Here, then, was a new complication, and one entirely unforeseen. The dead man, false to his reputed character for uprightness and loyalty to his wife, had been in love with Lydia Hargone, and she, according to Donna Inez, while pretending an affection for Blake, was devoted to Frederick Leighbourne. Torry was so perplexed over the matter that he determined to adopt a frank and open policy, and visit Lydia and Leighbourne in turn. From one or the other he hoped to get at the truth of the accusations directed against them by Mrs. Grent.
With this idea the detective drove to Fleet-street the next morning and sent in his card to Frederick Leighbourne, with a request for an immediate interview. The young banker was annoyed by the visit, and very unskilfully shewed his annoyance when Torry was admitted into his room. For this peevishness, however, the detective cared little, so long as he secured an interview, and he seated himself near Frederick with a smiling face.
"It's a fine morning, sir," he said, cheerfully.
"Very," replied Frederick drily, "but I hardly presume that you came to tell me so."
"No, sir, that's very true. I came to have an interview with you about this case."
"I am at your service, sir. Go on."
"Well, sir," said Torry abruptly. "I saw Mrs. Grent yesterday."
Frederick started nervously, and looked anxiously at Torry. "And what did she say?" he asked, with an attempt at light conversation.
"That her husband was in love with Miss Hargone."
"That's a lie!" exclaimed Leighbourne loudly; then, checking his passion, he added: "It is the idle talk of a jealous woman. Mr. Grent was devoted to his wife, but she suspected him to be in love with every woman he spoke to. What else did she say?"
"That Miss Hargone was in love with you."
Leighbourne turned pale and then flushed a violent red, after which he jumped up in a furious rage. "Did you come here to insult me, Mr. Torry?" he inquired in a strangled voice.
"I?" ejaculated the detective with well-feigned surprise. "My good sir, what puts such an idea into your head. I know that Miss Hargone does not love you, for----"
"Why do you suppose so?" demanded Frederick angrily.
"Because she is engaged to Mr. Blake," said Torry, pleased with the success of his manœuvre.
Leighbourne muttered something under his breath not exactly complimentary to Blake, and took a turn up and down the apartment.
"Are you in love with Miss Hargone?" asked Torry demurely.
"Mind your own business?" cried Frederick, turning savagely on the man.
"I am minding it," answered the detective sharply. "I wish to know all about Miss Hargone, as it is my impression she is implicated in this murder."
"It is not true! It is not true! Miss Hargone is a good, true, pure girl."
"Oh," sneered Torry, "yet she paid a visit to Grent's chambers on the day he was killed. Hullo!"
He uttered this exclamation in sheer astonishment; for Frederick, in a frenzy of rage, had flung himself violently forward and was clutching at his throat. Torry, though fat and short, was stronger than his assailant, and, in a few minutes, forced back Leighbourne into his chair. While the young man sat there panting and furious he wiped his forehead, and spoke to him sharply.
"You have told me all I wish to know, Mr. Leighbourne, and without words. You love Miss Hargone."
"Yes, I do," said Frederick sullenly, "and it is a lie that she visited Grent."
"It is true," retorted Torry, "and I'll prove it to you in a few days, sir. More, I believe that she was about to elope with Grent to Italy when his death put an end to her schemes.
"No, No; I'll not believe it. She did not love Grent, she does not love Blake. I am the only one she cares for."
"It is my opinion that she cares only for herself."
"At any rate, she has nothing to do with this crime," muttered Frederick.
"That is just what I am going to find out."
"What; Do you intend to call on Miss Hargone and repeat this infamous conversation?"
"I do," replied Torry, and, with a short nod, left the room.
Leighbourne remained seated for some moments with a mixed expression of dismay and anger on his face. Then he seized his hat, and, leaving the bank, jumped into the first hansom, telling the cabman to drive to Waterloo Station. Here he found that a train was leaving for Wraybridge in fifteen minutes, and at once purchased a ticket. Thinking that Torry might be about, the young man kept himself in the background, and watched the entrance to the station. Soon he saw the detective drive up, buy a ticket, and take his seat in the train. Plainly it was no use to go to Wraybridge by the same train, as his presence might rouse the suspicions of Torry, so Mr. Leighbourne tore up his ticket and ran to the telegraph office. Here he sent a wire. It was addressed to "Hargone, Wray House, Wraybridge."
