Читать книгу The Lady in Blue - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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Inspector Stead appeared to be anything but satisfied. Apparently, he had seen nothing of the glance that had passed between Lady Goring and her husband; but it did appear to him that her ladyship was a little anxious to close the discussion. Nevertheless, the most minute description of the lady in blue failed to touch a responsive chord in Lady Goring's memory. She reiterated, with some asperity, the statement that her acquaintances far outnumbered her friends, and that scores of invitations to the dance had been sent out merely to please certain people who desired one of the coveted cards for others, with whom the hostess of the evening was hardly on bowing acquaintance. There was nothing unusual in such things.

"There were fifteen hundred guests," she said. "If you had asked me to go round and name them all I could not possibly have done so. Besides, this has happened more than once. Impudent impostors have found their way into these big parties, without the host or hostess being any the wiser. After what Mr. Kelso says, I have not the smallest doubt that this is what has happened, and, so far as I am concerned, there is nothing more to be said."

The inspector departed on this hint, and Kelso and Denver left the house a few minutes later. It was their intention to go as far as the Sovereign Theatre, on the bare chance that the manager might have heard something of importance.

"The plot seems to be thickening," Denver said. "I can speak freely to you, and I am going to do so. Would you be surprised to hear me say that I have good grounds for believing that Lady Goring knows a good deal more than she cares to disclose?'"

"I am glad you mentioned it," Kelso said. "As a matter of fact, I was going to make the same suggestion. You heard how she cried out when I went on to describe the lady in blue, and you probably saw the glance that she exchanged with her husband."

"It was not lost upon me," Denver said dryly. "But the mystery is that Inspector Stead did not notice it, too."

"All the same, I don't think he did. Still, I wouldn't mind making a small bet that Lady Goring could tell us the name of the lady in blue, who sent that poor wretch to fetch her fan. The first natural question that arises in one's mind is why this lady does not come forward and disclose her identity. There may be great political objections, of course, but in a case like this nobody should stand on ceremony. Still, if this unknown fair one thinks that she is safe, she will probably take no trouble to hide herself away, which means that before long we shall be pretty sure to come in contact with her, though, for the moment, it only adds to the complications."

There was nothing more to be said for the present, and nothing to be gleaned from the manager of the Sovereign Theatre. Nobody had seen or heard anything of the missing actress, and, at the end of half an hour, the friends went empty away through the stage door into the narrow street beyond. At the corner, a slight, pretty girl, with a pale face and pathetic brown eyes, stared about her, as if eagerly waiting for some one. As she caught sight of Denver she darted across the road and stood in front of him.

"May I speak to you a moment," she gasped. "I don't suppose you will remember me, Mr. Denver, but I am Polly Elkin. Many months ago, one night, you were down behind at the Brixton Palace, and you were very kind to me about a little song I sang. And I presumed to ask you if you could do something for me. It was very good of you to give me a note to the manager of the Sovereign, but it is only the last week or two that he could find anything for me to do. I am going on in the new front piece which they are rehearsing now. Of course, I am not getting much, and I'm glad enough to earn a few shillings in an evening show in a dreadful little place called the King's, at Balham."

"Glad to hear what you say," Denver said; "but, meanwhile, as my friend and I are somewhat busy——"

"Oh, please don't go yet!" the girl said imploringly. "I did not stop you to talk about myself, indeed I didn't. I am so distressed and worried that I don't know what to do. You are a great friend of Miss Audrey Blair, so you won't laugh at me when I tell you that I believe I know where she is."

"Oh, really!" Denver exclaimed. "This must be looked into without delay. Now, Miss Polly, there's a very cosy restaurant just round the corner, and if you will do us the honour of lunching with us, we shall be proud. You needn't be in the least nervous. We will have something to eat first, and then you can tell your story afterwards."

It was quite a different Polly Elkin who sat opposite the two friends after a substantial luncheon and a glass of wine.

"I am feeling better now," she smiled. "You see, I can't call myself exactly a friend of Miss Blair, though she has been very, very good to me. There's no reason why she should have been, but she's always that to everybody. When I began to come round to rehearsal some days ago, I had just been laid up, and I know I was looking very white and shaky, and she seemed to notice it, so more than once she asked me to have tea or lunch with her. Ah, I expect she knows what it is to be out of a shop and live on dry bread and weak tea for weeks at a time. But she was downright kind to me, and I feel ready to do anything for her. Of course, I never realised that she was in any sort of trouble, and I am never at the theatre in the evening, because I am still doing my turn over yonder at night till my time is up. When I heard that Miss Blair had gone off, or had been kidnapped, or whatever it is, you could have knocked me down with a feather."

