Christopher Quarles Part 41

"No; both ladies went away on Sunday morning. They often go either Sat.u.r.day or Sunday, and come back some time on Monday. You might find them later in the evening. There's nothing wrong, is there?" he added, as though the respectability of the Mansions was a matter of concern to him.

"Why should you think so?"

"I'm old-fashioned, I suppose, and I expect to hear queer things about theatrical folk; besides, there's a friend of Miss Wickham's been here three times to-day, and he seemed worried at not finding her."

"Oh, you mean Mr. Rowton," I said, and the porter fell into the trap.

"No, I don't know him. This was Mr. Marsh--the Honorable Percival Marsh."

"He's been, has he?" I said, keeping up the deception to allay the man's suspicions. "I must try and see him."

"He lives in Jermyn Street, you know."

"Yes; I shall go there."

But I did not go to Jermyn Street at once; I went to see Quarles.

"I'm perplexed, Wigan," said the professor before I could utter a word. "I've seen a man with a stiletto driven into his neck, yet, as soon as I begin to think of the murderer, something seems to tell me it wasn't murder."

I smiled at his foolishness and told him what I had done.

"What time to-day did this Mr. Marsh first go to River Mansions?"

Quarles asked when I had finished.

"The porter didn't say."

"They're not expensive flats, are they?"

"No."

"You've got on the trail cleverly, but you haven't proved it murder yet," he said. "The first question Zena asked me was whether I was certain the stiletto wasn't a hatpin."

"There might be a pair, and so it would be a clew," explained Zena.

"It was too much of a weapon for a hatpin," I said.

"Exactly my answer," said Quarles, "and Zena went and fetched that thing lying on the writing-table. That came from Norway and is a hatpin, though you might not think it."

It was indeed a fearsome looking weapon, and a deadly stroke might be dealt with it.

"I'm perplexed, Wigan," the professor went on. "I'm a man in a wood and can't find my way out. That is literal rather than a figure of speech. In my endeavor to get out and look for a murderer I seem to keep on hurting myself against the trunks and branches of trees, and out of the darkness about me wild animals seem to roar with laughter at my idea of murder. What do you make of it?"

"You have been reading some ancient mythology, dear," said Zena, "and I expect the great G.o.d Pan has got on your nerves. Didn't a solemn voice from the Ionian Sea proclaim him to be dead? Perhaps he isn't."

Quarles looked at her and nodded.

"Come out of the wood, professor," I said, "and we'll go and interview Marsh in Jermyn Street."

Knowing him as I did, I had no doubt that he had formed a theory, and, until he had found whether there were any facts to support it, was pleased to play the fool. I was rather angry, but showing annoyance served no useful purpose with him. He was keen enough when we found Percival Marsh at home.

There are scores like Percival Marsh in London; no great harm in them, certainly no great good; chiefly idlers, always spendthrifts, who may end by settling down into decent citizens or may go completely to the devil. It was quite evident he took us for duns when we entered, but there was no mistaking his concern when I told him we had come to talk about Miss Wickham.

"I called upon her this afternoon," I said. "She was not at home. You will not be surprised, since I hear you have been there several times to-day."

"Why did you call upon her?"

"To ask why she went to see Mr. Seligmann, of Hampstead, on Sat.u.r.day night."

"Did she go there?"

"Your manner tells me that you know she did, and your anxiety about her to-day convinces me that you have seen some account of the Hampstead tragedy."

"I do not know that she went there, but she knew Seligmann. I think that accounts for my anxiety."

"And for some reason you think it within the bounds of possibility that Miss Wickham may have attacked him. I may tell you that I do not believe she is responsible for the murder."

He did not answer.

Quarles, who had been gazing round the room, apparently uninterested in the conversation, turned suddenly.

"Evidently you don't agree with my friend, Mr. Marsh. You are not quite sure that Miss Wickham is innocent. It is a painful subject. May I ask if you are engaged to Miss Wickham?"

"Really, you----"

"I quite understand," said Quarles. "I am man of the world enough to understand the desirability of keeping such things secret. Family reasons. Her position and yours are so different. It would be awkward if such an engagement were to mean the stoppage of supplies. The head of the family has to be thought of. Peers do not always go to the stage for their wives."

"Sir, you overstep the limits of our short acquaintance," said Marsh with some dignity.

"Let me tell you, sir, that you treat the affair far too cavalierly.

It looks as if Mr. Seligmann had been killed by a man rather than by a woman. You couldn't have read of the murder till this afternoon, yet you went to River Mansions this morning."

"What are you attempting to suggest?" Marsh asked, his face pale, either with fear or anger.

"I suggest that you know why Miss Wickham went to Mr. Seligmann and that it was upon some matter which concerned yourself."

"Do you know Seligmann?" Marsh asked.

"I know a great deal about him."

"Then you know that he was a different man, according to his company.

You may only have seen the decent side of him, but he was a blood-sucker of the worst description."

"So he had you in his money-lending hands, had he?"

"He had. Morally, I had paid my debt, but a legal quibble kept me in his power, and he refused to give up certain papers of mine."

"Which you had no right to part with, I presume," said Quarles.

"Miss Wickham said she had some influence with Seligmann," Marsh went on, taking no notice of the professor's remark, "and said she would try and get the papers back."