Books: Number Seventeen
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Louis Tracy >> Number Seventeen
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At best she was a shrinking, timid little woman, for whom life
probably held but narrow interests. Such as they were, their placid
content was forever shattered. The death of her niece had closed the
one chief avenue leading to the outer world. She would retire to the
quiet back-water of Iffley, to become more faded, more insignificant,
more lonely each year.
Theydon commiserated with her deeply and did not hesitate to utter his
thoughts while putting her into a cab.
"Have you no friends in London?" he inquired. "I don't like the notion
of sending you off alone into this wilderness. London is the worst
place in the world for any one in distress. The heedless multitude
seems to be callous and unsympathetic. It isn't, in reality. It simply
doesn't know, and doesn't bother."
"I used to claim some acquaintances here, but I have lost track of
them for years," she said. "In any event, I shall have more than
enough to occupy my mind today. The inquest opens at three o'clock,
and I must face the ordeal of identifying Edith's body. The detective
told me that this should be done by a relation, while the only other
person who could act-- Ann Rogers-- has been nearly out of her mind
since yesterday morning."
"Where are you staying?"
She mentioned a small hotel in the West End.
"I used to go there with my people when I was a girl," she added,
sadly.
"Then I'll get my sister to call. You'll like her. She's a jolly good
sort, and a chat with another woman will be far more beneficial than
the society of detectives and lawyers and such-like strange fowl. Keep
your spirits up, Miss Beale. Nothing that you can say or do now will
restore the life so cruelly taken, but you and I, each in our own way,
can strive to bring the murderer to justice. I am convinced that a
distinct step in that direction will be taken this very day. You can
count on seeing or hearing from me as soon as possible after I have
discussed matters with Mr. Forbes. Meanwhile, don't forget to have a
lawyer representing you at the inquest."
They parted as though they were friends of long standing. Theydon was
genuinely sorry for this gray-haired woman's plight, and she evidently
regarded him as a kind-hearted and eminently trustworthy young man. He
stood and watched the cab as it bore her off swiftly into the
maelstrom of London. He could not help thinking that seldom had he met
one less fitted for the notoriety thrust upon all connected with a
much-talked-of crime.
When the press interviewers, the photographers, the hundred and one
officials with whom she must be brought in contact, were done with
her, poor Miss Beale would retire to her Oxfordshire nook in a state
of mental bewilderment that would baffle description. In one of his
books Theydon had endeavored to depict just such a middle-aged
spinster confronted with a situation not wholly unlike that which now
faced Miss Beale.
He smiled grimly when he realized how far fiction had wandered from
fact. The woman of his imagination had acted with a strength of
character, a decisiveness, that outwitted and confounded certain
scheming personages in the story. How different was the reality! Miss
Beale, rushing across London in a taxi, reminded him of nothing more
masterful than a cage-bird turned loose in a tempest.
He was about to reenter the mansions, meaning to telephone to both the
Fortescue Square house and the Old Broad Street offices, and ask for
instant news of Mr. Forbes in either locality. He was so preoccupied
that he failed to notice an approaching taxicab, though the driver was
signaling, and even tooted a motor horn loudly in the endeavor to
attract his attention.
He did, however, catch his own name, and halted.
"Beg pardon, sir, but you are Mr. Theydon, aren't you?" said the man.
Then Theydon recognized Evans, the taxidriver, who had brought him
from Fortescue Square.
"Hullo!" he cried. "Any news of the gray car?"
"Yes, sir, I think so," was the somewhat surprising answer. "When I
dropped you last night I got a fare to Euston. Then I took a gentleman
to the Langham, an', as I felt like a snack, I pulled into the nearest
cab rank. I was having some corfee an' a sandwich when I 'appened to
speak about the gray car to one of ahr chaps. 'That's odd,' he said.
'Quarter of an hour ago I had a theater job to Langham Plice, an' a
gray landaulette stopped in front of the Chinese Embassy. It kem along
from the east side, too.' He didn't notice the number, sir, so there
may be nothink in it, after all, but I thought you might like to hear
wot my pal said."
"Was the car empty? Did it call for some one at the Embassy?"
"That's the queer part of it, sir. I axed pertic'ler. This gray car
brought a gentleman, a small, youngish man, 'oo skipped up the Embassy
steps like a lamplighter, and went in afore you could s'y 'knife.'
