The rooms which belonged to Jesse Grent were in Duke street, St. James's, and were very comfortably furnished, in a plain and unpretentious manner. Evidently the dead man had been simple in his tastes, and, notwithstanding his wealth, had refrained from indulging in luxury. These chambers were looked after by the landlord of the house, a retired butler, who appeared dignified enough to be a bishop, yet who was plainly afraid of the law as personified by Torry. He answered the many questions of the detective with anxious humility, but the information he gave was worth little.
Mr. Grent was a good tenant, he said, but capricious in his comings and goings which, in the butler's opinion, might be due to the fact that his house at Wraybridge was no very great distance from town. It was only when Mr. Grent was very late, that he remained all night at his chambers. On the day of the murder--it was a Saturday--Mr. Grent had notified that he was going to Italy, and would probably be away two weeks. It was at five o'clock that he had said this; then he had dined at his club, and evidently had gone to the theatre. The butler saw him when he returned at 10.30 in the evening. That was the last he saw of him, and he did not know if Mr. Grent had gone out that night.
"But he did go out," said Torry, "and never returned. Could you not see in the morning that his bed had not been slept in."
"Beg pardon," replied the butler--Meek was his name and Meek his nature--"but Mr. Grent was a very peculiar gentleman, sir. He told me never to go into his rooms unless he rang the bell, so, as he did not ring the bell, I did not venture into his rooms. When I heard that he was murdered I did."
"And found the bed unslept in?"
"Yes, sir. He must have gone out about eleven, but I did not hear him."
"Did Mr. Grent ever receive visitors here?"
"Sometimes, sir," replied Meek. "He had one in the afternoon of the Saturday--a tall dark gentleman who looked like a foreigner. He was in some foreign army, too," added garrulous Mr. Meek, "for when I took up his card to Mr. Grent I saw he was a Captain."
"Captain Manuel?"
"It was Captain something sir, but I really can't remember the exact name."
"H'm," said Torry thoughtfully, "I have no doubt it is the same person I have in my mind. Any other visitor?"
"A lady came sometimes, sir. She came shortly after the Captain on that Saturday."
"And what was her name?"
"I can't say. She never gave her card, and always wore a heavy veil."
"You could not identify her in any way?"
"Not by her personal appearance, sir; but she did wear a peculiar ring. On Saturday she was paying her cab, and took off her right-hand glove to find a piece of gold which had slipped into a corner of her purse. I then noticed that on the third finger she wore a silver ring set with three blue stones."
"Turquoise stones, no doubt," said Torry. "I'll make a note of that, as I should like to know who this woman is."
"But, sir!" cried Meek in dismay, "you don't think this lady has had anything to do with the murder?"
Torry shrugged his shoulders. "As to that," he remarked tritely, "I can only say that a woman is at the bottom of every trouble. This may be the woman concerned in this especial affair."
At this moment Mr. Leighbourne arrived according to appointment, and, with Torry, he was conducted up stairs into the chambers of the late Mr. Grent. These had a damp musty smell as though they had been uninhabited for some time, and both bedroom and sitting-room were in a state of great confusion. Travelling-rugs, dressing-bags, and portmanteaux were scattered about the sitting-room, and in the bedroom there were piles of shirts, heaps of clothes, and all the impedimenta of a man bound on a long journey. What particularly struck Torry was the presence of a large American trunk, half full of wearing apparel.
"That is a big box to take on a short journey," said he thoughtfully.
"I don't call a journey to Italy a short one," replied Leighbourne, who looked worried and ill, and spoke sharply. "It takes two days and two nights to reach Florence."
"Maybe, sir. But Mr. Grent intended to stay only two weeks according to Meek, here."
"Yes, sir," chimed in the deferential butler, "Only two weeks."
"In which case," continued the detective, "he would hardly need so many clothes. A portmanteau of that size and a dressing-bag would have contained ample, unless," added Torry, looking at Leighbourne, "Mr. Grent was a masher."
The young banker laughed. "No, indeed," said he, with assumed lightness, "my poor friend cared nothing for dress."
"Then," said Torry decisively, "you may be sure, he intended to take a much longer journey than you suppose."
"But he said he was going to Italy."
"He might have said so as a blind, but he certainly did not intend to go there, or," added Torry, with emphasis, "if he did it was to reach Naples or Brindisi and catch an out-going liner to Australia. Ha!" Torry stopped speaking and slapped his thigh.
"What's the matter, sir?" asked the butler nervously.
"Oh, you are there," said Torry turning sharply on him. "Then you can go downstairs. If I need you I'll ring."
"But can't I be of service here sir," urged Meek who was filled with curiosity.