In the meantime Torry, not suspecting Frederick's prompt action, was spinning along to his destination, and wondering over the new features presented by the case. Especially did he wonder that Donna Inez, who manifested such hatred towards Lydia Hargone, should tolerate her in the house. This complaisance almost made Torry doubt the truth of Mrs. Grent's accusation. However, he resolved to force a confession out of Lydia by using cunning, as he had done in the case of Leighbourne.
On arriving at Wraybridge, Torry dispensed with a fly, as he had so much to think about in connection with this very puzzling case that he concluded to walk. The distance from the railway station was considerable, and it took quite half an hour for Torry, plump and short-winded, to walk to Wray House. At the great iron gates he found a telegraph boy, just about to mount his bicycle on the return journey to the office. In a moment Torry's thoughts flew back to Leighbourne's demeanour, and he spoke at once to the telegraph boy.
"Hullo, my young friend!" said he, artfully. "Do you know if there is a lady called Hargone living hereabouts?"
The boy grinned and pointed to the gates. "She lives inside there," he said. "I've just taken a telegram to her."
"That's queer!" replied Torry with a chuckle. "You're a smart lad; here's a shilling for you."
"Thankee, sir," said the boy jubilantly, and mounting his bicycle went off in a cloud of dust.
"Ah!" thought the detective as he walked up to the mansion, "so you have been forewarned, have you, Miss Hargone? That young rascal is smarter than I thought. I should have seen you first. Well, miss, we'll see who is the sharper--you or I."
Torry had not the same difficulty in entering the house as on the previous occasion, for the footman, knowing that he was the detective in charge of the Grent murder case, received him with respect and awe. He showed him into the same pleasant room in which he had conversed with Donna Maria, and took his card to Miss Hargone. In a short time that lady, suspiciously calm and alarmingly sweet, made her appearance, and welcomed Torry with much cordiality. This, as the sagacious detective guessed, was the effect of the telegram, which had advised her of his visit and probable questions. Miss Hargone had been forewarned; consequently, to Torry's grim amusement, she was forearmed.
"Good day, Mr. Torry," said she glibly. "I hope you have come to tell us that the assassin of poor Mr. Grent has been found."
"Well, no, miss," replied Torry, with feigned simplicity. "I came down to ask if you knew anything about it. That is, do you know anyone whom Mr. Grent regarded as his enemy?"
"I, sir?" cried Lydia indignantly, but with a slight tremour in her voice. "How can I possibly know such a thing? I was not in Mr. Grent's confidence."
"Yet you knew him well enough to visit him at his chambers in Duke-street."
Lydia's eyes flashed. "How dare you! how dare you!" she gasped. "Do you come here to blacken my character?"
"I come here to ask you why you visited Mr. Grent on the Saturday of his death."
"I did not! I deny that I visited him!
"Spare me these denials," said Torry contemptuously. "You went to Duke-street veiled, and thought to escape recognition; but that silver ring on your finger was recognised."
"This ring?" said Lydia, with a look of surprise, "Ah! now I see it all."
"All what?" asked Torry, wondering at her composure.
"One moment," said Miss Hargone, and touched the bell. When the servant appeared she gave him some instructions in a low voice; and when he withdrew returned to Torry. "I deny that I visited Mr. Grent," she said coolly; "and I can prove that what I say is true. You go by the evidence that I wore this ring on that day?"
"Yes; it is a peculiar ring, and was recognised when you removed your glove to pay the cabman."
"Well, we shall see. Here is Donna Maria."
The Spanish girl entered the room with a sad expression. She started when she saw Torry, but recovering herself, came forward with an air of composure, and bowed gravely. Then she turned to Lydia. "You sent for me, I believe," said she coldly.
"Yes, dear," replied the other, holding out the disputed ring in the palm of her hand. "I wish you to tell Mr. Torry how I lost this ring."
"How can that possibly interest him," said Maria, arching her brows.
"Pardon me, it does interest me," said Torry eagerly. "I should like to know."
"In that case I shall explain," answered Maria gravely. "Two months ago Miss Hargone lost her ring in the garden. We searched for it, but could not find it. A week before the death of my uncle, I picked it up in a flower bed, and slipped it on my finger, intending to return it. As you can see, I have done so. That is all."
"When did you return it?"
"When Miss Hargone came down here after the death of my uncle."
"And you wore it previously?"
"I did."
"On the third finger of the right hand?"
"Yes; but why do you----"
"I ask these questions, miss, because that ring was seen on your finger on the Saturday you visited your uncle's chambers."
