Doing is better than dreaming; and a year of experience is worth a century of theorising. All his life Darrel had sat in his study laboriously weaving romances out of such material as he had collected in his wanderings. Now, by a happy chance of fortune, he was about to step out of his ideal world into actual life, and take an active part in a real story. Already fate had laid the foundation of an intricate plot; and it was his business to work out to a fit conclusion the criminal problem presented to him. In his own mind Darrel considered the task impossible.
Conceive the difficulties of the case. A man--name unknown--meets with, and is murdered by, a woman. This woman--also unknown--goes to keep tryst with an individual--either male or female--and is killed by him, or her. This was all the material upon which Darrel had to work, and it may be guessed that his heart failed him at the meagre detail afforded by the affair. The sole clues were two clay images coloured blue; the initials 'J.G.' marked on the murdered man's linen; and the possible chance of extracting useful information from a cabman. Yet starting from these three points, Torry hoped to arrive at the goal he aimed at, viz.: to capture, and condemn, and hang, the guilty individual. Darrel could not with-hold his admiration at the determination of the little man.
"Detective fiction is easier to follow than detective fact," said Darrel to himself as he prepared to go out. "With the materials supplied by this Mortality-lane case, I could work out a very fair novel. Fate, Fortune, Destiny, or whosoever is designing this actual romance will develop it in quite a different way, no doubt. Well"--he put on his hat--"I am one of the actors in the drama, and it is my turn to step on to the stage. Here goes for an elucidation of the Blue Mummy Mystery."
Rather amused by his own ideas, Darrel stepped into a hansom, and drove to his friend's rooms near the British Museum. In his pocket he carried the grotesque little image from which he hoped to learn so much. Luckily the Egyptologist--Patron was his name--proved to be at home, a long, leansavantwith grizzled hair and spectacles. He received Darrel very amiably, for they were old friends, and had been fellow-students at Oxford. Frank looked still young and blooming, as was natural at the age of five-and-twenty; but Patron, though barely thirty, was already aged by hard study and a misanthropic temperament. In the hands of this prematurely old individual Darrel placed the image.
"Look at the Egyptian mummy, old fellow," said he taking a seat, "and tell me what you think of it."
Mr. Patron stroked his cheek and chin; examined the azure idol through his learned spectacles, and contradicted Frank in a clear, calm voice. "As usual, my dear Darrel, you speak without thinking," said he, "the image is not Egyptian at all."
"It is the representation of a mummy," protested Frank, "and I always understood that the Egyptians were the only people who salted and dried their dead."
"Then you understood wrongly," contradicted Patron. "The ancient Peruvians also embalmed their dead. This is the image of a Peruvian mummy."
"How do you know?" asked Darrel, rather amazed at this remark.
"Don't you see the representation of the sun on its breast?" snapped the other. "The ancient Peruvians were sun-worshippers. Judging from the solar symbol, I should say that this mummy comes from the tomb of some Inca. It is--what we call--a tomb image."
"What is that?" questioned the visitor.
Patron cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and prepared for a long historical lecture. "In common with certain Asiatic nations," said he, "the ancient Peruvians practised the barbarous custom of immolating victims at the obsequies of great men. Sometimes--according to Prescott--a thousand attendants and favourite concubines would be slaughtered, so that they might accompany the dead Inca to his bright mansion in the sun. On occasions, however, the actual slaughter was dispensed with, and images of clay in the form of mummies, such as we see here," said thesavant, pointing to the blue figure, "were substituted for human beings. For every counsellor, or slave, or wife, or attendant, a clay image was placed in the sepulchre of the dead; so that, in such instance, there would be many hundreds of these fictitious mummies arranged round the corpse. The figure we have here is an example of a tomb image. I hope I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly," rejoined Darrel, slipping the image into his pocket. "But your lecture does not help me in the least."
"In what way? Where did you get the mummy?" questioned Patron disconnectedly.
"Out of a murdered woman's pocket."
"Bless me! how strange! Why was she murdered? And how did she become possessed of so unique a curiosity as a Peruvian tomb-image?
"Patron, my friend, those are two questions to which I am trying to obtain an answer."
"If I can help you, Darrel----"
"Thank you; Patron; but I fear you can help me no further. Good-day."
"Good-day, good-day," replied the Egyptologist hastily; for his mind was already reverting to his own particular work, and he was becoming oblivious to the story told by his visitor. "Good-day;" after which he soared into cloudland.
