The Seven Secrets Part 33

"What have you discovered?" I cried, in fierce eagerness. "Tell me the result of your inquiries regarding Ethelwynn. It is her connection with the affair which occupies my chief thoughts."

"For the present, my dear fellow, we must leave her entirely out of it," my friend said quietly. "To tell you the truth, after announcing my intention to give up the affair as a mystery impenetrable, I set to work and slowly formed a theory. Then I drew up a deliberate plan of campaign, which I carried out in its entirety."

"And the result?"

"Its result--" he laughed. "Well, when I'd spent several anxious weeks in making the most careful inquiries, I found, to my chagrin, that I was upon an entirely wrong scent, and that the person I suspected of being the a.s.sa.s.sin at Kew was innocent. There was no help for it but to begin all over again, and I did so. My inquiries then led me in an entirely opposite direction. I followed my new and somewhat startling theory, and found to my satisfaction that I had at length struck the right trail. Through a whole fortnight I worked on night and day, often s.n.a.t.c.hing a few hours of sleep in railway carriages, and sometimes watching through the whole night--for when one pursues inquiries alone it is frequently imperative to keep watchful vigil. To Bath, to Hereford, to Edinburgh, to Birmingham, to Newcastle, and also to several places far distant in the South of England I travelled in rapid succession, until at last I found a clue, but one so extraordinary that at first I could not give it credence. Ten days have pa.s.sed, and even now I refuse to believe that such a thing could be. I'm absolutely bewildered by it."

"Then you believe that you've at last gained the key to the mystery?"

I said, eagerly drinking in his words.

"It seems as though I have. Yet my information is so very vague and shadowy that I can really form no decisive opinion. It is this mysterious death of Mrs. Courtenay that has utterly upset all my theories. Tell me plainly, Ralph, what causes you to suspect foul play? This is not a time for prevarication. We must be open and straightforward to each other. Tell me the absolute truth."

Should I tell him frankly of the amazing discovery I had made? I feared to do so, lest he should laugh me to scorn. The actual existence of Courtenay seemed too incredible. And yet as he was working to solve the problem, just as I was, there seemed every reason why we should be aware of each other's discoveries. We had both pursued independent inquiries into the Seven Secrets until that moment, and it was now high time we compared results.

"Well, Jevons," I exclaimed, hesitatingly, at last, "I have during the week elucidated one fact, a fact so strange that, when I tell you, I know you will declare that I was dreaming. I myself cannot account for it in the least. But that I was witness of it I will vouch. The mystery is a remarkable one, but what I've discovered adds to its inscrutability."

"Tell me," he urged quickly, halting and turning to me in eagerness.

"What have you found out?"

"Listen!" I said. "Hear me through, until you discredit my story."

Then, just as I have already written down the strange incidents in the foregoing chapters, I related to him everything that had occurred since the last evening he sat smoking with me in Harley Place.

He heard me in silence, the movements of his face at one moment betraying satisfaction, and at the next bewilderment. Once or twice he grunted, as though dissatisfied, until I came to the midnight incident beside the river, and explained how I had watched and what I had witnessed.

"What?" he cried, starting in sudden astonishment. "You actually saw him? You recognised Henry Courtenay!"

"Yes. He was walking with his wife, sometimes arm-in-arm."

He did not reply, but stood in silence in the centre of the road, drawing a geometrical design in the dust with the ferrule of his stick. It was his habit when thinking deeply.

I watched his dark countenance--that of a man whose whole thought and energy were centred upon one object.

"Ralph," he said at last, "what time is the next train to London?"

"Two-thirty, I think."

"I must go at once to town. There's work for me there--delicate work.

What you've told me presents a new phase of the affair," he said in a strange, anxious tone.

"Does it strengthen your clue?" I asked.

"In a certain degree--yes. It makes clear one point which was. .h.i.therto a mystery."

"And also makes plain that poor Mrs. Courtenay met with foul play?" I suggested.

"Ah! For the moment, this latest development of the affair is quite beyond the question. We must hark back to that night at Richmond Road.

I must go at once to London," he added, glancing at his watch. "Will you come with me?"

"Most willingly. Perhaps I can help you."

"Perhaps; we will see."

So we turned and retraced our steps to the house of mourning, where, having pleaded urgent consultations with patients, I took leave of Ethelwynn. We were alone, and I bent and kissed her lips in order to show her that my love and confidence had not one whit abated. Her countenance brightened, and with sudden joy she flung her arms around my neck and returned my caress, pleading--"Ralph! You will forgive--you will forgive me, won't you?"

"I love you, dearest!" was all that I could reply; and it was the honest truth, direct from a heart overburdened by mystery and suspicion.

Then with a last kiss I turned and left her, driving with Ambler Jevons to catch the London train.

CHAPTER XXVI.

AMBLER JEVONS IS BUSY.

The sleepy-eyed tea-blender of Mark Lane remained plunged in a deep reverie during the greater part of the journey to town, and on arrival at King's Cross declined to allow me to accompany him. This disappointed me. I was eager to pursue the clue, but no amount of persuasion on my part would induce him to alter his decision.

"At present I must continue alone, old fellow," he answered kindly.

"It is best, after all. Later on I may want your help."

"The facts I've told you are of importance, I suppose?"

"Of the greatest importance," he responded. "I begin to see light through the veil. But if what I suspect is correct, then the affair will be found to be absolutely astounding."

"Of that I'm certain," I said. "When will you come in and spend an hour?"

"As soon as ever I can spare time," he answered. "To-morrow, or next day, perhaps. At present I have a very difficult task before me.

Good-bye for the present." And hailing a hansom he jumped in and drove away, being careful not to give the address to the driver while within my hearing. Ambler Jevons had been born with the instincts of a detective. The keenness of his intellect was perfectly marvellous.

On leaving him I drove to Harley Street, where I found Sir Bernard busy with patients, and in rather an ill-temper, having been worried unusually by some smart woman who had been to consult him and had been pouring into his ear all her domestic woes.

"I do wish such women would go and consult somebody else," he growled, after he had been explaining her case to me. "Same symptoms as all of them. Nerves--owing to indigestion, late hours, and an artificial life. Wants me to order her to Carlsbad or somewhere abroad--so that she can be rid of her husband for a month or so. I can see the reason plain enough. She's got some little game to play. Faugh!" cried the old man, "such women only fill one with disgust."

I went on to tell him of the verdict upon the death of Mrs. Courtenay, and his manner instantly changed to one of sympathy.

"Poor Henry!" he exclaimed. "Poor little woman! I wonder that nothing has transpired to give the police a clue. To my mind, Boyd, there was some mysterious element in Courtenay's life that he entirely hid from his friends. In later years he lived in constant dread of a.s.sa.s.sination."

"Yes, that has always struck me as strange," I remarked.

"Has nothing yet been discovered?" asked my chief. "Didn't the police follow that manservant Short?"

"Yes, but to no purpose. They proved to their own satisfaction that he was innocent."

"And your friend Jevons--the tea-dealer who makes it a kind of hobby to a.s.sist the police. What of him? Has he continued his activity?"

"I believe so. He has, I understand, discovered a clue."

"What has he found?" demanded the old man, bending forward in eagerness across the table. He had been devoted to his friend Courtenay, and was constantly inquiring of me whether the police had met with any success.