Somebody might ha' bin watchin' for him through the keyhole, the door
was opened that quick. Then the car went off. My friend wouldn't ha'
given a second thought to it if the gentleman hadn't vanished like a
jack-in-the-box. That's w'y he remembered the color of the car."
Theydon tried to look as though Evans's statement merely puzzled him,
whereas his mind was already busy with the extraordinary coincidences
which the haphazard events of a few hours had produced. Was the Far
East bound up in some mysterious way with Mrs. Lester's death? Did the
crime possess a political significance? If so, an explanation by
Forbes was more than ever demanded.
"Your informant was not mistaken about the Chinese Embassy, I
suppose?" he said.
"No, sir. He's always in that district. His garage is at the back of
Great Portland Street. He knows most of them there Chinks by sight."
"Then that gray car can hardly have been our gray car," commented
Theydon, deeming it wise to prevent the sharp-witted taxi-driver from
jumping at conclusions.
"I'm afraid not, sir. Still, I just took the liberty--"
"I'm very much obliged to you, of course. I said half-a-crown, didn't
I? Here you are. Keep an eye open for XY 1314 and let me know if you
hear or see anything of it."
"Thank you, sir." Then Evans lifted his eyes to the block of
buildings. "A nasty business this murder which was done 'ere the other
night, sir," he went on. "One 'ud hardly b'lieve it possible for such
things to tike plice in London nowadays."
Much as he was disinclined for gossip of the sort at the moment,
Theydon saw that he must endeavor to dissociate the gray car and the
crime from their dangerous juxtaposition in the man's mind, so he
spoke about Mrs. Lester's attractive appearance, harped on the
apparent aimlessness of the deed, hinted darkly at clews in the
possession of the police, and finally got rid of the well-meaning
chauffeur. Back he went to his telephone, and having ascertained that
Mr. Forbes was fully expected to put in an appearance at the city
office before noon, settled down to read the newspapers.
They contained sensational but fairly accurate accounts of the
tragedy. One enterprising journal had published an interview with
Bates, whom the reporter described as "a typical British man-servant,"
which was amusing, since Bates had "retired noncommissioned officer"
written all over his square frame and soldierly features.
The same journalist spoke of Theydon himself, and had even ferreted
out the fact that Mrs. Lester was the widow of an English barrister
who had died at Shanghai. On reaction, Theydon saw that there was
nothing unusual in this statement. The connection between the
metropolitan press and the bar is old and intimate, and scores of
junior barristers must remember Arthur Lester's beginnings.
Resolved to possess his soul in patience till twelve o'clock, the hour
being yet barely 11:30 a. m., Theydon tackled a page of reviews, since
there is always consolation for a writer in learning at second hand
what sheer drivel others can produce.
He was growling at the discovery that some hapless essayist had
appropriated a title which he himself had marked down for his next
book, when the door-bell rang. He did not give much heed, because so
many tradesmen called during the course of each morning, so he was
surprised and startled when Bates announced:
"Mr. Forbes to see you, sir."
Had a powerful spring concealed in the seat of his chair been released
suddenly, Theydon could not have bounced to his feet with greater
speed. Forbes came in. He was pale, but self-contained and clear-eyed.
"Forgive an unceremonious visit," he said. "I'm glad to find you at
home. I meant to arrive here sooner, but I was detained on business of
some importance."
By this time Bates had closed the door; Theydon explained his presence
in the flat by saying that within a few minutes he would have been
telephoning again to Old Broad Street.
"Ah! Did you speak to Macdonald?" said Forbes, dropping into a chair
with a curious lassitude of manner which did not escape Theydon.
"Yes. I have been most anxious to have a word with you--"
Forbes broke in with a short laugh.
"You would get nothing out of Macdonald," he said. "He knows that my
visits to the Chinese Embassy are few and far between and generally
have to do with-- but what is it now? Why should you be so perturbed
when I mention the Chinese Embassy?"
Theydon was literally astounded, and did not strive to hide his
agitation. But he was by no means tongue-tied. Now, most emphatically,
was he determined to have done with pretense. Whether by accident or
design, Forbes had placed himself with his back to the window.
The younger man deliberately crossed the room, pulled up the blind,
thus admitting the flood of light which comes only from the upper
third of a window, and sat down in such a position that Forbes was
compelled to turn in order to face him.