"If I need you I'll ring," repeated Torry, and pointed towards the door. The butler was obliged to go, and withdrew with manifest unwillingness. Torry saw him descend the stairs, and locked the outer door of the chambers, after which he returned to Leighbourne, who watched this conduct with ill-concealed nervousness.
"Why do you send Meek away?" he asked with some hesitation.
"Because I wish to speak to you privately," replied Torry promptly. "You are not open with me Mr. Leighbourne."
"What do you mean?" demanded the young man, flushing.
"Is your bank solvent?" asked Torry, in his turn.
The other jumped to his feet in a violent rage. "Solvent!" he cried, "of course it is solvent. How dare you hint that anything is wrong with our business."
"I hint," replied Torry, "because I wish to know the reason Mr. Grent intended to run off to South America."
"To South America!" repeated Leighbourne, in a stupified tone. "How do you know he thought of going there?"
"Because I believe Mr. Grent intended to go to Genoa, and take the first boat to Peru."
"Why Peru?"
"Oh, that is a fancy of mine," rejoined Torry with a shrug. "Mr. Grent has a Spanish wife; the murder was committed with a Spanish knife; and two tomb images from Peru are mixed up in the matter; therefore I believe that if Mr. Grent chose any place to fly to, he would go to Lima."
"But why should he fly?"
"This is what I ask you," said the detective coolly.
"I am sure you will be able to supply the reason; so to give you time to make up your mind, I'll look for the ticket to Italy."
Leaving Leighbourne sitting much astonished in the chair, Torry crossed the room to a writing-table placed directly under the window, so as to get all available light. On this lay many papers tossed about in confusion; and through these Torry looked rapidly, but without finding any ticket to Italy. The middle drawer was not locked, and in this the detective discovered a bunch of keys, one of which fitted all the drawers of the escritoire. Within were letters and bills and memoranda; but none of these did Torry examine very closely, as, at the present moment he was bent on discovering the ticket to Genoa or Naples. All his search proved futile, so he desisted with a lowering race and glanced round the room. Leighbourne, who had been biting his fingers, brightened up at this failure, and sneered.
"You see, things are not as you think," he said in a tone of relief.
"One moment," returned Torry. "I am not yet at the end of my resources."
His keen eye had caught sight of a fur travelling-coat hanging up in a distant corner; and towards this he walked. On purchasing the ticket, he thought, Mr. Grent would probably put it in the breast pocket of his travelling-coat, so as to run no risk of leaving it behind. As he had been disguised on the night of his murder, it was improbable that he would have taken it with him.
"If anywhere," said Torry, putting his hand into the breast-pocket of the fur coat, "it will be here. Hullo!"
The exclamation was drawn from him in sheer astonishment. He had found not one ticket, but two; and both were made out by Cook, from London to Genoa.
"Two tickets!" cried Torry in amazement. "Then he intended to take someone with him."
Leighbourne jumped up and looked at the two tickets over Torry's shoulder. "It is very strange," said he at length. "You are right, Mr. Torry; Mr. Grent intended to go away. But why to Genoa?"
"To catch the boat to Lima, of course."
"There is no line to Lima from Italy."
"There is a line of steamers to Buenos Ayres, however," said Torry briskly. "I know that for a fact. I wonder who the woman is?"
"The woman?"
"Yes. You needn't tell me Mr. Grent intended to take a male companion. I have it!" cried Torry suddenly. "He intended to bolt with the woman he met."
"With the woman who killed him? Impossible."
"Bah! the woman did not kill him. It was the man who struck the blow. Yes, yes," murmured the detective, his eyes lighting up with joy. "I see it all. Grent met this woman in order to bring her back here and fly with her. While they were talking in Mortality-lane they were interrupted by the man--probably the lover or the husband of the woman--and out of jealousy he killed Grent. It is as plain as day."
"But it is impossible, I tell you!" cried Leighbourne furiously. "Mr. Grent was devotedly attached to his wife; he would not leave her for another woman."
"Then he must have contemplated bolting because of money troubles," said the detective promptly. "Own the truth, Mr. Leighbourne. Was Grent in difficulties?"
Before the banker could reply, there came a furious knocking at the outer door, and the two men looked at one another in a startled manner. Torry recovered himself at once, and without a word and ran to the door and threw it open. To his surprise, Vass, the secretary, looking much agitated, ran past him into the room. He was followed at a more leisurely pace by a tall, dark man, who looked like a foreigner; and who was also agitated; but in a lesser degree than Vass.
"Captain Manuel!" cried Leighbourne quickly. "Mr. Vass, what is the matter?"
"Robbery!" gasped the secretary. "Robbery!"
"What are you saying?" said the banker, while Torry listened attentively.
"Mr. Grent's private safe has been robbed!" cried Vass--"robbed of ten thousand pounds in notes!"