Donna Maria turned pale. "I--I did----" she faltered.
"You told me a falsehood before," said Torry coldly. "Do you intend to tell me another?"
"No!" cried Maria, raising her head proudly. "I did visit those rooms."
It was with a triumphant smile on her lips that Lydia heard what Maria said about the ring and visit. When Torry was assured of the truth, she spoke to him with composure and some insolence.
"You see, sir," said she, "I did not wear my ring on that day, nor did I visit Mr. Ghent's chambers. You owe me an apology for your doubts."
"It would seem so," replied Torry with affected humility. "Do you think I owe Mr. Leighbourne one also?"
"Mr. Leighbourne?" echoed Miss Hargone coolly. "You mean the elder?"
"I mean the younger, the one from whom you received a telegram."
The unexpectedness of this query threw Lydia off her guard. "How do you know I received a telegram from him?" she asked.
"I met the telegraph boy and he told me."
"Told you that I had received a telegram?"
"Yes," said Torry truthfully.
"From Mr. Leighbourne, junior?"
"Yes," said Torry falsely. "Of course, you'll deny it?"
"No," said Lydia with brazen assurance; "why should I deny it?"
"Why indeed, miss, seeing that Mr. Frederick Leighbourne loves you."
"Does he, indeed? That is news to me."
"Ah!" sneered the detective, "will it be news to Mr. Blake?"
"Sir!" cried Miss Hargone, rising, with a flush of anger, "you are insolent!"
"No," said Torry, who wished to make her lose her temper that she might speak incautiously, "I am only candid. Donna Maria will agree with me, miss, that you are a very lucky young lady to be loved by three men. To be sure," added Torry, as to himself, "there are only two now."
Donna Maria, who had sat pale, calm, and silent during their conversation, darted a flaming glance at Lydia but said nothing. The look made the governess quail, but retaining her self-command, she pretended ignorance. She had a difficult part to play, but she played it well.
"I do not quite understand," said she quietly. "Perhaps, sir, you will explain. Who are my lovers?"
"Mr. Blake to whom you are engaged; Mr. Frederick Leighbourne, with whom you have some understanding; and the late Mr. Grent."
Lydia grew red. "I am engaged to Roderick Blake," she said, "and he trusts me too much to believe your insinuations. With Mr. Leighbourne I have nothing to do."
"Save in the way of telegrams," put in Torry drily.
"That telegram contained an intimation that Mr. Leighbourne had found a situation for me," cried Lydia hotly. "I asked him to interest himself on my behalf."
"In that case you will not mind shewing me the telegram, miss?"
"I cannot; I tore it up."
"You can collect the pieces, and----"
"I cannot; I threw the pieces into the fire."
"Really? A fire in summer time--how strange."
At this last thrust Miss Hargone lost her temper. "Understand, Mr. Torry," she cried, "that the telegram concerns me and no one else. I decline to shew it to you."
"I quite believe that, as it has to do with this murder."
"You dare to accuse me of that?" gasped Lydia, jumping up.
Torry shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said coolly, "I don't think you killed the man yourself; but you know who did."
"It is a lie," said the governess in a passionate voice, and sat down again.
"It is the truth," said Donna Maria gravely, and when Lydia turned an amazed face towards her she repeated solemnly: "It is the truth."
"Oh, oh," chuckled the detective, rubbing his hands at the idea of a quarrel between the two women, "now we shall hear something amusing."
At first Lydia could not believe that her friend was in earnest, and stammered out something about not understanding. To this Maria made a prompt and sharp reply.
"You understand well enough. My aunt complained of your conduct with Mr. Grent. I did not believe that you would behave so with a married man old enough to be your father. It was to show that I believed in your innocence that I asked you down here. My aunt objected to the invitation, but I insisted upon its being sent. You accepted; you came; you are here."
"Here, to save you trouble," cried Lydia venomously. "You would not have asked me had it not been to get something out of me."
"You judge me by yourself," said Donna Sandoval coldly. "I asked you here to reconcile you, if possible, with my aunt, but she refuses to be reconciled, as she believes that you let Mr. Grent make love to you."
"It is not true; It is not true. Remember," said Lydia with a sneer, "it was not I who called at Mr. Grent's chambers."
"I know it; but it was you who sent my maid Julia to see Mr. Grent in Mortality-lane."
"Ha!" cried Torry, much surprised. "Are you sure of that?"
"I am. I can prove it."
