The Disentanglers Part 49

'Luckily you are a favourite of hers,' said Lumley.

In ten minutes the pair entered the study. Mrs. Lumley, a tall lady, as Merton had said, came in, laughing and blushing.

'I shall drive with you myself to the train. My maid must be in the secret,' she said.

'She is an old acquaintance of mine,' said Merton. 'But I think you had better not come with me to the station. n.o.body is likely to see me, leaving your house about nine, with my veil down. But, if any one _does_ see me, he must take me for you.'

'Oh, it is I who am running up to town incognita?'

'For a day or two--you will lend me a portmanteau to give local colour?'

'With pleasure,' said Mrs. Lumley.

'And Lumley will telegraph to Trevor to meet you at King's Cross, with his brougham, at 6.15 P. M.?'

This also was agreed to, and so ended this romance of Bradshaw.

IV. Greek meets Greek

At about twenty-five minutes to seven, on March 7, the express entered King's Cross. A lady of fashionable appearance, with her veil down, gazed anxiously out of the window of a reserved carriage. She presently detected the person for whom she was looking, and waved her parasol.

Trevor, lifting his hat, approached; the lady had withdrawn into the carriage, and he entered.

'Mum's the word!' said the lady.

'Why, it's--hang it all, it's Merton!'

'Your sister is staying with you?' asked Merton eagerly.

'Yes; but what on earth--'

'I'll tell you in the brougham. But you take a weight off my bosom! I am going to stay with you for a day or two; and now my reputation (or Mrs. Lumley's) is safe. Your servants never saw Mrs. Lumley?'

'Never,' said Trevor.

'All right! My portmanteau has her initials, S. M. L., and a crimson ticket; send a porter for it. Now take me to the brougham.'

Trevor offered his arm and carried the dressing-bag; the lady was led to his carriage. The portmanteau was recovered, and they drove away.

'Give me a cigarette,' said Merton, 'and I'll tell you all about it.'

He told Trevor all about it--except about the emu's feathers.

'But a male disguise would have done as well,' said Trevor

'Not a bit. It would not have suited what I have to do in town. I cannot tell you why. The affair is complex. I have to settle it, if I can, so that neither Logan nor any one else--except the body-s.n.a.t.c.her and polite letter-writer--shall ever know how I managed it.'

Trevor had to be content with this reply. He took Merton, when they arrived, into the smoking-room, rang for tea, and 'squared his sister,'

as he said, in the drawing-room. The pair were dining out, and after a solitary dinner, Merton (in a tea-gown) occupied himself with literary composition. He put his work in a large envelope, sealed it, marked it with a St. Andrew's cross, and, when Trevor returned, asked him to put it in his safe. 'Two days after to-morrow, if I do not appear, you must open the envelope and read the contents,' he said.

After luncheon on the following day--a wet day--Miss Trevor and Merton (who was still arrayed as Mrs. Lumley) went out shopping. Miss Trevor then drove off to pay a visit (Merton could not let her know his next move), and he himself, his veil down, took a four-wheeled cab, and drove to Madame Claudine's. He made one or two purchases, and then asked for the head of the establishment, an Irish lady. To her he confided that he had to break a piece of distressing family news to Miss Markham, of the cloak department; that young lady was summoned; Madame Claudine, with a face of sympathy, ushered them into her private room, and went off to see a customer. Miss Markham was pale and trembling; Merton himself felt agitated.

'Is it about my father, or--' the girl asked.

'Pray be calm,' said Merton. 'Sit down. Both are well.'

The girl started. 'Your voice--' she said.

'Exactly,' said Merton; 'you know me.' And taking off his glove, he showed a curious mediaeval ring, familiar to his friends. 'I could get at you in no other way than this,' he said, 'and it was absolutely necessary to see you.'

'What is it? I know it is about my father,' said the girl.

'He has done us a great service,' said Merton soothingly. He had guessed what the 'distressing circ.u.mstances' were in which the marquis had been restored to life. Perhaps the reader guesses? A discreet person, who has secretly to take charge of a corpse of pecuniary value, adopts certain measures (discovered by the genius of ancient Egypt), for its preservation. These measures, doubtless, had revived the marquis, who thus owed his life to his kidnapper.

'He has, I think, done us a great service,' Merton repeated; and the girl's colour returned to her beautiful face, that had been of marble.

'Yet there are untoward circ.u.mstances,' Merton admitted. 'I wish to ask you two or three questions. I must give you my word of honour that I have no intention of injuring your father. The reverse; I am really acting in his interests. Now, first, he has practised in Australia. May I ask if he was interested in the Aborigines?'

'Yes, very much,' said the girl, entirely puzzled. 'But,' she added, 'he was never in the Labour trade.'

'Blackbird catching?' said Merton. 'No. But he had, perhaps, a collection of native arms and implements?'

'Yes; a very fine one.'

'Among them were, perhaps, some curious native shoes, made of emu's feathers--they are called _Interlinia_ or, by white men, _Kurdaitcha_ shoes?'

'I don't remember the name,' said Miss Markham, 'but he had quite a number of them. The natives wear them to conceal their tracks when they go on a revenge party.'

Merton's guess was now a certainty. The marquis had spoken of Miss Markham's father as a 'landlouping' Australian doctor. The footmarks of the feathered shoes in the snow at Kirkburn proved that an article which only an Australian (or an anthropologist) was likely to know of had been used by the body-s.n.a.t.c.hers.

Merton reflected. Should he ask the girl whether she had told her father what, on the night of the marquis's appearance at the office, Logan had told her? He decided that this was superfluous; of course she had told her father, and the doctor had taken his measures (and the body of the marquis) accordingly. To ask a question would only be to enlighten the girl.

'That is very interesting,' said Merton. 'Now, I won't pretend that I disguised myself in this way merely to ask you about Australian curiosities. The truth is that, in your father's interests, I must have an interview with him.'

'You don't mean to do him any harm?' asked the girl anxiously.

'I have given you my word of honour. As things stand, I do not conceal from you that I am the only person who can save him from a situation which might be disagreeable, and that is what I want to do.'

'He will be quite safe if he sees you?' asked the girl, wringing her hands.

'That is the only way in which he can be safe, I am afraid.'

'You would not use a girl against her own father?'

'I would sooner die where I sit,' said Merton earnestly. 'Surely you can trust a friend of Mr. Logan's--who, by the bye, is very well.'