Darrel went away little satisfied with his visit. He had obtained certain historical information, but none likely to throw any light on the mystery of the double crime. The Blue Mummy was connected with the murders in some concealed way, independent of its archæological merits; and it was this hidden connection which Darrel desired to discover. At present, however, he could not see the slightest chance of gaining the necessary information; therefore, this especial clue was absolutely useless--at all events for the time being. Later on its value might be discovered and utilised; but in the meantime, Frank dismissed it, to follow up the clue of the initials on the linen of the dead man. To accomplish this he drove directly to Bond-street.
The mere fact that the red-haired man--as in the absence of an actual name it is convenient to call him--was in the habit of dealing with Harcot and Harcot, shewed that he must have been, if not rich, at least fairly well off. The shop, as Darrel knew, was a very expensive one, and the goods it supplied were sold at much above their market value, from the fact that they were supposed to be particularly fashionable. Darrel carried with him the shirt of the dead man which had been confided to him by Torry; and this he displayed to the eyes of the senior partner. Mr. Harcot was a tall, stately-looking man, more like a Duke than a shopkeeper, and after examining the shirt through hispince-nez, he inquired loftily what it was Mr. Darrel desired to know. Darrel promptly supplied the information.
"I wish to learn what those initials stand for," said he, laying his forefinger on the letters 'J.G.'
"May I ask why!"
Darrel reflected. "I see no reason why you should not know," he remarked; "but you must respect my confidence."
"Certainly, sir, certainly," replied Harcot, whose curiosity was now excited. "Please come this way where we shall not be disturbed."
The tradesman led the way into a small room partitioned off from the shop by a glass screen and on closing the door of this, he handed Darrel a chair with great politeness.
"I await your explanation, sir," he said, smoothing out the shirt on the table.
"One moment," said Frank quickly. "If I tell you my reason for asking this question, and you agree to answer it, can I rely on your being able to give me the desired information?"
"Assuredly, sir. You will observe that under these letters 'J.G.' there is a number, one thousand four hundred and twenty. Well, sir, we index, so to speak, all shirts of our manufacture in that way; and--should your reason for seeking information satisfy me--I have only to look up that number in our books to learn for whom this shirt was made."
"Then you had better do so at once, Mr. Harcot; for thereby you may be able to capture a criminal."
The tradesman looked amazed. "Capture a criminal?" he repeated.
"Yes. On Sunday morning last, after one o'clock, the man to whom that shirt belonged was murdered."
"Murdered, sir!"
"Yes; stabbed to the heart in Mortality-lane."
"Dear, dear!" cried Mr. Harcot in much agitation. "You don't say so! I noticed an account of the tragedy in theStar--an early issue, Mr. Darrel, published at two o'clock; but I did not think that a customer of ours was the victim. How very dreadful! Who is the unfortunate gentleman?"
"That is what I wish you to tell me, Mr. Harcot."
"With pleasure, with pleasure; but if you will excuse my saying so, sir, I did not know that you were an officer of the law."
"Nor am I," rejoined Darrel drily. "I am a novelist; but the detective in charge of this case has permitted me to assist him."
"Oh, indeed, sir," replied Mr. Harcot, considerably astonished. "If you will permit me, sir, I will look up our books."
Washing his hands with invisible soap, and bowing politely, Mr. Harcot vanished, leaving Darrel to his own thoughts. In about ten minutes he returned, looking very pale and concerned. Frank was a trifle surprised at this agitation.
"Dear, dear!" gasped the man, sitting down with an air of consternation. "I am shocked, really. Such a respectable gentleman! so old a customer!"
"What is the name?" cried Darrel anxiously.
"Grent, sir; Jesse Grent, of Wray House, Wraybridge."
"Grent--Grent!" muttered Darrel thoughtfully. "I seem to know the name."
"Everybody does, Mr. Darrel. Grent and Leighbourne, of Fleet-street."
"What! the bankers?"
"Yes, sir, yes. Mr. Jesse Grent was the head of the firm and now he is an angel. I hope so, for he was a good man, sir, who paid his bills most regul----"
"Thank you, Mr. Harcot," said Frank, cutting short these lamentations, which were a trifle mercenary. "You have told me all I wish to know. Mr. Jesse Grent, banker. H'm!--so he was the red-haired man."
Mr. Harcot was about to protest that the late Mr. Grent had white hair, but that Frank, with a curt nod, walked smartly out of the shop. Whereupon Harcot senior went to inform Harcot junior of the loss of a good customer, and to suggest an immediate sending in of the bill to the executors.