"Yes," said Captain Manuel in very good English, "and that money belongs to me."
The Spaniard was even darker than is usual with people of his race; also he had an eagle nose and hair very straight, glossy and black. His eyes were large and brilliant, his mouth rather full and a trifle sensual, and his lean, alert figure was peculiarly straight and upright. Added to these advantages he wore a heavy black moustache, which he twirled at times with an insolent air; so that on the whole he was a remarkably handsome man. But there was something uncivilised about him--a strange, wild look, which suggested the soldier of fortune. Probably he was what he represented himself to be--a Peruvian gentleman serving as a captain in the army of the Republic; but to Torry--who was well read for a man of his position--he seemed like a buccaneer or filibuster. It was Captain Kidd in a frock-coat.
At the present moment he seemed much agitated, and, leaning on his stick with both hands, challenged the regard of Leighbourne and Torry. Vass had thrown himself into a chair, and, as his pale face testified, seemed to be overcome with consternation. On the unexpected surprise of this sudden arrival there ensued a short silence; so finding that no one spoke, Captain Manuel addressed himself to all three on the subject of the robbery.
"I gave Mr. Grent ten thousand pounds some three weeks ago," said he, his foreign accent becoming more pronounced in his excitement, "and I went to your bank this day to obtain it. Dios! what do I find!"
"You find that Mr. Grent is dead," said Torry smoothly.
"Yes sir; and my money gone, sir!" to Leighbourne. "I know you are a master in this bank. You will return to me my money."
"That entirely depends on the circumstances of the case, Señor Manuel," replied the banker, who looked pale but composed. "Vass, perhaps you can throw some light on this subject?"
"On my soul I can't, sir," cried Vass, starting to his feet. "I only know that Mr. Grent told me he had received in bank notes the sum of ten thousand pounds from Captain Manuel some three weeks ago. He kept the money for some time down at Wray House; but as he was going to Italy, he did not think it would be safe to leave it there; so he brought it up to the bank and told me to place it in his private safe. I did so in his presence, and he locked the door. Afterwards he went away, and I heard nothing more of him until the news of the murder came."
"If this is true, my money should be right," said Manuel sharply.
"It is not in the safe!" cried Vass wildly. "When Captain Manuel came to-day to ask for his money, I told him that I could not give it to him as I had no authority to do so. He wished then to see if it was all right, so in his presence I opened the safe, only to find that the notes were gone."
"Well Mr. Grent could not have taken them," said Leighbourne.
"No, no," said Vass; "He did not. I tell you he locked the safe in my presence."
"Could he not have returned?" asked Torry.
"Not without someone in the bank seeing him."
"But after office hours?"
"Even then the porter would have seen him," groaned Vass, who seemed very wretched. "There are only two entrances to the bank, and James, the porter has the keys of both. No one can go or come without passing him; he is bound to see all who enter."
"Did you ask him if Mr. Grent returned?"
"Yes--but he says no! Like myself, he saw Mr. Grent last on Friday."
Here Captain Manuel interposed sharply. "All this is well, sirs, but to me unnecessary. My money is what I wish. You give it to me."
"I'll speak to my father about it," said Leighbourne quickly. "You shall not lose your money if I can help it. But I would point out to you, sir, that the bank is not responsible for the amount."
"Not responsible?" echoed Manuel, striking his stick furiously on the floor.
"No!" answered the banker firmly. "Your money was not deposited with our firm, but placed by you in the keeping of Mr. Grent. He, therefore, was responsible for its safety."
"But he is dead; and cannot repay me."
"His estate is no doubt large enough to repay you. I shall speak to my father, as I said before. He is one of the executors; and I have no doubt he will refund this ten thousand pounds out of the property left by Mr. Grent, on receiving proof that you paid the money."
"I have a paper signed by Mr. Grent stating that he received the money," said Manuel sullenly, "and this gentleman," waving his stick towards Vass, "was told by Mr. Grent that the money was mine."
Vass looked up eagerly. "Mr. Grent said that the money belonged to some society," said he.
"It does. To a society of which I am the representative."
"Oh! oh! oh!" cried Torry, in three different keys; he was struck by a new idea, and looked directly at Manuel. "Has your society anything to do with Peru?"
"Possibly," returned Manuel superciliously; "but my society, sir, has nothing to do with you."
"Ah!" said the detective ironically; "I am not a Blue Mummy!"
This time Captain Manuel was fairly taken by surprise. Evidently the random shot of the detective had unexpectedly hit the mark. The Spaniard flushed a dusky red; stepped forward; on second thoughts stepped back; and recovered his former serenity with an effort.
