The Sins of Severac Bablon Part 45

She lived, he was informed, at No. ---- Stockwell Road, S.W. He took his departure, leaving an excellent impression behind him and half a sovereign in the hand of the charwoman. A torpedo-like racing car was waiting near Lothbury corner, and therein, Dr. Lepardo very shortly was whirling southward. The chauffeur negotiated London Bridge in a manner that filled the hearts of a score of taxi drivers with awe and wonderment. Stockwell Road was reached in twelve and a half minutes.

A dingy maid informed Dr. Lepardo that Miss Maitland had just finished her dinner. Would he walk up?

Dr. Lepardo walked up and made himself known to the pretty brown-haired girl who rose to greet him. Miss Maitland clearly was surprised--and a little frightened--by this unexpected visit. Her glance strayed from the visitor to a silver-framed photograph on the mantelpiece and back again to Dr. Lepardo in a curiously wistful way.

"My dear," he said, and his kindly, paternal manner seemed to rea.s.sure her somewhat, "I have come to ask your help in a----"

He suddenly stepped to the mantelpiece and peered at the photograph. It was that of a rather odd-looking young man, and bore the inscription: "To Iris. Lawrence."

"Why, yes," he burst out; "surely this is my old friend! Can it be my old friend--Gardener--Gaston--ah! I have no memory for his name. The good boy, Lawrence Greely?"

The girl's eyes opened wildly.

"Guthrie!" she said, blus.h.i.+ng. "You mean Guthrie?"

"Ah! Guthrie," cried the doctor, triumphantly. "You know my old friend, Lawrence Guthrie? He is in England?"

"He has never left it, to my knowledge," said the girl with sudden doubt.

"Foolish me," exclaimed Lepardo. "It was his father that lives abroad, in the East--Bagdad--Cairo."

"Constantinople," corrected Miss Maitland.

"Still the old foolish," rumbled her odd visitor. "Always the old fool.

To be certain, it was Constantinople."

A curious gleam had crept into the keen eyes that twinkled behind the pebbles.

"He used to say to me, the Guthrie pere, 'I send that boy Turkish pipes and ornaments and curiosities for his room. I wonder if that bad fellow'"--Dr. Lepardo poked a jesting finger at the girl--"'I wonder if he sell them.'"

"I'm _sure_ he wouldn't," flashed Miss Maitland. Then came a sudden cloud upon the young face. "That is--I don't think he would--if he could help it."

"Ah, those money troubles," sighed the old doctor. "But I quite forgot my business, thinking of Lawrence. There has been an--accident at your office, my child. _He_ is quite well. Do not be afraid. Tell me--when did you leave to-night?"

Iris Maitland retreated from him step by step, her eyes fixed affrightedly upon his face. She sank into an arm-chair. The pretty blush had fled now, and she was very pale.

"Why," she said tensely, "why have you asked me those questions? You do not know Lawrence. What has happened? Oh, what has happened?"

She was trembling now.

"Oh," she said, "I am afraid of you, Dr. Lepardo. I don't know what you want. Who are you? But I see now that you have made me tell you all about him. I will tell you no more."

"My dear," said Dr. Lepardo, and the rumbling of his voice was kindly, "a woman has that great gift, intuition. It is true. It is my rule, my dear, never to neglect opportunity, however slight. When I arrive, unexpected, you glance at his photograph. You a.s.sociate him, then, with the unexpected. I experiment. Forgive me. It is by such leaps in the dark that great things are won. It is where a little intuition is worth much wisdom. You are a brave girl, and so I tell you--it is for you to save Lawrence. If the Scotland Yard Mr. Harborne knew so much as I, nothing, I fear, could save him. I can do it--_I_. You shall help me. I work, my child, as no man has worked before. For great things I work. I work against time--against the police. I aspire to do the all but impossible--the wonderful. Only what you call luck and what I call intuition can make me win. A bargain--you answer me my questions and I answer you yours?"

The girl nodded. Her fingers were clutching and releasing the arms of the chair. Through the odd mask of peering benevolence worn by the brown old traveller another, inspired, being momentarily had peeped forth.

"What time did you leave to-night?"

"A quarter past six."

"How many appointments had Mr. Graham afterwards? One with Lawrence.

What other?"

"With Mr. Rohscheimer."

"No other?"

"No."

"What time Lawrence?"

"Directly I left."

"Mr. Graham did not know you two are acquainted, eh?"

"He did not."

"Had you access to his private accounts that he keep in his safe?"

"No."

"You keep the files?"

"Yes."

"Who is the most important creditor filed under G? Lawrence?"

The girl shook her head emphatically.

"Why, he only owed about fifty pounds," she said. "There were none of importance under G, except Garraway, the Hon. Claude Garraway and Count de Guise."

"Ah! Count de Guise. So quaint a name. He is rich, yes?"

"Awfully rich. He is selling all the things in his flat and going abroad for good. There is an advertis.e.m.e.nt in to-day's paper. His pictures and things are valued at no less than thirty thousand pounds. I don't know how his business stood with Mr. Graham; latterly, it had not pa.s.sed through my hands at all."

"And his address?"

"59b Bedford Court Mansions."

"And I must see Lawrence too. Where shall I find him?"

"At Bart's--St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He is studying there. You are sure to find him there to-night. He is engaged there, I know, up to ten o'clock."

Dr. Lepardo took the girl's hand and pressed it soothingly.

"Do not faint; be a brave girl," he said. "Your employer was killed shortly after you left."

Deathly pale, she sat watching him.