It was now too late to call at Torry's private office, as it was long after six o'clock before Frank terminated his inquiries; so he went back to his rooms and pondered over his discovery. He had heard of Mr. Grent, who was a rich banker and much respected. That he should be found dead in a disreputable neighborhood, in disguise, added to the mystery of the case. Frank thought over the matter all night, until his brain was on fire; and he was glad when the morning came that he could see Torry. Just as he was considering the advisability of paying a visit, the detective himself made his appearance and looked considerably disturbed.
"I say, Mr. Darrel," he burst out, "there are two murderers!"
"Two!"
"Yes--a man and a woman!"
"A man and a woman!" repeated Darrel thoughtfully. "Who told you that, Mr. Torry?"
"The third, cabman," replied the detective. "Main is his name. I found him along with Henry and Bike on the cab-stand near Mortality-lane."
"Had you any difficulty in making him speak?"
"No, not the least. He was quite willing to give information and assist the police in every way. Why do you suggest a difficulty?"
"Why," said Darrel, "if this man and woman were actually the assassins it is possible they might have bribed Main to silence."
"And hereby roused his suspicions," retorted Torry sharply. "Nothing of the sort. Main did not know what lay down the lane, so there was no need for the pair to purchase his silence."
"They came out of Mortality-lane?"
"Yes. Main says that after the other two cabs drove away, he almost decided to go home himself as he despaired of getting a fare at so late an hour. However, on the chance he waited for twenty minutes or so, and his patience was rewarded shortly before one o'clock. A man and a woman came out of Mortality-lane, and got into the cab which drove off."
"Then it left just before our cabs came back?"
"No doubt; the assassins ran the thing very fine. Well the woman told Main to drive to Northumberland-avenue near the theatre. There the two alighted and dismissed the cab."
"What did they do next? I suppose Main noticed in which direction they went?"
"No, indeed," replied Mr. Torry with a vexed air."He got his money and went straight home, leaving the man and woman standing on the pavement in front of the Avenue Theatre."
"What route did he take from Mortality-lane to Northumberland-avenue?"
"Down Arundel-street and along the Embankment," replied Torry promptly.
"I suppose," said Darrel reflectively, "that he did not notice any one near Cleopatra's Needle as he drove along?
"No, I asked him if he did, but he declared that he was too much taken up with managing his horse, which was rather unruly, to cast a look to right or left. He drove to his destination, then returned home by going up the Avenue."
"Can he describe the pair?"
"H'm!" said Torry dubiously, "not very clearly. The woman was tall, fair-haired, dressed in black and veiled. I know all that, as I have seen her dead body and dress. The man was not so tall as the woman, with a black beard, and wore a soft hat and a long overcoat almost to his heels. He was slender and silent, leaving the woman to give the directions and pay the fare."
"Were they agitated?"
"The man seemed more agitated than the woman."
"Perhaps he killed Mr. Grent."
"Perhaps he did; we have no evidence to shew who struck the blow. But who is Mr. Grent?"
"The dead man. He is, or rather was, Mr. Jesse Grent, the banker."
"Oh!" said Torry, rubbing his plump hands with much satisfaction "you have found out that much. This case is becoming important, for Mr. Jesse Grent is well known, I can tell you. He is very rich, very philanthropic, and two years ago stood for Parliament in the Conservative interest. Now I wonder what took so respectable a man into so disreputable a neighbourhood. In disguise, too. H'm it looks queer. Mr. Grent is not so good as I thought him."
"You may as well speak in the past, Torry; the man is dead."
"Dead! Murdered!" said the detective, thoughtfully. "A sad ending for a virtuous man. Tell me all that you learnt from Harcot."
"I have told you all," replied Darrel. "The shirt was made for Jesse Grent, of Waybridge, and of Grent and Leighbourne, Bankers, Fleet-street."
"Quite so," said Torry, getting on his feet. "Well, where Harcot's information ends Mr. Leighbourne's may begin. Come along, Mr. Darrel, let us pay a visit to Fleet-street."
"Very good. Wait till I put on my coat."
While Frank was getting ready for the visit Torry employed his time in making notes in his secretive little book. Incidentally he inquired about the Blue Mummy, and on receiving an explanation about the ancient Peruvians and their customs, evinced some disgust at the unsatisfactory result of Darrel's visit to the archæologist. Still, he thought the information worth noting.
"Doesn't seem to bear much on the case," he said philosophically. "Still, there is no knowing how important it may be."
"I agree with you there," said Frank taking up hat and gloves. "That Blue Mummy, to my mind, symbolises something which may elucidate the whole mystery."
"It sounds too romantic to have any practical value," grumbled Torry, as they went out. "It is a far cry from London to Peru."