"Before you utter another word, Mr. Forbes," he said gravely, "let me
tell you that in my efforts to trace your whereabouts I also called up
Fortescue Square. Miss Forbes came to the telephone. She said you had
gone to the Home Office. By some feminine necromancy, too, she divined
the link which binds you with the death of Mrs. Lester. She was
distressed on your account, and I was hard put to it to extricate
myself from the risk of saying something which I might regret. I--"
"What do you imply by that remark?" interrupted Forbes, piercing the
other with a look that was strangely reminiscent of his daughter's
candid scrutiny.
"I imply the serious fact that I know who visited Mrs. Lester before
she met her death. I not only heard her visitor's arrival and
departure, but saw him at the corner of these mansions while on my way
home from Daly's Theater, and again when he posted a letter in the
pillar box on the same corner. If such unwonted interest on my part in
the movements of one who was then a complete stranger surprises you,
let me remind you that only a few minutes earlier I had stood by his
side at the door of the theater and heard him telling his daughter
that he intended to walk to the Constitutional Club."
Forbes smiled, but uttered no word. His expression was inscrutable.
His pallor reminded Theydon of the tint of ivory, of that waxen-white
Dutch grisaille beloved of fifteenth century illuminators of
manuscripts. His silence was disturbing, almost irritating, his manner
singularly calm.
These negative indications conveyed absolutely nothing to Theydon, who
for the second time in their brief acquaintance found himself in the
ridiculous position of one explaining a fault rather than, as he
imagined, arraigning a man under suspicion.
"So we had better dispense with ambiguities, Mr. Forbes," he went on,
speaking with a precision that sounded oddly in his own ears. "It was
you who called on Mrs. Lester on Monday night, you who posted the
letter she wrote to Miss Beale at Iffley, Oxfordshire, you for whom
the police are now searching. I have contrived thus far to keep your
secret, but the situation is passing out of my control. I would help
you if I could--"
"Why?"
The monosyllable, sharp and insistent, was disconcerting as the
unexpected crack of a whip, but Theydon answered valiantly:
"Because of the monstrous absurdities with which Fate has plagued me
during the past two days, I appeal now for outspokenness, so I set an
example. Had it not been for your daughter's remarkably attractive
appearance I should not, in all likelihood, have given a second glance
at my neighbors on the steps of the theater. But I cannot forget that
I did see both her and you-- indeed, Miss Forbes herself recalled the
incident-- and the close questioning of the Scotland Yard men who were
here last night showed me the folly of imagining that I could deny all
knowledge of you. I recognize now that some impish contriving of
circumstances forced this knowledge upon me. The sudden downpour of
rain, and the fact that I was delayed by a slight accident to my cab,
conspired with the apparently simple chance which led me to overhear
the conversation between Miss Forbes and yourself. I tried hard to
baffle the detectives--"
"Again I ask 'Why?'"
Theydon was rapidly being wound up to a pitch of excited resentment.
"Why?" he cried. "Was I not your guest? How could I come from a house
where I had been admitted to a delightful intimacy and tell the
representatives of the law that my host was the man they were looking
for?"
During some seconds Forbes bent his eyes on the floor, seemingly in
deep thought.
"Theydon," he said at last, looking up in his direct way, "I am your
senior by a good many years-- am old enough, as the saying goes, to be
your father. I may venture, therefore, to give you a piece of sound
advice. Pack a kit-bag, catch the afternoon boat train for Boulogne,
and go for a walking tour in Normandy and Brittany. When I was your
age and a junior in a bank I had to take my holidays in May; each year
I tramped that corner of France. I recommend it as a playground. It
will appeal to your literary instincts, and it has the immeasurable
advantage just now of being practically as remote from London as the
Sahara."
It must not be forgotten that Theydon was a romancer, an idealist. The
"lounge suit" of the modern tailor hampers the play of such qualities
no more than the beaten armor of the age of chivalry.
"If my departure for France will relieve Miss Forbes of anxiety on
your behalf, I'll go," he vowed.
Forbes regarded him with a new interest.
"I believe you mean that," he said.
"I do."
"But I cannot send you out of the country on a false pretense. It was
your safety and well-being, not my daughter's, that I was thinking
of."
"What have I to fear?"
"I do not know. I am like a man wandering by night in a jungle alive
with fearsome beasts and reptiles."
"Yet you had some reason for suggesting my prompt departure."
"Yes. It is an absurd thing to say, but I believe I am putting you in
danger of your life by coming here this morning."
"Can't you speak plainly, Mr. Forbes? What good purpose do you serve
by holding forth these vague terrors? If, as Miss Forbes told me, you
have visited the Home Office, I take it you made yourself clear to the
authorities-- assuming, that is, you went there in connection with the
amazing conditions which seem to be bound up with this crime."
