Christopher Quarles Part 14

It was hot work for a moment. The man who had burst open the door got a nasty knife thrust, and I had been obliged to fire at my a.s.sailant before our comrades rushed to our aid. There is no enemy more dangerous than a man armed with a knife when he knows how to use it, and when the s.p.a.ce to fight in is so confined that to use firearms is to endanger your friends. Indeed, I thought the woman had been shot, but she had only fainted, although it was quite impossible to question her fully until next day.

"Those papers may be useful," said Quarles, when our captives had been taken to the police station, pointing to the doc.u.ments which had fallen from a little table pushed aside in the struggle. "The ends of a big affair are in our hands, I fancy, and, with the help of Mrs.

Fitzroy, we may get several more dangerous fanatics under lock and key."

Late that night I was with the professor in Chelsea. He had gone straight home from Hambledon Road, and, after a visit to the police station and a long consultation with Scotland Yard over the 'phone, I followed him. There were several questions I wanted to ask, for his handling of this affair seemed to me so near to the marvelous that I wondered whether he had had some knowledge of this gang before we had heard of the house in Kew.

"No, Wigan, no," he said, in reply to my question. "I did not even know there was such a place as Hambledon Road."

"I am altogether astonished."

"And not for the first time, eh, Wigan? Yet this case has been worked upon facts chiefly. It was clear that the idea of the woman going suddenly to the telephone to call for help was absurd, and, therefore, it was at least possible that she had spoken that message under compulsion. When the revolver was held to her head in the cellar to-night, it was probably not for the first time. As I said this morning, there was a desire to put the authorities on the scent. This suggested a conspiracy. So much for theory, now for facts."

"But we did not know murder had been committed then," I said.

"Mrs. Fitzroy said so in her message," Quarles answered, "and it was unlikely the police would have been called unless they were meant to discover something. But we had facts to go upon. It was evident that two persons had sat by the fire, the position of the chairs, the cigar ash on the hearth----"

"Cigarette, you mean."

"It was a cigar ash on the hearth, and I looked for a cigar end among the cinders and could not find one. It was cigarette ash on the writing-table, and I found the cigarette end, you will remember. It was possible, of course, that the same man had smoked a cigarette as well as a cigar, but the different position of the ash was significant. I concluded there were two men, one who had sat smoking a cigar by the fire, one who, in leaning over to ring up the police, had dropped ash from a cigarette on to the writing-table. I concluded that the cigar smoker was the murdered man, and you will remember there was a cigar case in the pocket of the man we found. I think we shall discover that it was the cigarette smoker who killed him, and then compelled Mrs. Fitzroy to send that message. No doubt he had a companion with him, perhaps more than one, and I believe they have been living at No. 6 for some time watching Mrs. Fitzroy. We have heard to-night who Jacob Morrison was, and it was on Wednesday evenings that he came to No. 14. Possibly the watchers had not become aware of his visits until that evening; they may have kept watch in the Hambledon Road, whereas Mrs. Fitzroy unbolted the gate at the bottom of the garden for him as soon as the servant went out. You remember the cigarette end?"

"Yes, it was a cheap kind."

"And foreign," said Quarles; "Spagnolette Nationale. You can buy them done up in a gray paper case at any shop which sells tobacco in Italy, trenta centesimi for ten, I believe, and you can get them at certain places in Soho. You heard me ask Baker what time it grew dark. I had something to do then, but much to do first. To begin with, I had to find out what days the dust was collected, then to make judicious inquiries about foreigners living in the neighborhood. You see, since Mrs. Fitzroy had been taken away just as she was, and since Baker had only seen that one taxi waiting, I concluded the lady had not been taken far. The only house containing foreigners which seemed to suit my purpose was No. 6, and, when it was dark, I went to examine the dust-bin. There I found two or three of these cases of gray paper. You see, Wigan, the case was comparatively an easy one."

"It is a marvel to me that Mrs. Fitzroy was not murdered before we found her," I said.

"I knew there was a risk, but we were helpless," Quarles answered. "I had heard of No. 6 and its inhabitants soon after one o'clock, but if we had gone to the house in daylight we should only have hurried a tragedy probably. Besides, I had a theory. These villainous societies almost invariably have methods and rules. If a member is dispatched, some semblance of justice is given to his sentence. I thought the men who had done the kidnapping were not of the first importance, and that Mrs. Fitzroy would not be done away with before she had been confronted with some chief member of the gang. It was very necessary they should wring a confession from her if they could."

Early next morning two houses in Soho were raided and a number of arrests made; but, except for the two men we had taken in Hambledon Road, I do not think we got hold of anybody of importance. The raid, at any rate, did something to disturb a nest of anarchists, and, with the information in the hands of the Continental police through Jacob Morrison, and with what Mrs. Fitzroy could tell us, the society was scattered, and their efforts are likely to be moribund for some time.

Mrs. Fitzroy was an Englishwoman married to an Italian, who had been a member of the society and had been done to death by his a.s.sociates some four years ago. She said he was innocent and was determined to avenge him. The man who had killed Morrison had been shot by Quarles.