Notwithstanding the diversion of opinion, the subject seemed to be of so little importance that both novelist and detective dropped the discussion. In a few moments they found themselves in a hansom, and rattled quickly eastward until they descended before the unpretentious building, which was one of the most famous private banks in the City of London. The firm of Grent and Leighbourne was nearly one hundred years old, having been established shortly after the French Revolution and was much patronised by county families. It had been founded by Mr. Ebenezer Grent, who had afterwards taken his chief clerk, Leighbourne, into partnership. It was the grandsons of this pair who were now the representatives of the bank, and one of these, Jesse Grent, had been barbarously assassinated in Mortality-lane. As yet, to all appearances, the catastrophe of his death was unknown.
"They would have the shutters up else," said Torry who had commented on this fact to his companion. "Depend upon it, Mr. Darrel, you and I are about to startle the firm of Grent and Leighbourne."
In answer to the detective's inquiries the visitors were requested to give their cards, which were taken into Mr. Leighbourne. In a few minutes his bell rang and they were shown into a soberly-furnished room, which was occupied by a handsome young man. He was about thirty years of age with curly black hair and a small black moustache smartly pointed so as to give him quite a jaunty air. Elegantly dressed he seemed rather like a West End dandy than a sedate, methodical banker. With all the composure of a man of the world he received his visitors, but there was an uneasy look about him which did not escape the vigilant eyes of Torry.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said he, waving his hand towards two chairs. "I understand you wish to see me?"
"Are you Mr. Leighbourne?" asked Darrel, who could not conceal his astonishment at the age and appearance of the banker.
"I am Mr. Frederick Leighbourne, sir. Perhaps it is my father you wish to see. In that case I must inform you that he is now in Paris, where he has been for some weeks. In his absence, and in the absence of our other partner, Mr. Grent, I act as the representative of the firm."
"Mr. Grent!" repeated Torry slowly. "He is absent also, then?"
"Yes. He left for Italy last Saturday."
"Are you sure?" asked the detective, meaningly.
"Certainly. Mr. Grent told me he was going. No doubt he is in Milan by this time."
"I am afraid he is not, Mr. Leighbourne."
The young man turned pale and looked from one to the other of his visitors. "What do you mean?" he asked anxiously.
"I mean," said Torry, "that Mr. Grent has taken a longer journey than you are aware of."
"A longer journey? How do you know?"
"Because I am a detective."
Leighbourne became even paler than before, and pushed back his chair with a quick, nervous movement. "A detective!" he muttered faintly. "Why--why does a detective call on me?"
"To inform you of Mr. Grent's death," interposed Darrel, astonished at this unnecessary display of emotion.
"Dead! Mr. Grent dead!" Frederick Leighbourne rose in an indescribable state of emotion. "Why, on Friday last, when he said good-bye to me, he was in excellent health."
"Health has nothing to do with the death," said Torry drily. "Have you heard of this Mortality-lane murder?"
"Yes, yes; that is, I saw--I saw something about it in the evening papers," stammered the banker hurriedly; "but it has nothing--nothing----"
"It has everything to do with Mr. Grent, if that is what you mean," said Darrel. "On Sunday morning last, shortly before one o'clock, your partner was murdered!"
"Murdered!" Leighbourne's voice leaped an octave. "Oh my God!"
"Stabbed to the heart!"
"But by whom--by whom?"
"By an unknown woman."
Leighbourne's face, which had changed from white to red, and then back again, assumed an expression of profound astonishment. "A woman!" he repeated. "Murdered by a woman! Impossible! I thought----" Here he checked himself on observing the attentive attitude of his auditors. "Is the woman in custody," he asked calmly.
"No," replied Torry, who had noted the hesitation of the young man. "She is dead also."
"Dead also," repeated Leighbourne--"but not murdered?"
"Yes; she was stabbed to the heart by some unknown man."
"Has he been arrested?"
Darrel could not forbear a dry laugh. "If he had been arrested, Mr. Leighbourne, he would not be unknown. No; the murderer escaped, and we have come to ask you to assist us to find him."
Leighbourne resumed his seat with what appeared to be an air of relief. "I!" he murmured. "Good Heavens, gentlemen, how can I possibly assist you?"
"Oh," said Torry, looking keenly at the young man, "that is very easy. You may know of something in Mr. Grent's past life which may supply the motive for this crime."
"I know nothing of Mr. Grent's past life but what is good and honest," the banker answered.
"My dear sir," said the detective, "you know that when there is any trouble, one must always look for a woman. Now----"
"There is no woman in this case," interrupted Leighbourne sharply.
"Oh, pardon me, sir. Mr. Grent was killed by a woman. And a short time ago you were beginning to make some remark thereon, when you stopped and changed the subject."