Lydia was pale and uneasy, and avoided the eye of the detective. Nevertheless, as the situation was awkward, and even dangerous, she assumed a defiant air to mask the fear she felt.
"How can you prove it?" she demanded.
"By means of that fawn-coloured mantle trimmed with black lace."
"Your mantle?" said Torry, recollecting a previous conversation with Maria.
"No, not mine; it belongs to Miss Hargone."
"But you said--"
"I know what I said," interrupted Maria, reddening slightly--"that the mantle was mine. I lied in order to shield Lydia. Yes," she continued, addressing Miss Hargone directly, "I was your friend, and as such defended you against the aspersions of my aunt, but now, as I find that you trapped me by that ring into confessing that I visited my uncle in London; when I see that, to save yourself, you are willing to sacrifice me, I renounce your friendship, and I order you to leave this house. Never dare to show your face here again."
Lydia, who had turned red and pale by turns, now rose to her feet, with a malignant expression on her face. "I shall go," said she slowly "and only too willingly; but first--"
"First," interrupted Torry, "you must explain how Julia Brawn became possessed of your mantle."
"I gave it to her, in the same way that Donna Maria presented her with the hat. If," she continued insolently, "articles of cast-off clothing are to be taken as evidence of my connection with the crime, Donna Maria is as guilty as I am."
"Not so," corrected the Spanish girl. "I gave the hat to Julia a long time ago--in fact, a week before she left my service, and she left that quite seven days before the murder. But as to your mantle, when I was up in London, on the day when the crime was committed--Saturday----"
"Pardon, the murder, took place on Sunday morning after midnight," said Torry precisely.
"Well on the day before the murder I saw Miss Hargone in Piccadilly. She wore that mantle."
"I did not!" contradicted Lydia very pale.
"You did. Mr. Vass was with me, and can prove it. I believe you gave that mantle to Julia, so that she might meet Mr. Grent and delude him into the belief that she was you."
"Ah!" cried Torry, recollecting the double ticket. "Then you, Miss, were the woman with whom Mr. Grent intended to travel to Genoa?"
"No! no! no!" cried Lydia in her turn. "I utterly deny it. Why should I have met Mr. Grent? I swear I did not meet him."
"No," sneered Maria, "you sent Julia in your mantle."
"I did not. Julia came to my lodgings that day and told me she was going to be married the next. As a wedding present I gave her the mantle, for which I had no further use. Julia said nothing about meeting anyone. When I heard of her death I was as astonished as anyone. But I shall no longer remain to be insulted here," she cried in a fury. "I shall pack my box and leave at once."
"The best thing you can do," said Torry, who was scribbling in his notebook.
"But before I go," said Lydia, turning at the door with a venomous look, "I should advise you, Mr. Torry, to ask Donna Maria why she visited her uncle--secretly!" And, spitting out the last word like an angry cat, the fair Lydia, disgraced but impenitent, left the room.
"All in good time," remarked Torry, tearing a leaf out of his book. "Will you kindly send a servant with this to the telegraph office, miss?"
Donna Maria touched the bell, a servant appeared, and to him Torry delivered the leaf which he had scribbled on.
"Send someone with this to the telegraph office at Wraybridge Railway Station?" he said. "If anyone of you can ride a bicycle, make him the messenger. I wish this wire despatched as promptly as possible."
When the servant retired Donna Maria asked with some curiosity for details of the important message which was to be sent off in such haste. Torry replied to her prompt and frankly:
"It is a message to my friend, Mr. Darrel, miss, telling him to take a detective with him and await Miss Hargone's arrival at Waterloo Station."
"What! do you intend to have her arrested?"
"Not yet," replied Torry with significance. "I intend to have her watched. The detective will not lose sight of her, so, if she is really concerned in this murder, she will sooner or later betray herself by some indiscreet action. But now, miss," added the detective cheerfully, "You must answer me a few questions."
"Certainly," replied Donna Maria with an embarrassed look. "You know I am only too happy to assist you in every way."
"H'm!" said Torry doubtfully. "What about Mr. Vass? You met him on that day?"
"Yes; in Piccadilly."
"Was it by appointment?"
"No, by accident."
"Did he see your uncle?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then what was he doing in the West End so far from the bank?"
"He casually mentioned that he was executing a commission for Mr. Frederick Leighbourne."
"Do you know what the commission was?"
"No," replied Maria haughtily, "I do not."
"You saw Mr. Grent, I believe?"
"Yes; for some ten minutes or so."
