young things,” she went on. “I hate to see such children quarrelling. It really got quite on my nerves. I could think of nothing else. Life is too good not to enjoy all the romance you can, especially when you can’t help loving each other.”

  “For heaven’s sake, stop talking like that, Helen,” cried Livia.

  “But I will talk like that, Livia, because it’s true,” answered Miss Williams “I got so worried that last night I hardly slept at all. I felt I most do something to bring them together again. So I rang up the devoted Mr. Cross at some ghastly hour and said ‘I can’t stand it any longer. Bring your car round and drive me to Penstoke.’ He was round in no time—such devotion, Mr. Harrison—and was soon off. Would you believe it, we had gone quite a long way before he said ‘where is Penstoke?’”

  “Devotion indeed,” said Harrison.

  “I could hardly imagine you would have done the same, Mr. Harrison,” said Miss Williams, rather sharply.

  “You have never given me the opportunity,” was his reply.

  “In that case,” she said, again smiling and, as it were, throwing all the effort of her charms towards him, “you shall certainly have it. When we got to Penstoke I found Livia a tough proposition. But she consented to coming on here and then most unfortunately you seem to have upset the whole apple cart.”

  “I can’t see why,” said Harrison.

  “Livia objects to Philip having anything to do with you, quite wrongly, I am certain; but she does and that explains the present coldness.”

  “I can’t see—” started Philip.

  “Of course you can’t,” said Livia. “You’ve been a perfect fool over the whole business.”

  “But Livia, why this unreasoning objection to poor Mr. Harrison?” asked Miss Williams.

  “I regard him as an insult to me,” was the reply. “Mother started it, and Philip has made it worse. What on earth is be here at all for?”

  “Perhaps I had better explain,” said Harrison.

  “Story for story,” said Miss Williams.

  “And guess which is telling the truth?” asked Harrison, quickly.

  “Neither of us, I should imagine,” was Helen Williams’ cool reply. The vague Mr. Cross, who did not seem to come into the proceedings, looked daggers at Harrison but a warning look from the lady soothed him.

  “I know,” said Livia, jumping up. “You’re a detective and Philip isn’t satisfied it was an accident.”

  “Well?” said Harrison.

  “He thinks father did it on purpose,” shrieked Livia, going to the door. “Come away, Helen, I can’t stay here.”

  “Then there seems no need to tell my story,” said Harrison.

  “You admit it, then?” cried Livia, turning fiercely on him.

  “Come, Livia, you mustn’t go on like this,” said Helen Williams, taking her arm gently. “You can’t possibly imagine anything like that—”

  “My father is the soul of honour,” said Livia.

  “Of course he is,” echoed Miss Williams. “But it was you who suggested it, not Mr. Harrison. I am sure that is the last thing Mr. Harrison would have thought.” She turned to Harrison for an answer and the mocking look in her eye was a little too definite to be
disregarded.

  “I am sure a denial would not convince Miss Livia at all,” said Harrison, coldly. “I do not propose to excuse myself in any way. I appreciate your desire for a story, Miss Williams, but as Miss Livia is likely to misinterpret everything I say, I do not propose to justify it. I am here as Mr. Bamberger’s guest and I think that is quite enough.”

  “You asked him here yourself, Philip?” said Livia, angrily.

  “Of course I did,” answered Philip, his anger rising also.

  “Then that finishes me,” said Livia. “If you think so little of my wishes as that you can reckon our engagement is over.”

  “Livia!” cried Miss Williams.

  “Take me away, Helen, take me away,” sobbed Livia.

  “You seem to have done a lot of good bringing Livia over here,” said Philip, turning angrily to Miss Williams. “I trust you won’t interfere in any more affairs that don’t concern you.”

  “I’m sorry to have been the cause of all the trouble,” said Harrison. “Really very sorry. If I can do any good by going at once—”

  “That won’t help Philip,” sobbed Livia. “I don’t want to see him again. You can stay with him as long as you like. That’ll please him.”

  “And you go off with your Miss Williams,” said Philip, angrily.

  “Really this is very dreadful,” said Helen Williams. “I am sorry I tried to do anything. Indeed, Mr. Harrison and I seem to be the innocent cause of all the trouble. Mr. Cross, I think, would rather go too, and then they may all feel more comfortable.”

  “I won’t be left here,” said Livia. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Very well,” said Miss Williams. “Mr. Cross, see Livia to the car, will you? If Mr. Harrison will be so kind, I want a word alone with Philip.”

  Mr. Cross, somewhat like an odd-job man who, having nothing particular to do, does at the moment anything that is required of him, obediently took the weeping girl from the room and Harrison prepared to follow.

  Helen Williams moved with amazing speed across the room and reached the door before Harrison had time to get out of it.

  “Just a moment, Mr. Harrison,” she said, shutting the door; “it was really you I wanted to speak to but I didn’t want to make a worse scene by telling Livia.”