Leighbourne coloured, and looked embarrassed. "I did so because I thought it impossible that Mr. Grent could have met his death at the hands of a woman. So far as I know, he was never connected with one.
"Was he not married?" asked Frank.
"Oh, yes; but of course I mean, with any other woman than his wife. Donna Inez is different."
"Donna Inez? Who is she?"
"Mrs. Grent; but as she is a Spanish-American, she prefers to be called so."
"A Spanish-American," repeated Darrel, "from South America?"
"Yes, she is a native of Lima."
"And Lima is in Peru. Strange!"
Darrel looked at Torry and Torry gazed at Darrel. Mrs. Grent came from Peru; and the Blue Mummy had been obtained from a Peruvian tomb. The coincidence--if it was one--was strange.
Quite unaware of the clue his chance remark had given to his visitors, the banker touched an electric bell.
"Send Mr. Vass to me," he said when the clerk appeared; then turning towards Torry, he added: "Mr. Grent's private secretary will be here in a few minutes, he will be able to answer your questions better than I."
"Was Mr. Vass in the confidence of the deceased, sir?"
"Entirely. He was Mr. Grant's right hand. I may inform you as a proof of the confidence my poor friend put in him that Mr. Vass had, and has, the key of Mr. Grent's private safe. I will leave you alone with Vass, while I send a wire to my father in Paris, advising him of this tragedy." He paused a moment, then continued: "I may also add that Mr. Vass has been ill, and since Saturday has been confined to his bed; he returned only this morning to his work."
"Oh!" thought Mr. Torry, smiling blankly to conceal his real thoughts; "so Mr. Vass the confidential secretary, has been ill and absent, has he? Now I wonder what is the meaning of that."
Perhaps Mr. Torry was too suspicious, as he saw a meaning--an evil meaning--in everything. Leighbourne's explanation was a perfectly reasonable one; still, as Torry considered, it was uncalled for. Why should he take the trouble to explain the absence of the secretary? There was no need to do so. Darrel was also struck by the needless explanation, and thought that there was something doubtful about the affair. Altogether, the detective and his helper were both prejudiced against the secretary by that very innocent remark of Mr. Leighbourne's, made probably in all good faith.
Vass made his appearance in a few minutes, and proved to be a pale clean-shaven fellow of about twenty-eight. He wore spectacles, and had rather a dry, pedantic air, as one given to study and--comparative--seclusion.
"Mr. Vass," said Leighbourne when the clerk entered the room, "I have sent for you to give these gentlemen all information about poor Mr. Grent."
"Why poor Mr. Grent?" asked Vass, with mild surprise.
"I forgot you do not know. Well, I shall leave these gentlemen to explain. I must send the telegram recalling my father."
"You will come back?" said Torry, as the banker walked towards the door.
"If you wish me to," replied Leighbourne with frowning reluctance.
"I do wish it," said the detective decisively. "You must come with me to identify the body; and it is possible that you may be required to give your evidence at the inquest."
"Evidence--evidence!" cried the young man, passing his tongue over his dry lips. "What evidence can I give? I--I--I do not want to attend the inquest."
"You must, sir."
Leighbourne looked defiantly at the detective, and for a moment or so the pair eyed one another in silence, then the weaker of the two yielded. "If I must I must," said Leighbourne, sullenly. "I shall come back;" and he passed out, closing the door behind him with such unnecessary violence that it was plain he had departed in a bad temper.
While this dialogue was proceeding Darrel had kept his eye on the face of Vass. Although he had heard all that was said--and the words "body" and "inquest" must have piqued his curiosity--his expression was one of absolute unconcern. Only once did he betray any emotion, and that was when Leighbourne left him alone with the two strangers; but when Torry turned towards him, his face was again calm and composed. Frank wondered what could be the meaning of this well-acted comedy.
"Mr. Vass," said Torry, intent upon trying the effect of a sudden surprise. "I have to inform you that your master has been murdered."
Mr. Vass stepped back and threw up his hands. "Grent murdered!" he cried in a voice rendered shrill by excitement. "Great Heavens! When? Where?"
"In Mortality-lane near the Strand, on Sunday morning between twelve and one o'clock. He was stabbed to the heart."
The secretary received this news with unfeigned horror, and evidently having some womanish vein in his nature, burst into a fit of hysterical weeping.
In spite of what he had beheld, Darrel felt his suspicions melt away before this undeniable sorrow. In his own mind he decided that whatever Vass might know, the intelligence of his master's death was new to him, and had taken him completely by surprise.