"On business?"
"On private business," said Maria with emphasis.
"H'm! Would you mind explaining what that private business was about?"
"I mind very much."
"You refuse to explain?"
"Yes!" said Miss Sandoval. "I refuse--absolutely."
Educated by experience and the necessities of his profession, Torry was not a man who lost his temper easily; but when he left Wray House he was in as great a rage as he well could be. Never had he met with so obstinate a woman as Donna Maria, or one who knew better how to keep a secret. She steadily refused to explain the reason of her visit to Grent, or to reveal the conversation which had taken place between them. Threats she laughed at, persuasion she smiled at; and Torry, who flattered himself on his cunning, was forced to take his departure without gaining her confidence. He went as wise as he came. On arriving in town, he first had something to eat, after which he drove off to Darrel. The novelist informed him that Lydia had duly arrived, with a small box, and he had pointed her out to a detective procured from Scotland Yard. The man had followed her at once, and Darrel having discharged his mission, had returned home.
In return for this news Torry, not without some display of ill-temper, detailed his unsuccessful attempts to make Donna Maria confess. Darrel commiserated the detective, but could not forbear eulogising the girl, much to Torry's disgust.
"Upon my soul," said he grumbling, "I believe your sympathies are with her, merely because she has a pretty face."
"Pretty!" echoed Frank, indignantly. "If there is one word in English tongue which does not apply to Donna Maria Sandoval, that word is 'pretty.' Why, man, she is one of the most beautiful women in the world!"
"She is certainly the most obstinate," said Torry drily. "I am satisfied she knows something likely to lead to the detection of the criminal."
"Bah! that is your fancy!"
"It is my belief," insisted Torry seriously. "Also, I am certain that there is some connection between her and Vass."
"What do you mean?" cried Darrel, indignant that the slightest slur should be cast on the character of the woman he worshipped.
"Oh! you needn't get so angry," said Torry with a shrug. "I am convinced there is no love affair between them. I'm not so sure in your case."
"Never mind me," said the novelist, blushing; "go on with your explanation."
"It is very simple. Donna Maria and Vass have an understanding relative to this murder."
"You don't believe they know the assassin?" cried Darrel, aghast.
"I haven't got so far as that; but, they know something of the Blue Mummy Society, for the sight of the tomb-image had the same effect--even a worse one--on them as it had on Blake. And the society according to Blake, is responsible for the Grent and Brawn murders."
"By the hand of Manuel," said Frank, "and you deny his guilt?"
"Yes, I do," retorted the detective energetically. "But we argued that point before. Let it pass. To return to Vass and Donna Maria: it is strange that they should have met in the West End on the very day, so to speak of the murder."
"Accident!"
"Bah! I don't believe in these sort of accidents. Well, I have failed to extort the truth from the lady; perhaps the gentleman may be more amenable to reason. I shall see Vass to-morrow."
There was a short silence during which Darrel reflected seriously about the aspect of the case. In a moment or so he raised his head. "It seems to me," said he, "that while suspecting Donna Maria and Vass over-much you don't suspect Lydia Hargone sufficiently."
"I don't know so much about that," said Torry with a dry smile. "I am having her watched. She does not know that, and acting in fancy security, may betray herself. I explained this to Donna Maria."
"What do you think of this mantle affair?"
"Why, I incline to Miss Sandoval's views. I believe that Grent was in love with Lydia, and that for her own purposes--whatever they may be--she encouraged his folly so openly as to incur the suspicions of Donna Inez. Also, I believe that she promised to elope to Italy with Grent, but instead of going herself sent Julia. Grent, recognising the mantle, and not seeing the face, which--if you remember the cabman's evidence--was veiled, thought it was Lydia's. Then----" Torry stopped.
"Then?" queried Darrel impatiently.
"Faith, as Blake would say, you'll have to supply the rest of the story from your imagination; mine won't carry me further."
"Well," said Frank, humouring his fancy, "say that Julia had a lover, who followed her by stealth to this rendezvous, and killed Grent out of jealousy."
Torry shook his head. "That explains one death, but not the other. Besides," he added gravely, "I have questioned all the servants at Wray House, and I cannot find that Julia had any lover. No, no, this mystery is not to be explained by such simple means. What does Blake say?"
"He insists that Manuel is guilty, even in the face of your argument."
"He's a fool. What about Manuel?"
"I saw him to-day, and he declares that if the lost money is not found and restored there will be trouble from the society."