"I don't know what you mean," he said sullenly. Torry whistled softly, but said nothing. The attitude of the Spaniard confirmed the suspicions he entertained concerning the Blue Mummy. Evidently it was the badge of some secret society to which Manuel belonged. If so, as the token of the Blue Mummy had been found near both the victims, they must have been murdered by order of the association. But for what reason? Plainly because the ten thousand pounds which represented the funds of the society had been stolen. But who was the thief? Here Torry came to a pause, as his reason or imagination could lead him no further. However, to discover more, he determined to have Manuel watched; but in the meantime he was wise enough to hold his tongue.
Seeing that the detective made no reply, Manuel turned his back on him with a shrug of contempt, and walked smartly towards the door. There he turned and addressed Leighbourne.
"I shall expect repayment of that money within a fortnight," he said coldly. "Otherwise----"
"Well," cried the banker defiantly, "otherwise?"
"You will have to deal with the society," replied Manuel with grim significance, and disappeared as suddenly as he had entered. The three men left behind looked at one another.
"What does he mean by that threat?" asked Leighbourne uneasily.
"He means assassination, I fancy," said Torry coolly.
"Assassination!" cried Vass, staring up. "You mean----?
"Well," said the detective thoughtfully, "of course I may be wrong; but it strikes me that this secret society to which Manuel refers, and of which he apparently is the treasurer, is an association somewhat after the fashion of the Italian Carbonari. That society was founded for patriotic purposes tempered by assassination. Probably Manuel's association is formed to overturn the present Government of his beloved country. To do so funds are needed, and the ten thousand pounds given to Mr. Grent are doubtless the moneys of the society. Failing Mr. Grent, who is dead, the society represented by Manuel will no doubt hold the bank responsible; and if the moneys are not refunded, may attempt to kill those who represent the bank. Stay you, Mr. Leighbourne, and Mr. Vass here."
"Bah!" cried Leighbourne, with a forced laugh. "You are trying to frighten us. People don't do such things nowadays."
"Don't they?" rejoined Torry drily. "What about the Anarchists? But I'll tell you one thing, gentlemen: whichever one of you is killed, the image of a Blue Mummy will be found beside him."
"What?" cried Vass aghast--"do you think that this society you speak of killed Mr. Grent?"
"Going by circumstantial evidence, I do."
"But for what reason?"
"Because I fancy Mr. Grent stole that money, and intended to bolt to America with it."
"Impossible!" said Vass. "I tell you I saw the money in the safe after he left."
"Well, if he did not take it himself, someone who had the key of the safe must have done so, by his order."
The secretary rose with a very red face. "Do you mean to say that I took the money?"
"I was not aware that I accused you, Mr. Vass," said Torry.
"But you do accuse me. Only Mr. Grent and myself can open that safe, which is in his private room. I swear he did not take the money, and on my oath I declare that I am guiltless. Don't you believe me, sir?" cried Vass, turning appealingly towards Leighbourne.
"Yes, I believe you," replied the banker emphatically. "I am sure you never took the money out of the safe."
"Would I be such a fool?" said Vass, turning again towards Torry. "The money was in bank-notes, in two bundles of five thousand pounds each. Twenty notes of five hundred pounds each--ten in one bundle, the same number in the other. Manuel has the numbers of these notes, so is it unlikely that I could do anything with bank-notes of such value of which the numbers are known to their owner. I could not change a single one without being found out, and then what benefit would the theft do me. I am neither a fool nor a criminal, Mr. Torry."
The detective could not but be struck by this reasoning, which was feasible enough. In the face of the known value and known numbers of the notes, it was ridiculous to suspect Vass. To steal the money under the circumstances would have been simply to court arrest, and the detective, taking a common-sense view of the question, acquitted Vass of the robbery.
"I believe you to be innocent," he said genially; "but who is guilty?"
"I do not know," said the secretary gloomily, "other than myself and Mr. Grent, no one could have stolen these notes. Mr. Grent did not, I did not; so I can't see how they have disappeared."
"Might not the key of the safe have been stolen?"
Vass produced a bunch of keys out of his pocket and selected one. "Here is my key," said he holding it up. "It is never off this chain, or out of my possession."
Torry nodded and crossed over to the desk on which Mr. Grent's bunch of keys still lay. Amongst them he found a key similar in all respects to that shown by Vass.
"So here is Mr. Grent's key," he said, comparing it with the secretary's, "and safe on his chain, in his rooms which no one could have entered since the murder. It is very strange. I don't exactly see my way," he scratched his chin thoughtfully, then cried: "The hat!"
"What hat?" asked Leighbourne, amazed at the irrelevancy of the remark.
"The hat of the dead woman which was made for Donna Maria Sandoval. I must question her at once about that, and then, and then--well, we'll see."