Torry said nothing, but smiled approvingly when he beheld the outbreak of Vass. Perhaps the secretary perceived the composure with which his emotion was received by the strangers, and regained his nerve out of pride; but whatever was the cause, he shortly became calm, and expressed himself willing to answer any questions which might be put to him. With a sign to Darrel not to speak, Torry promptly availed himself of the offer.
"The cause of Mr. Grent's death," said he, "may be found in his past life; so I wish you to tell me all you know about him. Have you been his secretary long?"
"For over five years. He was the best and kindest and most generous of masters," replied Vass with much emotion.
"Hm'!" said Torry, who did not put much faith in this posthumous praise: "Your master was much respected?"
"Certainly. I never heard a word against him."
"He was married, I believe?"
"He was--to Donna Inez Sandoval, a Spanish-American lady; a native of Peru."
"How was it that Mr. Grent met her?"
"Ten years ago he voyaged to Peru for the sake of his health," rejoined Vass: "and I understand he met with Donna Inez at Lima. They were married there."
"In a Romish Church?"
"Certainly. Mr. Grent was a Roman Catholic, and his wife also."
"Are there any children?"
"No," said Vass, then added with some hesitation: "But Mr. Grent, finding himself childless, adopted the niece of his wife, Donna Maria Sandoval."
"How old is this lady?"
"Twenty years of age," replied the secretary, colouring--"and very beautiful."
Darrel noted the expression of his face, and the enthusiasm of his reply, which was rather in the tones of his voice than the substance of his remark. "Oh!" thought the novelist, "can this be the proverbial woman who has caused the trouble?"
"How long has Donna Maria been with Mr. Grent?"
"Two years, more or less."
"Of course, she speaks English?"
"Extremely well," answered Vass promptly. "She was taught by Miss Lydia Hargone, who was quite like a daughter of the house, and left only six weeks ago."
The nature of this reply seemed to strike Torry, for he made a note of this last name, but without comment, resumed his inquiries. "Mr. Grent lived at Wraybridge?"
"Yes. In Wray House, a large mansion on the banks of the Thames."
"Did he entertain much?"
"Largely. He was fond of company, and so was Donna Inez."
"Mrs. Grent, you mean?"
"I do," replied Vass tartly. "But she prefers to be addressed in the Spanish style."
"Do you know if Mr. Grent had any very intimate friends."
"One or two," said the secretary, with some little hesitation.
"Can you give me the names of the one or two?" asked Torry politely.
"Well, Mr. Roderick Blake for one. He is an Irishman."
"So I should judge from the name," said the detective drily! "and another friend, Mr. Vass?"
The man hesitated and finally came out with another Spanish name. "If you insist upon knowing," said he, with reluctance, "there was Captain Manuel?"
"Captain Manuel? Oh, indeed. Also from Peru?"
"Yes, he came over to see Donna Inez, who is a relative of his, and, for the last three months, has been a constant visitor at Wray House."
"May I ask a question?" said Darrel at this moment.
Torry threw an inquiring glance in the direction of his friend and nodded. "If you like," he said graciously, wondering at Darrel's meaning.
"In that case," said Frank, looking at the secretary, "I shall ask Mr. Vass if there are any love affairs at Wray House."
"Love affairs?" stammered Vass plainly taken aback. "I do not quite catch your meaning."
"Oh, that is your romance," cried Torry with a sly hit at Darrel's imagination.
The novelist shook his head. "Two young men--two young women," said he, solemnly. "It is not in nature that there should not be some love spring up between the four."
"Well, sir," said Vass, smiling a little, "I don't say but what you are not right. Captain Manuel is paying his address to Donna Maria, and I must admit that Miss Hargone is greatly admired by Mr. Blake."
"I thought so," said Darrel triumphantly, and signed to Torry to continue his examination, which the detective did without further remark.
"Do you know if Mr. Grent had any enemies?" he asked the secretary.
"So far as I know he had not one," replied Vass promptly. "Mr. Grent was singularly popular."
"When did you see him last?"
"On Friday at four o'clock. He then said good-bye to me as he was going to Italy the next day for four months. That was the reason; no one was alarmed at his absence."
"Probably, so far as the bank was concerned," replied Torry thoughtfully, "but in his own house?"
"Oh, I can explain that," said Vass, easily.
"Mr. Grent had chambers in town. Probably he took leave of his wife on Friday, and purposed to stay at his chambers until he left for the South. I dare say Donna Inez thinks that her husband is in Milan by now."
"Where are these chambers?"
"In Duke-street, St. James's, Mr. Grent lived there by himself, so there is no one likely to be alarmed at his absence."
"Had he not a valet?"
