Читать книгу The Lady in Blue - Fred M. White - Страница 9

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Denver nodded approvingly. In the ordinary course of things Kelso's statement would have come as a surprise to him, but this had been such a night of astounding things, that the mere finding of the missing shirt-cuff was as nothing by comparison. At the same time, the quick-witted dramatist had formed a theory of his own, and the missing strip of linen was an integral part of it. Still, Kelso had undoubtedly taken a risk in coolly appropriating this important piece of evidence, and Denver congratulated him accordingly.

"How did you manage to get hold of it?" he asked. "I don't mind telling you I was looking everywhere for the thing. Stead seemed to attach no importance to it, but I should not be surprised to find you had laid your hands on a valuable clue. There can be no doubt whatever that the murderer was anxious to get hold of the missing cuff——"

"Might he have not been more anxious still to get hold of the missing links?" Kelso suggested. "I mean, of course, the missing sleeve-links. I haven't got them in my pocket. I should rather be inclined to believe that the criminal found what he wanted and threw the torn cuff carelessly amongst the ferns. But, frankly, I can't make head or tall of it. It amazes me to think how the thing could be done. The murderer, or murderess, must have been absolutely sure of their ground."

"No more sure of their ground than the strange journalist who wrote a brief history of the affair before it happened," Denver said. "I dare say we shall get to the bottom of it in time. Meanwhile, it is the fate of poor little Audrey Blair that worries me more than anything else."

Kelso rose from his seat and paced impatiently up and down the room. He was more uneasy and anxious than he cared to confess even to Denver. It seemed to him that he had stepped into another world, full of deceit and treachery—a world that he had never seen before. Hitherto, life had moved on oiled wheels for him, and such adventures as he had met had been deliberately sought for. But, then, these were mere episodes, merely stories to gossip over in the smoking-room and forget the next day; and now, in the course of a few days, he had met the only woman who had yet appealed to him, and had lost her almost before she was found. The tragic occurrence of an hour or two before had stirred him all the more deeply, because he could not rid himself of the thought that Audrey Blair was in the hands of the same determined scoundrel who had struck a fatal blow at the Grand Duke under the roof of one of the most exclusive houses in England. In the face of what had happened Kelso could not argue in any other way. In some strange fashion the Grand Duke most certainly held some power over Audrey, or he had conveyed to her a terrible warning, for, almost as soon as she had received his letter, she had vanished from the theatre.

And yet, so far as Kelso could remember of the interview which had taken place at the Regent Restaurant when the theft of the diamonds were disclosed, he had gathered from Audrey that she did not know the Grand Duke, even by sight.

And here, all the same, appeared to be a connecting link between that titled scoundrel and the little actress, whose name was now on everybody's lips. There was another side to the mystery, too—Audrey's strange reticence as regarded her past and the people to whom she was related.

"I don't know what to think of it," Kelso burst out. "Everything is so utterly puzzling. Ever since fate dragged me into this strange tangle, I have been asked to take everything on trust. I have been asked to believe things that the ordinary man of the world would laugh to scorn. If the case applied to anybody else, I should turn my back on it with contempt. And, yet here am I, with all my worldly knowledge, over head and ears in love with a beautiful girl and prepared to trust her implicitly, though every sane impulse prompts me to get out of the country and think no more about it. But it's no use, Denver, old chap. I've just got to go on and do my best, at any hazard, to save that poor girl from the perils that surround her. I know that she is innocent. Good heavens! the greatest cynic on earth couldn't look into those blue eyes and doubt it for a moment. And here am I wasting time, carrying on like a lovesick boy, whilst the girl is in danger. I suppose I took a certain amount of risk in concealing from our inspector friend the fact that I had picked up the torn cuff and hidden it in my pocket."

"Well, let's have it, anyway," Denver suggested.

Kelso produced a slip of white linen from his pocket and handed it across the table. Denver smoothed in out and examined it carefully under a shaded reading lamp. Kelso was looking on, more or less indifferently, though it seemed even to him that he could see something that seemed like faint pencil scratches on the glossy linen.

"I thought so!" Denver exclaimed. "I felt pretty sure we should find something here. That's one of the advantages of possessing a vivid imagination. Now come here and read for yourself. Tell me what you can see. You can read the words, can't you?"

Kelso bent eagerly over the table. He could see two figures, a one and a seven, evidently hastily scribbled with a pencil, followed by the word 'Rose,' and, after that, a trailing scrawl, as if the writer of the memorandum had either been satisfied with his work or suddenly interrupted before the sentence was finished.