Wray House was a charming villa on the banks of the Thames. The view of the mansion from the river was singularly picturesque. From the banks a smooth green lawn of closely shorn turf, diversified by oval flower-beds, brilliant with scarlet geranium, sloped gently up to a terrace, bordered by a balustrade of white marble. On this plateau rose the house, a fairy edifice of two storeys, the upper smaller than the lower. A colonnade ran round the house, and supported an upper balcony, broad and spacious, on which opened the French windows of the bedrooms. French windows also gave access to the colonnade, which was liberally sprinkled with small tables and lounging chairs. The whole building painted a brilliant white had, in appearance and design, a tropical look, more suited to equatorial regions than to the cool green misty island of England. This miniature paradise was encircled by a belt of trees.
This particular summer, however, had proved particularly hot, so that Wray House was a perfect residence, during the sultry months of June and August. Used to the ardent heats of South America Donna Inez, as Mrs. Grent loved to be called, found the warmth delightful, and basked like a snake in the golden sunshine. In a large degree her niece was charmed with the unusual splendour of the summer, and the two Spanish women passed most of their time lounging in the colonnade, or swinging in silken hammock suspended from the branches of convenient trees. To them house and life and summer recalled the languid lazy existence of far distant Lima. There laziness is an art, and idleness has been reduced to a silence.
When the news came of Grent's tragic death, Donna Inez, a weak lymphatic woman, had given way to intolerable grief, and had shut herself up to indulge in it. The domestic economy of the house was thus upset for the moment, but was speedily restored to order by Maria Sandoval, who had much more character and self-control than her aunt. Mr. Leighbourne, senior, came hastily over from Paris on receiving the news of his partner's death, and at once paid a visit to Wray House. He could do nothing with Donna Inez, who was hysterical from grief, so he insisted that Donna Maria should take command of the household. This the young girl, not without misgiving, agreed to do, and satisfied on this point, Mr. Leighbourne returned to London in order to arrange the affairs of the dead man. So far as the will was concerned he, as one of the executors, took all the trouble on his shoulders, but at Wray house the responsibility of looking after her aunt and managing the servants devolved on Maria. Shortly she found that the task was too difficult, the more so as she was a foreigner, and a comparative stranger to English way, so she requested Lydia Hargone to come down and assist her.
Miss Hargone was a woman of twenty-seven, good-looking and extremely clever. She had been engaged to teach Maria English when the young girl first arrived from Lima, and had stayed nearly two years at Wray House. Then she had announced that Maria spoke the Anglo-Saxon tongue excellently well, and that, as there was no necessity for further teaching, she Miss Hargone, would seek another situation. Everyone in the house had protested against this, for Lydia was a general favourite and Maria was quite overcome with grief at the thought of losing her. However, Miss Hargone had her own way, as usual, and had departed some three months before the death of Grent, when the tragic circumstance and the urgent message of her former pupil recalled her to Wray House. It is to Miss Hargone's credit that she accepted the invitation at once, and strove in every way to pacify Donna Inez, and lighten the domestic burdens of Donna Maria. Things were in this position when Torry, accompanied by Darrel, paid a visit to the house of the dead man. And that visit was the first step in the dark and tortuous path which led to the discovery of the truth.
At first Darrel had been unwilling to come, or even to continue his partnership with the detective in following up the various clues now in their possession. He excused himself on the ground of incapabilities.
"I cannot assist you in any way," he urged. "I see now that the unravelling of an actual criminal problem is far more difficult and complex than I thought. I have not your indomitable perseverance, and the rebuffs which never daunt you, make me nervous and doubtful."
"Nonsense! nonsense!" cried Torry cheerfully.
"I've set my heart on your going through with this. After all, why should you be discouraged; we have found out a good deal."
"Have we?" said Darrel sceptically.
"Of course. We have learnt that the dead man's name was Jesse Grent; that he was attempting to fly with a woman and ten thousand pounds, and that he was killed, probably by the lover of the woman whose name we have yet to discover. Also, we have learnt that the stolen money belongs to a secret society who use the image of a Blue Mummy as a token. Come now, I think all these discoveries are very encouraging."
"They would be if you could prove them," replied Darrel, "but you are mingling fact and fancy. You cannot prove that Grent stole the money, and, indeed, on the face of it--if Vass is to be believed--he is innocent. Also you cannot say for certain if Grent intended to fly with a woman, or that he was killed by her lover. Finally, although I admit on the authority of Manuel that a secret society exists we don't know its aims, nor do we know that the Blue Mummy has anything to do with it."
"So there, now," cried Torry smiling, "you knock down my fine castle of cards with your relentless logic. Never mind, build it up with future discoveries, stronger than ever. Come and help me to lay the first card."