He was the cigarette smoker. His two companions whom we had captured got terms of imprisonment, and will be deported on their release. I can only trust that Mrs. Fitzroy will keep out of their way then.

CHAPTER VI

THE MYSTERY OF "OLD MRS JARDINE"

My a.s.sociation with Professor Quarles undoubtedly had an effect upon my method of going to work in the elucidation of mysteries, and not always with a good result. His methods were his own, eminently successful when he used them, but dangerous in the hands of others. In attempting to theorize I am convinced I have sometimes lost sight of facts.

I am not sure that this reflection applies to the case of old Mrs.

Jardine, but somehow my mind never seemed to get a firm grip of the affair. I was conscious of being indefinite, and had an unpleasant sensation that I had failed to see the obvious.

Old Mrs. Jardine lived at Wimbledon, in a house of some size standing in a well-grown garden. She was an invalid, confined to the house--indeed, to three or four rooms which opened into one another on the first floor--and she must have been an absolute annuity to Dr.

Hawes, who visited her nearly every day. The household consisted of old Mrs. Jardine, Mrs. Harrison, also an elderly lady, who was her companion, Martha Wakeling, housekeeper and cook, who had been many years in her service; and a housemaid named Sarah Paget.

Into this household, in which no one took any particular interest, came tragedy, and the Wimbledon mystery developed into a sensation.

Early one morning Sarah Paget arrived at the doctor's, saying her mistress had been taken suddenly ill, and would he come immediately.

She did not know what was the matter. The cook had sent her.

Three days before Dr. Hawes had gone away for a holiday, and his practice was in the hands of a loc.u.m, a young doctor named Dolman. He went at once. Mrs. Jardine was dead upon her bed. She had been found in the morning by Martha Wakeling lying just as the doctor saw her.

She had been attacked in her sleep, Dolman thought, and her head had been smashed with some heavy instrument; Mrs. Harrison, the companion, had disappeared. Of course, the police were sent for at once, and the case came into my hands that same day.

Dr. Dolman had seen his patient for the first time on the previous afternoon. Dr. Hawes had told him that she was something of a crank, could only walk a little, and suffered from indigestion and general debility, which was hardly wonderful, since she would make no effort to go out even for a drive. She seemed to enjoy being a confirmed invalid under constant medical treatment, and would certainly resent any neglect.

"She was sitting in an arm-chair when I saw her," Dolman told me, "and was in good spirits; inclined to be facetious, in fact, and to enjoy her little joke at my expense. She wanted to know what a young man could possibly know about an old woman's ailments, and wondered that Hawes was content to leave his patients in such inexperienced hands as mine. I do not think she was as bad as she would have people believe."

Dolman had not spoken to Mrs. Harrison, but he had seen her. She was sitting in the adjoining room doing some needlework. He had taken little notice of her, and was doubtful if he would know her again.

Martha Wakeling said it was her custom to go into her mistress's room on her way down in the morning, and she had found her dead on the bed.

She had heard no noise in the night. Mrs. Harrison occupied a room opening out of Mrs. Jardine's, and it was empty that morning. The bed had been slept in, but the companion had gone.

"Was she on good terms with Mrs. Jardine?" I asked.

"Yes, oh, yes."

"You say it rather doubtfully?"

"The mistress wasn't always easy to get on with, and I daresay she tried Mrs. Harrison at times."

"And so Mrs. Harrison murdered her in a fit of anger," I suggested.

"I don't say that. She is not to be found; that's all I know for certain."

"Where did Mrs. Harrison come from? Who was she?"

"I think she answered the mistress's advertis.e.m.e.nt."

"How long has she been here?" I asked.

"Just over a year. Mrs. Jardine didn't get on well with the last two companions she had. They were younger women, and the place was too dull for them. They wanted to go out more, and Mrs. Jardine wanted someone who was content to live the kind of life she did. So she got this elderly companion."

"Mrs. Harrison had friends, I suppose?"

"I never saw nor heard of any."

"But she received letters?"

"I can't call to mind that she ever did. I fancy she was one of the lonely sort."

She was also uninteresting and commonplace in appearance, according to Martha Wakeling's description. The word-picture I managed to draw up for circulation had nothing distinctive about it. Nor did Martha know much of her mistress's relations. Mrs. Jardine had not been on friendly terms with them, and had not seen any of them in her time, as far as she knew; the only one she had heard mentioned was a nephew, a Mr. Thomas Jardine, who lived somewhere in London.

The upper floor of the house was unfurnished and locked up, and an unfastened window on the ground floor, opening into the garden, suggested the way Mrs. Harrison had left. I took immediate steps to delay the publication of the news of the tragedy. There were points in the case which might modify first suspicions considerably, and a few hours of unhampered investigation might be of great value.

Even a perfunctory search among Mrs. Jardine's papers proved that if she had not seen her nephew recently she had heard from him. I found two letters asking for money, a whine in them, and at the same time an underlying threat, as though the writer had it in his power to do mischief. Apparently Mrs. Jardine had a past which might account for her being a crank. A talk with her nephew should prove interesting.