The Classic Mystery Novel

by Dorothy Cameron Disney

  I remember it all, but I will not be guilty of the sacrilege of committing it to paper. No girl has ever spoken her heart to me as Sylvia then spoke it; I am not sure that I want to be again admitted to such confidences. It is all strange, and sad, and unsatisfactory; but above all it is sacred. Her imprisonment had taken the fire out of Sylvia’s blood; and her meeting with the Seraph had worked on her emotions. At another time she would have been more reticent. As after our return from Oxford, I sometimes think we were punished by an extreme of cold for having been injudiciously admitted to bask in an extreme of heat. That is the way with the English climate, and with a certain number of reserved, proud girls who grow up under its influence.…

  I dropped Sylvia at Cadogan Square without going in, and carried the Seraph straight back to Adelphi Terrace. Maybury-Reynardson was paying Joyce an evening visit; the report was satisfactory so far as it went, but indicated that we must exercise great patience before a complete cure could be expected. I asked—on a matter of life and death—whether she could be moved in a week’s time. He preferred to give no opinion, and reminded me that I must not attempt to see or speak to the patient. Then I turned him over to the Seraph, ordered myself some dinner, and went to bed.

  In the morning a telephone message informed me that Arthur Roden would like us both to go round to Cadogan Square. I answered that it was out of the question so far as the Seraph was concerned; and it was not till late on the Saturday afternoon that I felt justified in letting him get out of bed and accompany me. He still looked perilously white and ill, and though one strain had been removed by the discovery of Sylvia, and another by the departure of the search-warrant bogey, I could see no good purpose in his being called in to assist at an affecting reconciliation, and having to submit to a noisy chorus of congratulation.

  We were spared both. I suppose I shall never know the true reason for the reception that awaited us, but I distribute the responsibility in equal shares between Lady Roden and Nigel Rawnsley. And of course I have to keep reminding myself that I had been present at the search, while they were not; that they were plain, matter-of-fact materialists with a rational cause for every effect, while I—well, I put myself out of court at once by asking them to believe in an absurdity called a Sixth Sense.

  I find it hard, however, to forgive Nigel his part in the scene that followed; so far as I can see he was actuated first by jealousy on Sylvia’s account, secondly by personal venom against the Seraph as a result of the unauthorised search-party, and lastly by the obstinate anger of a strong-willed, successful egoist, who has been driven to dwell even temporarily in the shade of unsuccess. Lady Roden, it must never be forgotten, had to sink the memory of Rutlandshire Morningtons, and the quarterings and armorial devices of an entire Heralds’ College, before she could be expected to do justice to a man like the Seraph.

  We were shown into the library, and found Arthur, Nigel and Philip seated before us like the Beasts in Revelation. Lady Roden and Sylvia entered later and sat to one side. There was much bowing and no hand-shaking.

  The story of the search was already known—Sylvia had told it as soon as she got home, probably in my own words; and in the first, fine, careless rapture, I have no doubt she had spoken of the Seraph in the strain I had heard in the car. If this were the case, Lady Roden’s eyes must have been abruptly and painfully opened. I felt sorry for her. Rutlandshire Morningtons frowned sour disfavour from the walls at the possibility of her daughter—with her daughter’s faith and wealth—allying herself with an infidel, unknown, relationless vagrant like Lambert Aintree. Rationalism in the person of Nigel Rawnsley was called in to discredit the story of the search and save Sylvia from squandering herself on a common adventurer.

  “You remember the terms of our agreement last Wednesday?” he began. “I undertook to suspend application for a search warrant.…”

  “If we discovered Sylvia,” I said. “Yes?”

  “And my sister Mavis.”

  I hope Nigel did not see my jaw drop. Save for the moment when I looked casually through the other rooms in the Maidenhead bungalow I had completely forgotten the Mavis stipulation. Every plan and hope I had cherished in respect of Joyce had been cherished in vain.

  “The time was to expire on Monday, at noon,” said the Seraph.

  “Exactly. I thought I would remind you that only half the undertaking had been carried out. That is all.”

  Nigel would make an admirable proctor; he is to the manner born. I had quite the old feeling of being five shillings the poorer for straying round the streets of Oxford at night without academical dress.

  I caught the Seraph’s eye and made as if to rise.

  “One moment,” said Arthur. “There is a good deal more to come.”

  I folded my arms resignedly. Any one may lecture me if it amuses him to do so, but the Seraph ought to have been in bed instead of having to submit to examination by an old K.C.

  “The question is a good deal wider,” Arthur began. “You, Aintree, are suspected of harbouring at your flat a woman who is wanted by the police on a most serious charge.…”

  “I thought we’d cleared all this up on Wednesday,” I said, with an impatient glance at Nigel.

  “No arrangement you may have made on Wednesday is binding on me.”

  “It was binding on your son, who sits on one side of you,” I said, “and on Mr. Nigel Rawnsley, who sits on the other.”