"He's a fool also. Does he think this is Peru, to assassinate innocent people with impunity? We have had enough of mysterious murders and enigmatic Blue Mummies. Well, good night, Mr. Darrel. I'll see Vass to-morrow and find out what he knows."
Torry went off briskly, confident that he would succeed easier with Vass than he had with Donna Maria. The secretary was a weak-minded man, the Spanish lady a strong-minded woman; so if the pair were confederates, as the detective suspected them to be, he determined to learn the secret of their partnership by examining the most easily terrified of the two. This was Vass, who was an effeminate, hysterical creature, hardly worthy to be called a man. He, if anyone, could be coerced into revealing the truth of the conspiracy.
Next day, shortly before twelve o'clock, Torry called at the Fleet-street bank, and requested an interview with Vass. The secretary appeared unwilling to grant one, but as he had no option in the face of the detective's authority, he was reluctantly compelled to accede to the request, and conducted his unwelcome visitor, into the private room of Mr. Grent. Torry, who had a retentive memory, recognised this famous apartment.
"Ah," said he playfully, "yonder is the private safe. What a pity it cannot speak and tell us the truth!"
"The truth?" repeated Vass unsteadily.
"About the stolen notes. Don't look so pale, sir; I know you did not steal them. But I wish I knew who did. The numbers have not been traced by any of your people?"
Vass shook his head. "No. We have made all inquiries, but we can learn nothing. Did you come to speak about the notes!"
"Not exactly. I came to ask you what you were doing in Piccadilly on the day Mr. Grent was murdered."
"He was murdered on Sunday. I was not in the West End on that day."
"Oh," said Torry noting the quibble, "you need not be so accurate as to time, my dear sir. I know as well as you do that Grent was murdered on Sunday morning after midnight, but for the sake of convenience I'll say Saturday. You were in the West End on Saturday."
"Who says I was?"
"Miss Sandoval."
"Donna Maria?"
"Yes; she met you in Piccadilly on the afternoon of Saturday."
"And why not, Mr. Torry. It was after office hours, and I have a right to go where I like. But if you wish me to explain I am quite willing to do so. I was in Piccadilly executing some business for Mr. Frederick Leighbourne."
This explanation was the same as that given by Donna Maria, so Torry deemed it to be the true one. He therefore abandoned this point, to take up another one, and introduced the latter by glancing round the room.
"You have a comfortable apartment here, Mr. Vass."
"It is the late Mr. Grent's private office," replied the secretary sullenly, "and I remain in it by the order of Mr. Leighbourne, senior, to sort out the papers of his dead partner."
"Did you sit here when Mr. Grent was away?"
"Always."
"Then, on the Saturday we speak of, you were sitting here?"
"I was."
"Aha," said Torry, with a satisfied nod. "Now, who came into the room when you were here?"
"Various people."
"Connected with the bank?"
"Mostly connected with the bank."
"Did Donna Maria Sandoval call?" asked Torry suddenly.
"Yes," said Vass quietly "She did. I see no reason to deny her visit; it was made openly and for a purpose."
"What purpose?"
Vass wriggled uneasily in his seat. "Am I obliged to answer that question, Mr. Torry?"
"Not unless you like; not unless Donna Maria came here for a purpose of which she was ashamed."
The detective said this purposely to insult Donna Maria, so that he might discover if Vass loved her, but the secretary never changed colour or lost his temper; so Torry was convinced that he had not given his heart to the beautiful Spaniard.
"Donna Maria never does anything to be ashamed of," he replied in calm tones. "If you wish to know the reason of her visit I can tell you. She came at the request of Mr. Grent, to get his travelling tickets."
"Oh, the tickets, the two tickets for Italy?"
"Yes. Mr. Grent left them here by mistake, and Donna Maria called for them. I found them, gave them to her, and I believe she visited her uncle in Duke-street to deliver them to him."
This, then, explained Miss Sandoval's visit to Duke-street, and the reason was apparently an innocent one; so innocent, indeed, that Torry wondered why the girl had not confessed it. "Unless," thought he, "This is a lying explanation arranged for between Donna Maria and Vass to quiet my suspicions."
He was about to ask a few questions with a view to discover if his suspicions were correct, when there was a knock at the door, and almost immediately it opened to admit Manuel. The Spaniard seemed greatly excited, and advanced towards Vass, but stopped short when he saw Torry.
"The policeman!" he said. "Aha, very good; so much the better. I wish to see you."