"No; the butler who kept the house attended to him, and as Mr. Grent came and went as the fit seized him, the man would think nothing of his not coming back to his rooms."
"H'm," said Torry, "I quite see all that. Did Mr. Grent take much money with him?"
"He drew a cheque for twenty pounds for immediate expenses, but when abroad he always used his cheque-book as more convenient than circular notes."
Torry was disappointed with the result of his inquiries. Certainly he had learnt a great deal relative to the social position and daily habit of the dead man, but he had discovered nothing likely to throw light on the mystery of the crime. He was to dismiss Vass with some discontent, when Darrel rose to his feet, and, for reasons of his own, produced the image of the Mummy. This he held towards Vass.
"Perhaps you can explain this?" he said imperatively.
To the surprise of both men the secretary gasped and turned pale, then quietly fainted away.
As may be guessed, the double tragedy caused a great sensation in London. That a respected banker should be murdered by an unknown woman, and she in her turn should be assassinated by an unknown man, was such an unusual occurrence that for quite a week nothing else was talked of. The newspapers had leading articles on the subject pointing out how negligent the police must be, when such terrible events could happen in the heart of the most civilised capital in the world. People of the busy-body type wrote letters to different editors suggesting various courses to be adopted to discover and capture the unknown assassin; and in street, drawing-room and club, discussion on the same subject waxed hot and furious. However, nothing tangible resulted from this storm in the teapot. "Words, words, words!" Hamlet's remark applies peculiarly to newspapers.
The inquest was held on the two bodies on Tuesday afternoon, three days after the committal of the crime. Torry, as having the conduct of the case in hand, had summoned the three cabmen as witnesses; also he had called upon Darrel to tell his story; had subpœnaed Leighbourne to identify the body; and had requested Vass to give evidence relative to the behaviour of the deceased before his final departure from the Fleet-street office. In fact, the detective did all he could to reveal the truth to the jury, but in spite of every effort the assassin of the unknown woman could not be discovered, or even indicated. Never was there so mysterious a case.
The most important piece of evidence brought forward at the inquest was the production of the weapon with which the crime had been committed. On the steps of Cleopatra's Needle a long, cruel-looking Spanish knife, which was kept open by a strong spring for the safer delivery of the blow, had been found by the tramp who had discovered the body. At first he had kept the weapon to himself; but on the chance of making some money out of it, he had taken the knife to Torry, who gave him ten shillings for it; and later on it figured before the eyes of an intelligent jury, along with the clothes of the victims and the two Blue Mummies.
These last excited a great deal of curiosity, as they lifted the murders from a commonplace tragedy up to the level of romance. All sorts of wild ideas were afloat as to the reasons for their presence about the bodies of the victims; but not one person was able to give a feasible explanation. On the whole, all the evidence collected was sparse and unsatisfactory; so that the jury, directed by the coroner, were only able to arrive at the commonplace verdict that the dead man and woman had been killed by some person or persons unknown. The public and press were both furious at this tame verdict, but on consideration confessed that they could think of no better one. Afterwards the arrival of an Eastern potentate in London attracted the notice of the fickle public, and the Blue Mummy Case was quite forgotten. After the inquest people said that the truth would never be known, and tacitly relegated the double tragedy to the shelf kept for undiscovered crimes. The mystery which had begun in Mortality-lane was a greater mystery than ever.
"You might as well look for a needle in a haystack as try to find out the truth of this affair," grumbled Darrel, when matters were in this position.
"If that is your opinion, sir, you had better climb down," replied Torry drily. "You came into the case at your own request, so it is quite reasonable for you to withdraw if you feel inclined."
"Do you intend to go on with the matter?" asked Frank, surveying the little man with amazement.
"Of course. It is not play with me as it is with you, but work; and I have to earn my bread and butter. Guided by the evidence we have in hand, I intend to proceed immediately. The victims are dead and buried; but the truth about them is not known. It is my duty to find out and punish the wrongdoers."
"The wrongdoer, you mean," said Darrel, speaking in the singular. "We know who killed Mr. Grent."
"Pardon me, Mr. Darrel, but that is just what we do not know."
"The woman who was murdered----"
"Did not kill the banker. No, I am sure of it. A female of her slight build would not have had the muscular energy to drive a weapon through cloth and wool straight into the heart of a strong man so as to kill him at the first stroke. A pistol, yes--for that weapon is as fatal in the hands of a woman as in those of a man; but a strong, long, steady stroke, involving unusual muscular exertion--to say nothing of the nerve power necessary. No, Mr. Darrel; I decline to believe the woman guilty. Depend upon it she was a victim, not an assassin."
