The Master Detective Part 30

Both these men were pleased to believe themselves the serious item in Madame Vatrotski's life, and Sir Charles in hot-headed fas.h.i.+on, and Renaud, in cold contempt, told me very plainly what they thought of me when I suggested that the lady might not be so innocently transparent as she seemed.

Up to a certain point it was comparatively easy to follow Madame's movements. After the performance on Monday evening she had gone to supper with Sir Charles at a smart restaurant, and many people had seen her there. His car had taken her back to her rooms, and he had arranged to fetch her next morning at half-past eleven and drive her down to Maidenhead for lunch.

When Sir Charles arrived at her rooms next morning he was told she had gone out and had left no message. He was annoyed, but he had to admit it was not the first time she had broken an appointment with him.

It transpired that she had gone out that morning soon after ten, and half-an-hour afterwards was at Reno's. Paul Renaud did not see her there and had no appointment with her.

She made some trivial purchases--a veil, some lace and gloves, which were sent to her rooms later in the day, and she left the shop about eleven.

The door-porter was able to fix the time, and was quite sure the lady was Madame Vatrotski. She would not have a taxi, and walked away in the direction of Piccadilly Circus. Since then she had disappeared altogether.

A taxi-driver came forward to say he believed he had taken her to a restaurant in Soho, but after inquiry I came to the conclusion that the driver was mistaken.

She sent no message to the theater that night, she simply did not turn up. To appease the audience it was announced that she was suffering from sudden indisposition; but, as a fact, the management did not know what had become of her, and the maid at her rooms confessed absolute ignorance concerning her mistress's whereabouts. I have no doubt the maid would have lied to protect Madame, but on this occasion I think she was telling the truth.

It was after I had told Quarles the result of my inquiries, and we had argued ourselves into silence, that he burst out with his remark about the body, and of course what he said was true enough. Still, I was inclined to think that Madame Vatrotski was dead. I did not believe she had disappeared as an advertis.e.m.e.nt: there was no earthly reason why she should, since her popularity had shown no signs of being on the wane, and to attribute the mystery to a Nihilist plot was not a solution which appealed to me.

"She may have returned to her rooms and met Sir Charles," Zena suggested, after a pause. "Perhaps she found him waiting in his car at the door and went off at once."

"Why do you make such a suggestion?" asked Quarles.

"She had plenty of time to keep the appointment; indeed, it almost looks as if she had arranged her morning on purpose to keep it. If she had gone with him at once her maid would not know she had returned."

Quarles looked at me.

"The same idea occurred to Paul Renaud," I said. "I can find no evidence that Sir Charles went to Maidenhead that day, and at three o'clock in the afternoon he was certainly at his club."

"Did he telephone to madame or attempt to communicate with her in any way?" Quarles asked.

"He says not."

"But you do not altogether believe him, eh?"

"My opinion is in abeyance," I returned. "It is only fair to say that Sir Charles suggested that Paul Renaud may have seen her at the shop in Regent Street. They are suspicious of each other. Renaud was certainly on the premises at the time she was there. Personally I do not attribute much weight to these suspicions. I believe both men are genuine lovers, and would be the last persons in the world to do the dancer any harm."

"Or the first," said Zena quickly. "Jealousy is a most usual motive for crime."

"I think the child strikes a true note there, Wigan," said Quarles. "We must keep the idea of jealousy before us--that is, if we are compelled to believe there has been foul play. Now, one would have expected Sir Charles to telephone to madame; that he did not do so is strange."

"His disappointment had put him in a temper."

"That hardly appeals to me as a satisfactory explanation," Quarles returned; "but there is indirect evidence in Sir Charles's favor. Had Madame Vatrotski intended to return to her rooms at once she would almost certainly have taken such a small parcel as her purchases made with her.

That she did not do so suggests she had another appointment to keep.

Have you a list of madame's admirers, Wigan?"

"I am only human, professor, and you ask for the impossible," I said, smiling. "I have a few names here, and I think they may be dismissed from our calculations. One of the strangest points in the case is the lack of reticence amongst her dupes."