"What is the matter?" asked Torry and Vass together.
"Those notes."
"Yes, the ten thousand pounds."
Captain Manuel placed a package on the table. "Here are the bank-notes." he said in excited tones, "returned to me last night."
Decidedly, this case was full of surprises; and Torry, with all his life-long experience, could recall no affair in connection with which so many unexpected things had happened. The reappearance of the long-lost bank notes was not the least of these strange occurrences. Both detective and secretary were so startled that they could only stare stupidly at the parcel lying before them on the table, and wait to hear what Captain Manuel had to say. The Spaniard sat down, and lost no time in detailing how the lost property had come again into his possession.
"Yes," said he, twisting his moustache, "it is really strange. I stay, as you know, Mr. Policeman, at the Guelph Hotel, Jermyn-street. Well, last night, on nine of the clock, a parcel--that parcel--was given to the porter of the house by a stranger, with a word to give it to me. I was amusing myself at the theatre, and not until midnight did I return to find this"--he pointed to the package--"in my room, on the table. I open it, I find the money of my society, so I am much astonished. All night I sleep not, but I wonder. This morning, I go to the office of Mr. Policeman, but he is out. Then I come to tell Mr. Vass that the lost money is with me, and I find Mr. Policeman is here. I enter, I tell my story, and--voilà tout, finished Manuel, with a French expression and French grace."
"How strange," said Vass, who appeared to be fascinated by Manuel's recital.
"Most extraordinary," chimed in Torry, with his eyes fixed on the parcel of bank notes. He was trying to fathom the meaning of this restoration of stolen property, but could not. The thought crossed his mind that Manuel might have stolen the money himself, and was playing the comedy of restoration to save himself from figuring as a corpse with a tomb-image beside him. But, then, the Captain had no need to become a thief, since the money continued always in his possession; and, if he had risked his neck to get it, he certainly would not thus tamely surrender his plunder. No! it was not Manuel who was the thief; but Torry could not conjecture who was. Nor could he fathom the motive of the thief in thus making restitution. It was inexplicable.
"What do you make of it, sir?" asked Manuel, looking at Torry's thoughtful face.
"I don't know what to make of it!" responded the detective.
"At all events," cried Vass eagerly, "this restitution shows that Mr. Grent did not take the money. As he is dead he could not have restored it."
"That is true," said Torry ironically; "but Grent might have been robbed of the money, and then his assassin, feeling compunction, might thus give it up."
Manuel sneered. "If that is all you have to say I think it foolish," he said. "A man would not commit two murders for money, and then give up what had cost him so dearly to gain."
"True again," said the detective thoughtfully. "Well, we must find some other explanation. We may arrive at one by making a few inquiries. You did not see the man who brought back the notes, Captain?"
"No! I amused myself as I remarked," said the Spaniard; "but to the porter I spoke of him."
"What did the porter say?"
"That this man possessed red hair and beard."
"Aha!" cried Torry, cracking his fingers, "the same disguise as that assumed by Grent. Was this man a gentleman?"
Manuel shrugged his shoulders. "But who can say," he replied, "this man had on a large coat, and a hat on his eyes. Only the beard and hair did the porter see."
"Still, his mode of speech?"
"Mr. Policeman, he said but four words. What could be known of his rank by four words?"
"What were the four words?"
"For Captain Manuel, this," repeated the Spaniard. "And then sir, this man gave the packet and departed."
"Humph! I wonder if he was the assassin."
"No!" cried Vass with energy. "The murderer would not run the risk of arrest. For my part," added the secretary emphatically, "I do not believe that the two crimes have anything to do with one another."
"In that case, it is strange that they should occur almost simultaneously."
"A coincidence!"
"That may be, Mr. Vass," said Manuel unrolling the parcel and shewing the notes. "But here we have something which is not a coincidence, and which I can explain not. These notes!"
"Well, sir!" asked Torry. "What about them? They are your bank notes."
"Not really; the numbers are different."
"Oh! oh! oh!" murmured the detective with interest, "it would seem that this assassin is a very ingenious fellow in hiding his trail. So the numbers are different!"
"Yes, every number I have a list here of the numbers marked on the bank notes I bestowed on Mr. Grent. Look for yourself, Mr. Policeman, there is no number in the notes equal to the numbers in the list. It is strange!"
"It is maddening!" cried Torry with vexation. "I do not believe we shall ever unravel this mystery. Let me see."