"Well," said Darrel quietly, "victim, or not, she was certainly an accomplice, else she would not have emerged from Mortality-lane with that man. You must admit that he must have killed Grent."
"Of course," assented Torry calmly. "I thought as much from the time I heard the evidence of the third cabman. But what I wish to learn is, why the man required the woman to be present; and why did he permit her to interview her assassin by herself?"
"How do you intend to obtain an answer to these questions?"
"By finding out the name of the dead woman."
"That is impossible!" declared Darrel emphatically.
"By no means," replied Torry coolly. "In fact, I have done something already towards discovering the name; and my discovery narrows still more the ground which we are exploring. To be precise Mr. Darrel, everything points to the motive for the crime being discovered in Wray House."
"In what way?" asked Frank, much astonished.
"I'll answer your question by asking another, sir. Do you remember how we traced the name of Grent by means of the initials on his shirt?"
"Yes. I remember quite well."
"I resolved to apply that method to discover the dead woman's name."
"But there were no marks on her linen," cried Darrel.
"I know that," said Torry, rubbing his plump hands together, "but there was the name of a fashionable milliner stamped on the lining of the hat the dead woman wore. I went to see that milliner--Madame Vert, of Regent-street--and I discovered that the hat was made for Miss Sandoval."
"For Donna Maria," said Darrel; then, on receiving a nod from the detective, he asked: "How did her hat come to be worn by the dead woman?"
"I must find that out from the lady herself," replied Torry; "but you can see for yourself that this discovery connects Wray House with the crime."
"Possibly. But does it never strike you that the Bank in Fleet-street may have some connection also? For my part, I mistrust Leighbourne."
"You have no cause to do so; there is absolutely nothing to connect him with the crime."
"What about his agitated demeanour?"
"Pooh, pooh!" cried Torry briskly. "Of course the man was agitated on hearing of Grent's terrible death. You can't judge a man in such circumstances. Now, to my mind, the fainting of Vass at the sight of the mummy is more suspicious."
"I thought he explained that?"
"He does--and in a way likely to upset my theory. Vass declares that he saw the Blue Mummy on Grent's table; and it was the sight of it again in connection with the crime which made him faint. The explanation is rather feeble. Still, if Grent had the mummy in his possession, he could not have received it from his assassin; and if he did not, how was it found beside his dead body."
"I can't say," admitted Darrel thoughtfully; "but of one thing I am certain: that the Blue Mummy is the clue to the whole mystery. What about Captain Manuel?"
"Why do you mention him?" asked Torry abruptly.
"Well," said Frank slowly, "it seems to me that the double tragedy has to do with Peru. Everywhere we turn we are met by Peru. In the first place, the mummy is a tomb image from the sepulchre of some Inca of Peru. In the second, the knife discovered was a Spanish-American bowie, which could only have come from the New World. In the third, Grent's wife and adopted child are Spanish ladies from Lima. Finally, Captain Manuel is from Peru, and is the confidential friend of the dead man. What do you make of all this?"
"That Grent was murdered by Manuel?" sneered Torry.
"No; but that we must look in South America--in Peru--in Lima for the motive of the crime. Grent was there many years ago; he brought home a Spanish wife; so who knows but what he might have made some enemies there who swore to kill him, and accomplished the tragedy of the other night."
"That might explain Grent's death," said Torry, nursing his chin in his hand, "but it does not reveal why this unknown woman should have been killed. Yet I am sure that the same motive will account for both deaths. Oh!" cried the detective, in despair, "If I could only find out that motive."
"Question Donna Inez," suggested Darrel. "She, if anyone, will explain the reason."
"Why so?"
"Because if my theory is correct she may remember if her husband made enemies in Peru."
"Peru! Peru! You have that Peru on the brain. No," said Torry, "I may see Donna Inez later, but first I intend to search the rooms of Grent."
"The chambers in Duke-street?"
"Yes. Leighbourne is going to meet me there this afternoon, and we are going all through Grent's private papers in search of a possible clue."
"I wonder you did not search there before."
"There was no time," replied Torry tartly. "I have had a lot to do in getting evidence for the inquest. Now that is over, and the victims are buried, I can go forward."
"It is a week since the murder," said Frank, "and someone may have been in Grent's chambers to remove all incriminating papers."
"The assassin you mean?"
"Possibly."
"Well," said the detective, "there is something in that; but I doubt it, as the butler who keeps the rooms would not be likely to let anyone into them during the absence of his tenant. However, I'll see. Will you come?"
"No, thank you," replied Darrel. "I find my detective fever has passed away."
Torry uttered a prophecy. "On the first discovery of any note you'll get that fever again," said he.