"There is a certain class of knowledge which is in itself dangerous to
those who possess it, no matter whether or not it affects them in any
particular. I recommend you, in good faith, to leave London today."
"If my own safety is the only consideration I refuse as readily as I
agreed before."
Theydon's tone grew somewhat impatient. He really fancied that Forbes
was trifling with him. Indeed, a queer doubt of the man's complete
sanity now peeped up in him. Forbes was regarded as a crank by a large
section of the public on account of his peace propaganda; if that
opinion were justified why should he not be eccentric in other
respects?
It was fantastic, almost stupid, to look upon him as responsible for
Mrs. Lester's murder, but there was always a possibility that he might
be utilizing the chance which led him to her apartments shortly before
the crime was committed to cover himself and his movements with a veil
of spurious mystery. In a word, though Theydon had likened his
visitor's face to a mask of ivory he had momentarily forgotten the
ominous token found on Mrs. Lester's body and duplicated in Forbes's
own house by the morning's post.
Forbes spread wide his hands with the air of one who heard, but was
allowing his thoughts to wander. When next he spoke it was only to
increase the crazy inconsequence of their talk.
"Later-- perhaps today-- perhaps it may never be necessary-- I may
explain myself to your heart's content," he said slowly. "At present I
am here to ask a favor. In the first place, is Mrs. Lester's flat in
charge of the police?"
"I suppose so," said Theydon.
"Is there a detective or constable on duty there now?"
"I am not sure. I imagine there is not. When the Scotland Yard men and
I came out after midnight they locked the door and took away the key.
The-- er-- body is at the mortuary, awaiting the opening of the
inquest at three o'clock."
"Ah! I hoped that would be so. Can you ascertain for certain?"
"But why?"
"Because I wish to go in there. And that brings me to the favor I
seek. The secretary of these flats, even the hall porter, should have
a master key. Borrow it on some pretext. They will give it to you."
"Really, Mr. Forbes--" gasped Theydon, voicing his surprise as a
preliminary to a decided refusal. He was interrupted by the insistent
clang of the telephone-- that curt herald which brooks no delay in
answering its demand for an audience.
"Pardon me one moment," be said. "I'll just see who that is."
The inquirer was Evelyn Forbes.
"I've waited patiently--" she began, but he stopped her instantly by
saying that her father was with him.
"Please ask him to come to the phone," she said.
Forbes rose at once. He merely assured the girl that he was engaged in
important business and would be home soon after the luncheon hour.
Meanwhile, she was not to go out, and his orders must be obeyed to the
letter.
"Now, Theydon," he said, coming back to the sitting room, "what about
that key?"
The most extraordinary feature of an extraordinary case was the way in
which the mere sound of Evelyn Forbes's voice stilled any qualms of
conscience in Theydon's breast. He knew he was acting foolishly in
conducting a blind inquiry on his own account, an inquiry which might
well arouse the anger and active resentment of the police, but he
offered a sop to his better judgment by consulting Bates.
Then came a veritable surprise.
"The fact is, sir," admitted Bates nervously, "we have Ann Rogers's
key in the kitchen. When she went away on Monday she left it here,
bein' afraid of losin' it. Of course, she took it on Tuesday mornin',
and after goin' from one fit of hysterics into another she gev it to
us again."
Theydon's face was eloquent of the serious view of this avowal.
"Did you tell the police?" he said.
"No, sir. My missus an' me clean forgot all about it."
"So, while Mrs. Lester was being killed, the key of her flat was
actually in your possession?"
"I suppose it might be put that way, sir."
By this time Theydon was becoming exasperated at the veritable
conspiracy which fate had engineered for the express purpose,
apparently, of entangling him in an abominable crime.
"Why on earth didn't you mention such an important fact to the
detectives?" he almost shouted, "Don't you see they are bound to
think--"
"O, a plague on the detectives and on what they think!" broke in
Forbes imperiously. "It doesn't matter a straw what they think, and
very little what they do. This affair goes a long way beyond the
four-mile radius, Theydon. The vital point is that your man has the
key. Where is it? Let us go in there at once!"
"You offered me some advice, Mr. Forbes," said Theydon firmly. "Let me
now return it in kind. If you wish to examine Mrs. Lester's flat why
not seek the permission of Scotland Yard?"
