A Mysterious Disappearance Part 18

The barrister gave him his address, and Mensmore, handing him a card, said, "My permanent address is given here, the Orleans Club, St.

James's. But I will look you up first. I shall be in town early in March. And you?"

"Oh, I shall be home much sooner. Good-bye, and don't let your good luck spoil you."

"No fear! Wait until you know Phyllis. She would keep any fellow all right once he got his chance, as I have done. Good-bye, and--and--G.o.d bless you!"

During the next three days Bruce devoted himself sedulously to the search for Corbett. He inquired in every possible and impossible place, but the man had utterly vanished.

Nor did he come to claim his letter at the Hotel du Cercle. It remained stuck on the baize-covered board until it was covered with dust, and the clerk of the bureau had grown weary of watching people who scrutinized the receptacle for their correspondence.

Others came and asked for Corbett--sharp-featured men with imperials and long moustaches--the interest taken in the man was great, but unrequited. He never appeared.

At last the season ended, the hotel was closed, and the mysterious letter was shot into the dustbin.

CHAPTER XI

THEORIES

Bruce announced his departure from Monte Carlo by a telegram to his valet.

Nevertheless, he did not expect to find that useful adjunct to his small household--Smith and his wife comprised the barrister's _menage_--standing on the platform at Charing Cross when the mail train from the Continent steamed into the station.

Smith, who had his doubts about this sudden trip to the Riviera, was relieved when he saw his master was alone. "Sir Charles d.y.k.e called this afternoon, sir," he explained. "I told Sir Charles about your wire, sir, and he is very anxious that you should dine with him to-night. You can dress at Portman Square, and if I come with you--"

"Yes; I understand. Bundle everything into a four-wheeler."

"Sir Charles thought you might come, sir, so he sent his carriage."

London looked dull but familiar as they rolled across Leicester Square and up Regent Street. Your true c.o.c.kney knows that he is out of his lat.i.tude when the sky is blue overhead. Let him hear the tinkle of the hansoms' bells through a dim, fog-laden atmosphere, and he knows where he is. There is but one London, and c.o.c.kneydom is the order of Melchisedek. Claude's heart was glad within him to be home again, even though the band was just gathering in the Casino gardens, and the lights of Monaco were beginning to gleam over the moon-lit expanse of the Mediterranean.

At Wensley House the traveller was warmly welcomed by the baronet, who seemed to have somewhat recovered his health and spirits.

Nevertheless, Bruce was distressed to note the ineffaceable signs of the suffering Sir Charles d.y.k.e had undergone since the disappearance of his wife. He had aged quite ten years in appearance. Deep lines of sorrowful thought had indented his brow, his face was thinner, his eyes had acquired a wistful look; his air was that of a man whose theory of life had been forcibly reversed.

At first both men fought shy of the topic uppermost in their minds, but the after-dinner cigar brought the question to d.y.k.e's lips:

"And now, Claude, have you any further news concerning my wife's--death?"

The barrister noted the struggle before the final word came. The husband had, then, resigned all hope.

"I have none," he answered. "That is to say, I have nothing definite. I promised to tell you everything I did, so I will keep my promise, but you will, of course, differentiate between facts and theories?"

The baronet nodded an agreement.

"In the first place," said Bruce, "let me ask you whether or not you have seen Jane Harding, the missing maid?"

"Yes. It seems that she called here twice before she caught me at home.

At first she was very angry about a squabble there had been between Thompson and herself. I refused to listen to it. Then she told me how you had found her at some theatre, and she volunteered an explanation of her extraordinary behavior. She said that she had unexpectedly come into a large sum of money, and that it had turned her head. She was sorry for the trouble her actions had caused, so, under the circ.u.mstances, I allowed her to take away certain clothes and other belongings she had left here."

"Did she ask for these things?"

"Yes. Made quite a point of it."

"Did you see them?"

"No."

"So you do not know whether they were of any value, or the usual collection of rubbish found in servants' boxes."

"I have not the slightest notion."

"Have they ever been thoroughly examined by any one?"

"'Pon my honor, I believe not. Now that you remind me of it I think the girl seemed rather anxious on that point. I remember my housekeeper telling me that Harding had asked her if her clothes had been ransacked by the detectives."

"And what did the housekeeper say?"

"She will tell you herself. Let us have her up."

"Don't trouble her. If I remember aright the police did not examine Jane Harding's room. They simply took your report and the statements of the other servants, while the housekeeper was responsible for the partial search made through the girl's boxes for some clue that might lead to her discovery."

"That is so."

The barrister smoked in silence for a few minutes, until Sir Charles broke out rather querulously:

"I suppose I did wrong in letting Harding take her traps?"

"No," said Bruce. "It is I who am to blame. There is something underhanded about this young woman's conduct. The story about the sudden wealth is all bunk.u.m, in one sense. That she did receive a bequest or gift of a considerable sum cannot be doubted. That she at once decided to go on the stage is obvious. But what is the usual course for a servant to pursue in such cases? Would she not have sought first to glorify herself in the sight of her fellow-servants, and even of her employers? Would there not have been the display of a splendid departure--in a hansom--with voluble directions to the driver, for the benefit of the footman? As it was, Jane Harding acted suddenly, precipitately, under the stress of some powerful emotion. I cannot help believing that her departure from this house had some connection, however remote, with Lady d.y.k.e's disappearance."

"Good heavens, Claude, you never told me this before."

"True, but when we last met I had not the pleasure of Miss Marie le Marchant's acquaintance. I wish to goodness I had rummaged her boxes before she carried them off."

"And I sincerely echo your wish," said Sir Charles testily. "It always seems, somehow, that I am to blame."

"You must not take that view. I really wonder, d.y.k.e, that you have not closed up your town house and gone off to Scotland for the f.a.g-end of the shooting season. You won't hunt, I know, but a quiet life on the moors would bring you right away from a.s.sociations which must have bitter memories for you."

"I would have done so, but I cannot tear myself away while there is the slightest chance of the mystery attending my wife's fate being unravelled. I feel that I must remain here near you. You are the only man who can solve the riddle, if it ever be solved. By the way, what of Raleigh Mansions?"

The baronet obviously nerved himself to ask the question. The reason was patent. His wife's inexplicable visit to that locality was in some way connected with her fate, and the common-sense view was that some intrigue lay hidden behind the impenetrable wall of ignorance that shrouded her final movements.

Bruce hesitated for a moment. Was there any need to bring Mrs. Hillmer's name into the business? At any rate, he could fully answer Sir Charles without mentioning her at this juncture.

"The only person in Raleigh Mansions who interests me just now is one who, to use a convenient bull, is not there."