"The first card?"
"The first brick, if you are so particular," said the detective testily. "In plain English, come down to Wray House and assist me to question this young lady about the hat."
"She won't tell you the truth."
"Yes she will, provided she is not implicated in the matter, and I hardly think that likely. Though to be sure," added Torry to himself, "it is strange that her hat should be on the dead woman's head."
"I should like to know the truth of that, certainly," said Darrel, fired by sudden curiosity, "Yes, I'll go with you. When do we start?"
"In an hour. We take the mid-day train from Waterloo, I am not fanciful, you know," remarked the detective, nodding, "but I have an idea that this journey will be a lucky one."
Frank laughed, "We'll do our best to make it so," said he.
This being arranged they drove to Waterloo Station, and after a hasty luncheon in the restaurant, departed for Wraybridge by the 12.30 train. In a surprisingly short time considering the distance from town, they arrived at Wraybridge, and hiring a fly, drove at once to Wray House. The road which led, thereto, was singularly beautiful, as it passed through a small forest of pine and fir trees. Here and there were villas and mansions and cottages, and occasionally, through intervening trees, a glimpse could be caught of the smoothly-flowing Thames, winding its silvery way through flowery meadows. In twenty minutes the travellers arrived at Wraybridge village, a quaint and picturesque hamlet with old-fashioned houses, peaked roofed and many gabled. Through the narrow crooked thoroughfare, misnamed the High-street, they passed; emerged again into a stretch of open country marching with the river, and ultimately stopped before a pair of elaborate iron gates which gave admission to Wray House. Having arrived at their destination Torry paid off the cabman and, followed by Darrel, entered the grounds.
It must be confessed that Frank did not feel altogether easy in his mind. To visit unsuspecting people with the idea of worming secrets out of their inexperience seemed to him like getting into the house under false pretences. Torry not being a gentleman, was not troubled by these fine scruples. And indeed there was no need that he should be. He was an officer of the law; he was acting entirely in the interests of justice; and it was only natural that he should attempt by every means in his power to bring the wrongdoer to the gallows. Darrel mentally tried to assure himself of this, for the salving of his own conscience; but all the same, he felt uncomfortable, and devoutly wished that he had not embarked on a career which dealt with life in so underhanded a way. However, he had gone too far to retreat; so with some philosophy, he made the best of a bad bargain, and followed Torry up to the house. Here they found some difficulty in entering.
The servant brought back Torry's card, and announced that his mistress was too ill to receive anyone. Thereupon the detective requested permission to see Donna Maria; who also sent back a message that she was not to be seen. On this second refusal Torry lost his smiling demeanour, and at once became the stern officer of justice--sharp-tongued and peremptory.
"Tell your mistress," said he to the servant, "that if she will not see me herself, she must permit me to converse with Donna Maria Sandoval. I am a detective from New Scotland-yard, and have been charged to discover, if possible, the assassin of Mr. Grent. In my official character Donna Maria dare not refuse to see me."
Apparently this peremptory speech carried weight, for in a few minutes the servant returned and shewed the two men into a small room.
Here they waited, and Torry amused himself by admiring the beauty of the apartment, which was luxuriously furnished; and in contemplating the exquisite view from the open French windows which led on to the colonnade. The scene was worthy of his praise.
At the foot of the emerald lawn ran the great river flashing diamonds in the strong sunlight. On the further bank were a row of tall poplars, slender and stately in their leafy pride; beyond were smooth green meadows dotted with grazing cattle; lines of rugged hedges, clumps of trees, and occasionally a cluster of red-roofed houses, and the square tower of some village church. It was all very pastoral and peaceful; but Torry's eyes left the scene to gaze upon two people--a man and woman--who were walking to and fro on the gravelled path beside the river. Both were young, both were handsome, and both were deeply engaged in conversation.
"Wonder who they are?" speculated Torry
"Can't guess who the man is, but I daresay the lady is Donna Maria."
"Donna Maria is here," said a sweet voice behind him.
Torry and Darrel rose to their feet to behold a beautiful woman in the first blush of girlish beauty. Donna Maria was not very tall, but her figure was perfect; and she walked with the graceful, undulating gait peculiar to Spanish women. Her hair and eyes were as black as midnight; and she had a pale oval, olive-hued face, a charming mouth, and when she smiled, displayed a row of pearly teeth. Her air was haughty and imperious, and she looked at the visitors like a queen whose privacy has been intruded upon.
"I am Donna Maria," said she coldly. "May I ask, sir, why you insisted upon seeing me?"
She looked at Darrel, who did not respond, so amazed he was by her beauty; so after a glance of disapproval, the lady turned towards Torry, and repeated the question. The detective immediately unwrapped the parcel he carried, and held the hat out towards her.