  Arthur drew himself up, no doubt unconsciously.

  “As a Minister of the Crown I cannot be a party to any connivance at crime.”

  “Philip and Nigel,” I said. “As sons of Ministers of the Crown, I hope you will take that to heart.”

  “What I have to say—” Arthur began.

  “One moment!” I interrupted. “Are you speaking as a Minister of the Crown or a father of a family? Sylvia’s been restored to you as the result of your son and Nigel conniving at what you hope and believe to be a crime. You wouldn’t have got her back without that immoral compromise.”

  “The flat would have been searched,” said Nigel.

  “It was. Paddy and Gartside searched it and declared themselves satisfied.…”

  “They lied.”

  “Will you repeat that to Gartside?” I asked invitingly. “I fancy not. They searched and declared themselves satisfied. I offered to show the detectives round ten minutes after—by all accounts—this woman ought to have taken refuge there. Anybody could have searched it if they’d approached the owner properly.”

  He ignored my implied reproof and stuck to his guns.

  “There was a woman there when Gartside said there was not.”

  “Gartside only said Miss Davenant wasn’t there.”

  It was the Seraph speaking, slowly and almost for the first time. His face flushed crimson as he said it. I could not help looking at Sylvia; I looked away again quickly.

  “There was some woman there, then?” said Nigel.

  My cue was plain, and I took it.

  “Miss Davenant is the only person whose name is before the house,” I interposed. “Gartside said she was not there. Were you satisfied, Phil? I thought so. It’s no good asking you, Nigel; you won’t be satisfied till you’ve searched in person, and that you can’t do till after Monday. Every one who agreed to Wednesday’s compromise is bound by it till Monday midday. If after that Nigel still thinks it worth while to conduct Scotland Yard over the flat, of course we shan’t attempt to stop him. As for any one who was not present or personally bound by Wednesday’s compromise, that is to say, you, Arthur—do you declare to win by ‘Father of a Family’ or ‘Minister of the Crown’? You must take one or the other.”

  “The two are inseparable,” he answered shortly.

  “You must contrive to separate them. If you declare ‘Father of a Family,’ you must hold yourself bound by Phil’s arrangement. If you declare ‘Minister of the Cr
own,’ you oughtn’t to have profited by the compromise, you oughtn’t to have allowed us to restore Sylvia to you. Common schoolboy honour tells you that. Incidentally, why haven’t you had the flat searched already? As a Minister of the Crown, you know.…”

  If my heart had not been beating so quickly, I should have liked to study their faces at leisure. The history of the last two days was written with tolerable clearness. Nigel had told Arthur—and possibly his own father—the story of his visit to Adelphi Terrace; he had hinted sufficient to incite one or both to take the matter up officially. Then Philip had intervened and depicted himself as bound in honour to take no step until the expiration of the armistice. Their faces told a pretty tale of “pull devil, pull baker,” with Nigel at the head, Philip at the feet, and Arthur twisting and struggling between them.

  I had no need to ask why the flat had not yet been searched, but I repeated my question.

  “And when are you going to search it?” I added.

  Arthur attempted a compromise.

  “If you will give me your word.…” he began.

  “Not a bit of it!” I said. “Are you bound or are you not? Sylvia’s in the room to settle any doubts on the subject.”

  He yielded after a struggle.

  “I will take no steps to search the flat until after midday on Monday, provided Mavis is restored by then.”

  I made another attempt to rise, but Arthur waved me back into my seat.

  “I have not finished yet. As you point out, Sylvia is in the room. I wish to know how she got here, and I wish still more to know how she was ever spirited away in the first instance.”

  “I know nothing about the getting away. She may be able to throw light on that. Hasn’t she told you how we found her?”

  “She has given me your version.”

  “Then I don’t suppose I can add anything to it.”

  “You might substitute a story that would hold a little more water.”

  “I am afraid I am not naturally inventive.”

  “Since when?”

  His tone told me that I had definitely lost Arthur as a friend—which was regrettable, but if I could play the part of whetstone to his repartee I was content to see him draw profit from the débris of our friendship.

  “It is only fair to say that you and Aintree are regarded with a good deal of suspicion,” he went on. “Apart from the question of the flat.…”

  “Not again!” I begged.

  “I have not mentioned the report of the officers who watched Miss Davenant’s house in.…”

  “Nigel has,” I interrupted. “Ad nauseam. My interview was apparently very different from their report. Suppose we have them in?”

  “They are not in the house.”

  “Then hadn’t we better leave them out of the discussion? What else are we suspected of?”

  Arthur traced a pattern on the blotting-pad, and then looked up very sternly.

  “Complicity with the whole New Militant campaign.”

  I turned to the Seraph.

  “This is devilish serious,” I said. “Incitement to crime, three abductions, more in contemplation. I shouldn’t have thought it to look at you. Naughty boy!”