He took the list presented by Manuel, and compared the numbers on it with those of the bank notes; but not in one instance were they the same. There were twenty notes, each for five hundred pounds, in all ten thousand; but the numbers in every case were different.
"It is strange, as you say, Captain Manuel," observed Torry, frowning. "Five hundred pound bank notes are not easily changed; yet the assassin has changed twenty of them, and we cannot trace any one of the transactions."
"Why do you insist that the assassin changed the notes?" asked Vass, a trifle pettishly.
"Because I believe that these notes were the motive of this murder of Mr. Grent."
"In that case he would have had them in his possession on the night he was murdered; whereas----"
"Whereas, my dear Mr. Vass, you deny that he took them out of the private safe."
"I do," replied Vass stoutly. "They were there after Mr. Grent departed."
"Then whosoever took them must have possessed the key, since the safe was not broken open."
"I suppose so. But you can't suspect me, sir, Mr. Leighbourne saw, with me, that the notes were in the safe on Friday; and as I was ill for two or three days and absent from the bank, I could not have taken them. Also," continued Vass, defending himself with vigour. "If I had stolen them, I should have put Captain Manuel off with some excuse, and not having jeopardised my character and liberty by confessing that the money was gone."
"Quite so," assented Torry sweetly--he had been employed in copying the list of Captain Manuel, and the numbers of the notes into his pocket-book--"but permit me to observe, Mr. Vass that you talk too much. No one, so far as I know, has accused you of theft!"
The secretary turned red, and, with some confusion, sat down. Manuel, who had been listening with ill-concealed impatience, restored the notes and list to his pocket.
"So for as I am concerned," said he, putting on his hat, "my connection with these matters is at an end. The money of the society has been recovered, and I have no further interest in Mr. Grent or his death."
"Have you any interest in his niece, Captain?"
"Dios!" swore the Spaniard, reddening, "what has that to do with you?"
"Oh, nothing; but I understand that you are in love with Donna Maria."
"I may be, or I may not be," returned Manuel, in a haughty and offensive tone. "In any case it is not for common people to criticise the private affairs of their superiors;" and with a scathing glance the Captain strode out of the room.
"I owe you one for that, my good sir," thought Torry, rather mortified, the more so as Vass was smiling. However, his annoyance did not betray itself in his face, which was as suave and bland as ever. He turned sharply on the still smiling secretary.
"Is Mr. Leighbourne in his office?" he asked.
"Both of the Mr. Leighbournes are here. Which one do you inquire for?"
"The father. I wish to see him."
"What about?" stammered Vass nervously.
"That is my business. Go and ask if I can see him."
Vass did not like to be ordered about in this fashion, especially by an inferior, but as he was secretly afraid of the detective, he obeyed him without argument. The result was that in five minutes Torry found himself alone with Mr. Leighbourne, senior.
"You wish to see me, I believe," said the banker.
Torry looked at the portly old man, who resembled so closely his son, Frederick, and replied with all promptness. "Yes; I desire to ask you a few questions."
"You are the detective charged with the discovery of my late partner's murderer?"
"I am, and to assist me in doing so I wish to question you."
"By all means," replied Leighbourne graciously. "I am most anxious that the scoundrel should be caught and punished. He killed a good man."
"Ah! Do you consider that the late Mr. Grent was a good man, sir?"
"Most certainly; an excellent and upright gentleman."
"Had he no faults?"
"We all have faults," said Leighbourne enigmatically. "But are these the questions you wish to put to me?"
"Some of them. If you will permit me to conduct this examination in my own way I may arrive at some result."
"Very well, sir," said the banker with some stiffness, "I am at your service."
"Then tell me what you consider was Mr. Grent's gravest fault?"
"To my mind he was too speculative."
"Aha; he speculated!"
"Yes, and not in the safest way."
"He lost money?"
Leighbourne hesitated. "Yes he lost money," was his reply; "but I do not----"
"In fact," interrupted Torry sharply, "if Mr. Grent had lived he would have been a ruined man."
"How dare you say so?" cried Leighbourne, much agitated.
"Because it is true."
"I do not say so."
"Oh, I can guess the truth from what you don't say. Mr. Grent was ruined, and, seeing no way of recovering himself in England resolved to fly. In some way--I don't know how--he became possessed of ten thousand pounds which was in his private safe, and was prepared to fly with Miss Hargone to South America, when he was killed. Now, what do you say?"
"Say?" echoed Leighbourne, "that every word you have uttered is false."