"My good fellow, I have spent a valuable hour this morning in
persuading the Home Secretary that the less Scotland Yard interferes
in my behalf the more effectually shall I be protected. I don't want
any detective within a mile of my house or office. But, as I have told
you already, explanations must wait-- You, Bates, look a man who can
hold his tongue. Do so, and with Mr. Theydon's permission I'll make it
worth your while when this storm has blown over-- Now, give me that
key."
Theydon was silenced, if not convinced. He realized, of course, that
he must make a full confession to the Criminal Investigation
Department before the sun went down, but argued that he might as well
see the present adventure through.
Soon he and Forbes were standing at the door of No. 17. Forbes curbed
his impatience sufficiently to permit of any one who happened to be in
the interior answering the summons of the electric bell. Of course, no
one came. The police had no reason to remain in charge of the place,
and Ann Rogers would have become a raving lunatic if left alone there
for one half-hour.
The aromatic odor of the burnt joss stick still clung to the suite of
apartments, and Forbes noticed it at once.
"Where was the body found?" he asked.
Theydon led the way to the bedroom. He related Winter's theory of the
crime, and pointed out its seeming aimlessness. So far as the police
could ascertain from the half-crazy servant, none of Mrs. Lester's
jewels was missing. Even her gold purse, containing a fair sum of
money, was found on the dressing-table.
He did not know that the detectives had taken away a few scraps of
torn paper thrown carelessly into the grate and had carefully gathered
up a tiny snake-like curl of white ash from the tiled hearth, which,
on analysis, would probably prove to be the remains of the joss stick.
Forbes gazed at the impression on the side of the bed as though the
body of the woman whom he had last seen in full possession of her
grace and beauty were still lying there. The vision seemed to affect
him profoundly. He did not speak for fully a minute, and, when speech
came, his voice was low and strained.
"Tell me everything you know," he said. "The Scotland Yard men took an
unusual step in admitting you to their conclave. They must have had
some motive. Tell me what they said, their very words, if you can
recall them."
Theydon was uncomfortably aware of a strange compulsion to obey. His
commonplace, everyday senses cried out in revolt, and warned him that
he was tampering dangerously with matters which should be left to the
cold scrutiny of the law, but some subconscious instinct overpowered
these prudent monitors, and he gave an almost exact account of his
talk with Winter and Furneaux.
Then followed questions, eager, searching, almost uncanny in their
prescience.
"The little one-- who strikes me as having more brains than I credit
the ordinary London policeman with-- spoke of the evil deities of
China. How did such an extraordinary topic crop up?"
"In connection with the joss stick."
"Yes, yes. But I don't see the inference."
"Mr. Winter alluded to the habit some ladies have of burning such
incense in their houses, whereupon Furneaux remarked that the Chinese
use them to propitiate harmful spirits."
"Was that all?"
Theydon felt insensibly that his companion was hinting at something
more definite, but he was bound in honor to respect the confidence
reposed in him.
"I don't quite understand," he temporized.
"Was nothing said as to the finding of some object, such as a small
article obviously Chinese in origin, which might turn an inquirer's
thought into that channel?"
"The conversation I am relating took place the moment after we had
entered the flat. We were standing in the hall. It was wholly the
outcome of the strange smell which was immediately perceptible."
Forbes passed a hand over his eyes.
"I wonder," he breathed.
Then, turning quickly on Theydon, he repeats the question.
"Are you quite sure they did not mention the discovery in this room of
any object which could be regarded, even remotely, as a sign or symbol
left by the murderer to show that his crime was an act of vengeance,
or retaliation?"
Theydon hesitated. Unquestionably he was in a position of no ordinary
difficulty. But his doubts were solved by an interruption that brought
his heart into his mouth, because a thin, high-pitched voice came
through the half-open door:
"Are you thinking of a small ivory skull, Mr. Forbes?"
CHAPTER VII
WHEREIN MR. FORBES EXPLAINS HIMSELF
Even the boldest may flinch when confronted with that which is
apparently a manifestation of the supernatural. Theydon and Forbes
were standing in a chamber of death. To the best of their belief they
were alone in an otherwise empty flat, and those ominous words coming
from some one unknown and unseen blanched their faces with terror.
But Theydon was a healthy and athletic young Englishman, and Forbes
was of the rare order which combines a frame of exceptional physique
with a mind accustomed to think imperially; two such men might be
trusted to display real grit if surrounded by a horde of veritable
spooks.
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