"It looks to me like something about seventeen roses," Kelso muttered. "Not very illuminating, is it? It might be some very mysterious password, connected with a secret society. Upon my word, that's not a bad idea of mine, Denver. This Grand Duke of ours was a very shady sort of character, and he might have been connected with some revolutionary characters. Indeed, the manner of his death points strongly that way."

"It might," Denver said drily. "If there did not happen to be a much more plausible explanation. Without appearing to be more than unduly conceited, it seems to me that my solution of the riddle is a great deal more plausible than yours. We went round this evening to see Fosbrook, of the 'Evening Herald,' mainly to discover how on earth it was that some journalist connected with the paper could dare to forecast the death of the Grand Duke before it happened. You will remember that Fosbrook was quite frank with us and told us all he could. He gave us the name of his mysterious correspondent and an address, through which it might be possible to trace him. Do you happen to remember what that address was?"

"17 Rosemead-avenue," Kelso said.

"Precisely. And, unless I am greatly mistaken, this unfinished scrawl means '17 Rosemead-avenue.' At a guess I should say that the Grand Duke was interrupted before he had time to finish the rest of the address. There must be scores of Rosemead-avenues within a ten-mile radius of Charing Cross, and a more explicit address would have made matters easier for us. Still, we have made an important discovery, even if it is only the connecting link between the murdered man and the journalist with the extraordinary and authentic information. Now, if you like to help me, I propose that we carry on a private investigation of our own, leaving our friend Stead to go his own way and follow up his own clues. It won't do any harm to have two sets of detectives at work."

"I want nothing better," said Kelso. "And I am pretty sure that you are right. What is the next thing to be done?"

"Go to bed," Denver observed dryly. "There is nothing else that we can do at this late hour, and after a night's rest we can do no better than attend the inquest on the Grand Duke to-morrow. In the light of this important discovery of ours, we may get hold of a further clue."

But the police inquiry was quite formal, and nothing transpired to feed the popular appetite for sensation over a case which, by this time, was being widely and eagerly discussed all over civilised Europe. There was one fact that struck the more thoughtful newspaper reader, and that was the absolute aloofness of everybody connected with the Russian Government. No legal representative attended on behalf of the dead man's relatives; indeed, the Embassy itself did not trouble to send even an attache. So far as they were concerned, the Grand Duke might have been no more than a mere Slav emigrant who had been picked up in the gutter. Attempts were made, of course, to draw some expression of opinion from the Russian police, but beyond the cold official statement that there was no information, there was not a word said. Doubtless, there were funds enough available to bury the dead man, but it was quite plain that the funeral would take place on British soil, just as if the murdered man had been a middle-class person of no importance. It came about, therefore, that at the end of an hour or two's inquiry, the inquest was adjourned, and the reporters went empty away, or, at any rate, with material barely sufficient to make a paragraph. Inspector Stead had not hit upon anything in the shape of a clue, and no mention was made even of the lady in blue, though, on this point, Inspector Stead appeared to be curious when the last reporter had vanished, and he found himself alone with Lord and Lady Goring, together with Kelso and Denver.

"You will excuse me, my lady," he said, "but I shall be grateful if you will answer me a few questions on a point which it would have been unwise to mention at the inquest. Of course, your ladyship knows a great deal more than the general public, and I believe Mr. Kelso told you everything that happened, from the time he came here on the night of the dance till the moment when Lord Goring found the body of the Duke. Your ladyship will doubtless remember that the Grand Duke went up to the conservatory for the express purpose of fetching a fan, which belonged to one of your ladyship's guests. I understand that the lady in question was dressed entirely in blue. I don't say that this lady can tell us anything very important, but you will see that she must be found and asked a few questions. Now, can your ladyship place her?"

"I'm afraid not," Lady Goring said. "Quite fifty of my friends were dressed in blue. Perhaps if Mr. Kelso could give me a more detailed description I might be able——"

"She was tall and very slim," Kelso exclaimed eagerly. "Her hair was very fine and abundant, and parted very much on one side. There was a tiny mole under her left ear, and—I beg your pardon——"

For a sudden exclamation had escaped Lady Goring's lips, and she exchanged a startled glance with her husband. It was only for a moment, and then she was her cool, collected self again.

"I am afraid I cannot help you," she said. "Like most people, I have far more acquaintances than friends. So many people were here the other night whom I hardly know by sight. Really, Inspector Stead, you are merely wasting your time. The fair-haired lady in blue conveys absolutely nothing to me at all."