  Arthur was really angry at that. I knew it by his old habit of growing red behind the ears.

  “You appear to think this is a fit subject for jesting,” he burst out.

  “I laugh that I may not weep,” I said. “A charge like this is rather upsetting. Have you bothered about any evidence?”

  “You will find there is perhaps more evidence than you relish. Apart from your intimacy with Miss Davenant.…”

  “She’s a very pretty woman,” I interrupted.

  “…you have successfully kept one foot in either camp. You were present when Rawnsley told me of the abduction of Mavis, and added that the matter was being kept secret. Miss Davenant at once published an article entitled ‘Where is Miss Rawnsley?’”

  “If she really abducted the girl, she’d naturally notice it was being kept quiet,” I objected.

  “On the day after Private Members’ time had been appropriated, Jefferson’s boy disappeared; Miss Davenant must have been warned in time to have her plans laid. She referred to my midland campaign, and had an accomplice lying in wait for my daughter with a car, the same day that Rawnsley made his announcement that there would be no autumn session.”

  “You will find all this on the famous Time Table,” I reminded him.

  “She got her information from some one who knew the arrangements of the Government.”

  “I’m surprised you continued to know me,” I said, and turned to the Seraph. “It’s devilish serious, as I said before, but it seems to be my funeral.”

  Arthur soon undeceived me.

  “You are both equally incriminated. Aintree, is it not the case that on one occasion in Oxford and another in London, you warned my daughter that trouble was in store for her?”

  The Seraph had been sitting silent and with closed eyes since his single intervention. He now opened his eyes and bowed without speaking.

  “I suggest that you knew an attempt would be made to abduct her?”

  “No.”

  “You are quite certain?”

  “Quite.”

  “Then why the warning?”

  “I knew trouble was coming; I didn’t know she would be abducted.”

  “What form of trouble did you anticipate?”

  “No form in particular.”

  “Why trouble at all?”

  “I knew it was coming.”

  “But how?”

  He hesitated, and then closed his eyes wearily.

  “I don’t know.”

  Arthur balanced a quill pen between the first fingers of both hands.

  “On Wednesday last your rooms were visited, and the question of a search-warrant raised. You obtained a promise that the warrant would not be applied for if my daughter and Miss Rawnsley were restored within five days. Did you know at that time where they were?”

  “No.”

  “When did you find out?”

  “I don’t know where Miss Rawnsley is. I didn’t know where your daughter was till we came to the house.”

  “We none of us know our hats are in the hall till we look to make certain,” Nigel interrupted; “but you found her?”

  “Yes.”

  “No one told you where she was?” Arthur went on.

  “No.”

  “Then how did you find her?”

  “I believe she has told you.”

  “She has given me Merivale’s version. I want yours.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did you start?”

  “She’s told you. I walked out of the house, and went on till I found her.”

  “How did you know where to look?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “It was pure coincidence that you should walk some thirty miles, passing thousands of houses, and walk straight to the right house—a house you didn’t know, a house standing away from any main road? This was pure coincidence?”

  “I knew she was there.”

  “I think you said you didn’t know till you got there. Which do you mean?”

  “I felt sure she was there.”

  “You felt that when you left London?”

  “I knew she was in that direction. That’s how I found the way.”

  “No one had told you where to look?”

  “No.”

  “Of the scores of roads out of London, you took just the right one. Of the millions of houses to the west of London you chose the right one. You ask me to believe that you walked thirty miles, straight to the right house, because you knew, because you ‘felt’ she was there?”

  “I ask you to believe nothing.”
/>
  “You make that task quite easy. I suggest that when you were given five days’ grace you went to some person who knew of my daughter’s whereabouts, and got the necessary information?”

  “No.”

  Arthur retired from the examination with a smile of self-congratulation, and Nigel took up the running.

  “Do you know where my sister is?”

  “No.”

  “Can you—er—feel where she is?”

  “No.”

  “Can you walk from this house and find her?”

  “No.”

  “How soon will you be able to do so?”

  With eyes still closed, the Seraph shook his head.

  “Never, unless some one tells me where she is.”

  “Is any one likely to, before Monday at noon?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you propose to find her?”

  “I don’t.”

  “You know the consequences?”

  “Yes.”

  Nigel proceeded to model himself on his leader with praiseworthy fidelity.

  “I suggest that the person who told you where to look for Miss Roden is no longer available to tell you where to look for my sister?”

  “No one told me where to look for Miss Roden.”

  “But you found her, and you can’t find my sister?”

  “That is so.”

  “You suggest no reason for the difference?”

  For an instant the Seraph opened his eyes and looked across to Sylvia. Had she wished, she could have saved him, and his eyes said as much. I, too, looked across and found her watching him with the same expression that had come over her face when he suggested the possibility of a woman being hidden in his rooms the previous Wednesday morning.