"Yes, we all feel like that," Denver said. "We are both friends of Miss Blair's, and are very anxious about her. But you didn't stop me this morning just to tell me this, I suppose?"

"Well, no," the girl replied; "but, still, I must tell you my own way. And when I do you must promise me not to mention my name, because, after all, I might be altogether wrong in what I think. Mr. Denver, have you ever been inside the King's Music Hall at Balham?"

"I have never even heard of the place," Denver confessed. "It's not one of the Syndicate halls, surely?"

"Dear me, no! They call it Balham, but, really, it's somewhere off the High Road, in the low part, where few respectable people are to be found, and the audience is a pretty rough one on a Saturday night, I can tell you. All the same I am precious glad of the few shillings that I earn there. Then, you see, I am accustomed to that style of audience, and the dreadful remarks they make don't worry me very much. But I'm always fearfully sorry for the new-comers who have to make a start there. Why, I've known them break down in the middle of their turn and cry like children. Some of them have been very nicely brought up, too. Sometimes there comes an extra turn, which generally means a beginner. Last night we had one in the shape of a sketch—what you call a monologue—and a little song from a flower-girl, who was a cripple. A dainty, pathetic thing it was, and very well done, too. Thinks I to myself, if that's the work of a novice then she's born to the stage and likely to go a long way. The artist was very nervous, and, just for a minute or two, it looked to me as if she would get the 'bird' as a certainty, for that sort of thing doesn't cut much ice at the place I am speaking about. But it was the real thing, and, after a minute or two, began to fairly knock them. When the turn was finished you might have heard them yelling a mile off."

"Very interesting," Denver observed. "But what has all this to do with the matter we are discussing?"

"I am sorry, but I must tell the story my own way. Everybody in the theatre was howling with delight, except me, and I sat there trembling from head to foot, as dumb as an oyster. Not that I didn't thoroughly appreciate the show, because I did. But I had seen something that turned me faint. I wanted to call out and tell everybody about it, and a precious fool I should have looked if I had done so. You see, nobody would have believed me; indeed, I am not sure I should have believed myself. It seems an impossible thing to happen, but I sat on there saying nothing to anybody, and keeping my eyes open, because I meant to make sure that I was right before I went on to speak my own little piece."

"Stop a minute," Denver interrupted. "Before we go any further I should like to know the name of the talented artist, who made such an impression upon that hardened audience."

"That is exactly what I failed to find out," Polly went on. "Of course, you know that with an extra turn the name is never given, and does not appear on the programme. I did manage to get a word with the manager, but he told me to mind my own business, and not ask a lot of silly questions. All I could do was to hang about on the off chance of seeing the new performer when she came out of the dressing-room which the management had given her. It is only a little box of a place, but she had it all to herself, which is by no means a common thing for a novice. When she did come out I went up and spoke to her, but she took no notice of me except to say that I must have made a mistake, and, upon my word, when I heard her voice I began to believe that I had. I couldn't make a fuss behind the scenes, because it might have brought about the very thing that I was anxious to avoid, so I humbly begged pardon, and said that I saw I was wrong. It didn't much matter, because I knew that the management were not likely to let a 'find' like that slip through their fingers, and that we should be certain to meet again, when I might have a better opportunity of speaking. And now I come to the point. The performer in question was very pale and dark, and looked thin and poverty stricken. She might have been a middle aged governess, or something of that sort, who had taken up the stage late in life. But I've seen some clever 'makeups' in my time and you can't deceive me as easily as all that. Now, I feel absolutely certain that the woman who pushed hurriedly by me was nobody else than Miss Audrey Blair. I don't know whether I ought to have told you this or not, but I was bound to tell somebody or burst. I lay awake all night thinking about it and I had just been round to the theatre to get Mr. Denver's address when I was told he was actually in the house. There are pressing reasons why I can't say any more, perhaps I have said too much already. Possibly even now I have made a terrible mistake. But if you two gentlemen like to go down to Balham this evening and see for yourselves——"

"Oh, we will," Kelso said. "At any rate, there will be no harm done. What do you think, Denver?"

"By all means," Denver replied. "If you can't tell me the performer's name, do you happen to remember the title of the sketch?"

"Oh, yes," the girl said. "She called it 'Number Seventeen.'"

"No getting away from that number," Denver reflected.