"Dupes!" said Zena.

"I think the term is justified," I went on. "They all seem quite proud of having been allowed to pay for sumptuous dinners and expensive presents.

Usually one expects a shrinking from publicity in these affairs, but in this case there is nothing of the kind. I have never seen Madame Vatrotski, but she must have had a peculiar fascination."

"I have not seen her either," said Quarles; "but I was at the Academy yesterday, and saw Musgrave's portrait of her. Go and see it, Wigan. I consider Musgrave the greatest portrait painter we have, or ever have had, perhaps. His opinion of the dancer might be useful. Judging from his canvases he must have a strange insight into character."

My opinion of pictures is worth nothing, and, to speak truthfully, I saw little remarkable in Musgrave's portrait of Madame Vatrotski. The mystery had caused a large number of people to linger round the portrait, and so far as I could gather the general impression was that it did not do her justice. Some even called it a caricature.

"You never can tell what a woman is really like across the footlights," I overheard one man say to his companion.

"Perhaps not," was the answer; "but I have seen her out of the theater.

I dropped in at Forbes's studio the other day. He was finis.h.i.+ng a bust of her, and she was giving him a sitting. It is a jolly good bust, but the woman--"

"Is she pretty?" asked the other.

"Upon my word, I don't know; what I do know is that I wanted to look at her all the time, and when she had gone life seemed to have left the studio."

I did not know the speaker, but I did not lose sight of him until I had tracked him to a club in Piccadilly and discovered that his name was Tenfield, and that he was a partner in a firm of art dealers in Bond Street.

When I repeated this conversation to Quarles he wondered why I had taken so much trouble over the art dealer.

"Looking for a clue," I answered.

Quarles shrugged his shoulders.

"What did you think of the portrait?"

"Frankly, not much."

"But you got an impression of Madame Vatrotski's character."

"I cannot say I got any great enlightenment. It made me wonder why she had made such a great reputation."

"The fact that it made you wonder at all shows there is something in the portrait," said Quarles. "Let us argue indirectly from the picture. You will agree that the lady was fascinating, since she had so many admirers, but in the portrait you discern nothing to account for that fascination.

We may conclude that the painter saw the real woman underneath the superficial charm. She could not hide herself from him as she did from others. Now in that portrait I see rather a commonplace woman, essentially bourgeoise and vulgar, not naturally artistic. I can imagine her the wife of a small shopkeeper, or a girl given to cheap finery on holidays. I think she would be capable of any meanness to obtain that finery. Her face shows a decided lack of talent, but it also shows tremendous greed. The critics have said that her dancing was a pose and not in good taste."

I nodded.

"They are practically unanimous on this point. It was beyond her to appeal to the artistic sense, so she appealed to the lower nature, and therein lay her fascination. Just consider who the men are to whom she appealed. A millionaire with an unsavory reputation. To two or three peers who, even by the wildest stretch of imagination, cannot be considered ornaments of their order. To some younger sons of the Nut description who are ready to pay anything to be seen with a popular actress, and to the kind of fools who are always ready to offer marriage to a divorcee, or to a husband murderer when she comes out of prison. She appeals to a man like Paul Renaud, whose outlook upon life is disgusting, and who would not be able to keep a decent girl on his premises were it not for the fact that the whole management of the business is in the hands of his two partners. Sir Charles Woodbridge I do not understand. He is a decent man. I could easily imagine his killing her in a revulsion of feeling after being momentarily fascinated. Honestly, I have wondered whether this may not be the solution of the case."

"You are suspicious of Sir Charles?" I asked.

"I do not give that as my definite opinion. She may not be dead.

Perchance some particularly mean exploit has made her afraid and she has gone into hiding; but if she is dead, I think we must look for her murderer--I had almost said her executioner--amongst the decent men who have been caught for a while in her toils."

"The only decent man seems to be Sir Charles," said Zena.

"And I am convinced he was genuinely in love with her," I said.

"Well, we are at a dead end," said Quarles. "I think I should go and see Musgrave and ask his opinion of her. It may help us."