"Is this hat yours?" he asked.
Donna Maria looked at it closely, then bowed. "It was mine," she admitted, "but some weeks ago I gave it to my maid."
"What was her name?"
"Julia Brawn; but you say, 'what was her name?' Why?"
"Because," replied Torry, looking steadily at her, "Julia Brawn has been murdered."
When Torry stated so coldly that Julia Braw was dead, Donna Maria turned pale, trembled violently, and would have fallen but that Darrel, noticing her fainting condition, sprang forward in time to catch her in his arms. In a moment, however, she hastily withdrew herself from his embrace, and recovered her self-composure. Seating herself on a sofa, she remained silent for a few moments, but the pallor of her face, and the trembling of her lips, shewed how difficult it was for her to command her feelings. When she found her voice again, it was to explain the reason of her emotion.
"After the death of my uncle," she said, in low tones, "anything of the same nature frightens me. That poor girl! It seems terrible that she should have met with the same tragic end as Mr. Grent."
Donna Maria spoke excellent English, with but a slight foreign accent, so it was evident that her teacher, Miss Hargone, had instructed her thoroughly well. Darrel, who, as a writer, had some claim to be a judge, was amazed by the fluency of her speech and the extent of her vocabulary. Apparently the young girl was a born linguist since she spoke, almost faultlessly, a tongue other than her own; but, perhaps, her undeniable beauty affected the heart of Darrel sufficiently to render him enthusiastic in his judgment. Torry, less susceptible, paid little attention to the girl's beauty or intelligence. He saw in her merely a witness to be interrogated, not a woman to be wooed, and forthwith proceeded to examine her in a cold-blooded manner, sufficiently exasperating to his ardent companion.
"Will you permit me, miss, to ask you a few questions?" he said politely.
"On what subject?" asked Donna Maria, with haughty astonishment.
"On the subject of this murder."
"I know nothing about it."
"You know the name of the dead woman?"
"If she wore that hat, which I gave her only a fortnight ago, I believe her to be my maid, Julia Brawn. But, on the other hand, sir, she may have given the hat to someone else."
"That is very true," replied Torry, gravely, while Darrel sat silently admiring the beauty of Maria Sandoval; "but this woman was tall and fair, with blue eyes and a scar on her right temple."
"That is her; that is Julia," cried Maria quickly. "She got that scar from falling from a tree when she was a girl. Poor creature! When was she killed?"
"A little over a week ago."
Donna Maria started and fixed her black eyes on Torry. "A week ago?" she repeated. "On what day?"
"On a Sunday morning; half an hour, more or less, after Mr. Grent was murdered."
"Holy Virgin!" cried the girl, half rising. "Where?"
"Near Cleopatra's Needle on the Thames Embankment."
"I read in the newspapers that a crime had been committed there," said Maria hurriedly, "but I did not think----"
"That there was a connection between her murder and that of Mr. Grent," finished Torry, with significance.
This time Maria fairly rose to her feet, and seemed much agitated. "Connection?" she stammered. "Impossible; what could Julia have to do with Mr. Grent?"
"That is what I wish to find out, miss. Julia Brawn met Mr. Grent in Mortality-lane and----"
"Killed him?"
"No; but she was accompanied by some unknown man, who did. Afterwards she and her confederate went to Cleopatra's Needle, and there she was killed."
"By her confederate?"
Darrel uttered an ejaculation. "That is a new idea," he said approvingly. "It might be so."
"Impossible," said Torry roughly. "If Julia was killed by her accomplice there would have been no need for the second Blue Mummy. Eh?"
The query was drawn from the detective by a sudden start on the part of Maria when he mentioned the Blue Mummy. "What do you know about it, miss?" he asked brusquely.
"About--about what?" she said nervously.
Ever confident in the power of a surprise to extort the truth, by unexpectedly startling the nerves. Torry drew the Blue Mummy, which he always carried with him, from his pocket, and tossed it lightly into the lap of Maria. "About that," he said abruptly.
The girl gave a faint cry, and looked down into her lap as though a snake were coiled in it, then quietly swooned away.
"Ah!" said Torry unmoved, "a guilty conscience!"
"You brute!" cried Darrel, starting to his feet, "don't you see the poor girl has fainted? Ring the bell? call the servants."
"Do neither," shouted the detective savagely; "Leave the matter to me. Get water out of that vase of flowers, and sprinkle it on her face. I have smelling salts here, which I always carry for cases of this kind. Oh, it is not the first time I have seen ladies faint when brought into contact with the law."
"What do you mean?" asked Darrel angrily, as he sprinkled the white face with water.
"I mean," said Torry, holding a bottle under Maria's nostrils, "That we shall have some strange revelations when this lady recovers."
"She is recovering now," cried Frank eagerly, "Thank God."
Donna Maria heaved a long sigh, and the colour began to come back slowly to her cheeks. Then she opened her eyes languidly and sat up with an effort. Torry had been judicious enough to put the image into his pocket again, and, at the first moments of her recovery, Maria could not collect her scattered senses sufficiently to remember what had occurred. All at once the memory came back, and, flushing a deep crimson, she staggered to her feet, and made as if to leave the room. Torry placed himself in her way.
"No, madam," said he, sternly, "you do not leave until you explain."
"Excuse me, sir, I am not well," faltered Maria appealingly.
But the detective was not to be moved by such feminine wiles, "You must remain and answer my questions," he said coldly.
"Torry," cried Frank, who was moved by the obvious distress of the girl, "this lady is ill. You can question her another time."
"I intend to question her now."
"You shall not do so unless she consents."
"Oh," said Torry, sneering, "of course, if Miss Sandoval is afraid--"
"I afraid?" interrupted Maria, her courage and coolness coming back at the contemptuous word. "Enough, sir. I shall remain and answer any questions you choose to put to me."
She seated herself like a queen about to receive the homage of courtiers, but found time to flash a glance of gratitude on Darrel for his championship. The young man felt his pulses thrill at the look in those glorious dark eyes, and sat down with rapidly-beating pulses. Torry the cold-blooded, long past the age of sentiment, merely nodded in dry approval of the lady's sense, and produced his notebook in order to set down her replies.
"Why did you faint at the sight of the Blue Mummy, miss?"
"Because it is connected in my mind with Mr. Grent, and the memory of his tragic death was too much for my nerves."
"What had Mr. Grent to do with the mummy?"
"I don't know. One day I saw an image, such as the one you shewed me, on his desk. I asked him what it was, and he explained that it was the symbol of a society."
"Of asecretsociety?"
"Yes."
"Let us say of a Peruvian secret society."
Maria hesitated. "Mr. Grent said that the image came from Peru, but he did not explain that the society belonged to the same place."
"What do you know about this society?"
"Nothing more than I have told you."
"But you are a native of Peru, miss?"
"I am; the daughter of Mrs. Grent's brother, and born in Lima. I came over to England to be a companion to my aunt."
"Then you must have heard about this secret society in your native land?"
"You mistake, sir," replied Donna Maria coldly. "I heard nothing."
"Was no mention made of the Blue Mummy?"
"Not in my hearing. My sole knowledge of the image you speak of was gained from Mr. Grent."
"You have told me everything?" he said.
"Everything."
Torry reflected. "Do you know if Mr. Grent was mixed up with this society in any way?"
"He never said so. I cannot say."
"Well," said Torry, rather disappointed at the failure of his efforts, "let us return to the subject of your maid. Her name was Julia Brawn?"
"It was."
"How long was she in your service?"
"Close on a year."
"When did she leave you?"
"About a week before the murder of Mr. Grent."
"You dismissed her?"
"No," said Maria calmly; "She was an excellent servant, and I was sorry to lose her. She left me of her own free will."
"For what reason?"
"I understood she was about to be married."
"Aha!" murmured Torry, "so there was a lover after all, and I daresay he killed Grent out of jealousy. Perhaps Julia is not so much an accomplice as a victim." He thought for a few moments, then continued his examination. "Do you know the name of the man she intended to marry?"
"No; I never heard her mention his name."
"Do you know if any man called to walk out with her?"
"Sir!" cried Maria indignantly. "I do not take sufficient interest in my servants to spy on them."
"Beg pardon--beg pardon," said Torry hastily, "Quite right. I should not have asked that question. So Julia Brawn left you?"
"Yes; and I gave her that hat when she went away."
"Did Mr. Grent take any notice of her while she was in the house?"
"Not that I know of," replied Donna Sandoval coldly. "I do not think he was even aware of her existence."
"Strange! Yet he met her in Mortality-lane."
"You say so," said Maria scornfully.
"Oh, it is true! I can prove it. She----"
"Don't trouble yourself to explain, sir. If Julia met Mr. Grent, she must have had some motive; but I tell you, he quite overlooked her here. I can think of no reason why a gentleman of my uncle's position should make an appointment with a servant."
"About as much reason as he had for disguising himself."
Maria sighed and shook her head. "It is a mystery," she declared. "I cannot understand it at all. Do you wish to ask me further questions, sir?"
"Yes. Did you visit Mr. Grent's rooms in Duke-street on the day of his death?"
The girl bit her lip and clenched her hands. "No," she said coldly. "No."
"Humph!" thought Torry. "That is a lie."