The Seven Secrets Part 38

"What is your own opinion of the affair, sir?" the officer continued, ready to take his opinion before that of the sergeant of the Criminal Investigation Department attached to his station.

"Well," said Ambler, "it looks like sudden death, doesn't it? Perhaps it's poison."

"Suicide?"

"Murder, very possibly," was Jevons' quiet response.

"Then you really think there's a mystery, sir?" exclaimed the constable quickly.

"It seems suspiciously like one. Let us search the room. Come along Ralph," he added, addressing me. "Just lend a hand."

There was not much furniture in the place to search, and before long, with the aid of the constable's lantern, we had investigated every nook and cranny.

Only one discovery of note was made, and it was certainly a strange one.

Beneath a loose board, near the fireplace, Jevons discovered the dead man's h.o.a.rd. It consisted of several papers carefully folded together.

We examined them, and found them to consist of a hawker's licence, a receipt for the payment for a barrow and donkey, a post-office savings bank book, showing a balance of twenty-six pounds four shillings, and several letters from a correspondent unsigned. They were type-written, in order that the handwriting should not be betrayed, and upon that flimsy paper used in commercial offices. All of them were of the highest interest. The first, read aloud by Ambler, ran as follows:--

_"Dear Lane,--I have known you a good many years, and never thought you were such a fool as to neglect a good thing.

Surely you will reconsider the proposal I made to you the night before last in the bar of the Elephant and Castle? You once did me a very good turn long ago, and now I am in a position to put a good remunerative bit of business in your way. Yet you are timid that all may not turn out well!

Apparently you do not fully recognise the stake I hold in the matter, and the fact that any exposure would mean ruin to me. Surely I have far more to lose than you have.

Therefore that, in itself, should be sufficient guarantee to you. Reconsider your reply, and give me your decision to-morrow night. You will find me in the saloon bar of the King Lud, in Ludgate Hill, at eight o'clock. Do not speak to me there, but show yourself, and then wait outside until I join you. Have a care that you are not followed. That hawk Ambler Jevons has scent of us. Therefore, remain dumb and watchful--Z."_

"That's curious," I remarked. "Whoever wrote that letter was inciting Lane to conspiracy, and at the same time held you in fear, Ambler."

My companion laughed again--a quiet self-satisfied laugh. Then he commenced the second letter, type-written like the first, but evidently upon another machine.

_"Dear Lane,--Your terms seem exorbitant. I quite understand that at least four or five of you must be in the affair, but the price asked is ridiculous. Besides, I didn't like Bennett's tone when he spoke to me yesterday. He was almost threatening. What have you told him? Recollect that each of us knows something to the detriment of the other, and even in these days of so-called equality the man with money is always the best. You must contrive to shut Bennett's mouth.

Give him money, if he wants it--up to ten pounds. But, of course, do not say that it comes from me. You can, of course, pose as my friend, as you have done before. I shall be at the usual place to-night.--Z."_

"Looks as though there's been some blackmailing," one of the constables remarked. "Who's Bennett?"

"I expect that's Bobby Bennett who works in the Meat Market," replied the atom of a man who had accosted us at Aldgate. "He was a friend of Lanky's, and a bad 'un. I've 'eard say that 'e 'ad a record at the Old Bailey."

"What for?"

"'Ousebreakin'."

"Is he working now?" Ambler inquired.

"Yes. I saw 'im in Farrin'don Street yesterday."

"Ah!" remarked the constable. "We shall probably want to have a chat with him. But the chief mystery is the ident.i.ty of the writer of these letters. At all events it is evident that this poor man Lane knew something to his detriment, and was probably trying to make money out of that knowledge."

"Not at all an unusual case," I said.

Jevons grunted, and appeared to view the letters with considerable satisfaction. Any doc.u.mentary evidence surrounding a case of mysterious death is always of interest. In this case, being of such a suspicious nature, it was doubly so.

"_Are you quite decided not to a.s.sist me?"_ another letter ran. It was likewise type-written, and from the same source.

_"Recollect you did so once, and were well paid for it. You had enough to keep you in luxury for years had you not so foolishly frittered it away on your so-called friends. Any of the latter would give you away to the police to-morrow for a five-pound note. This, however, is my last appeal to you. If you help me I shall give you one hundred pounds, which is not bad payment for an hour's work. If you do not, then you will not hear from me again.--Z."_

"Seems a bit brief, and to the point," was the elder constable's remark. "I wonder what is the affair mentioned by this mysterious correspondent? Evidently the fellow intended to bring off a robbery, or something, and Lane refused to give his aid."

"Apparently so," replied Ambler, fingering the last letter remaining in his hand. "But this communication is even of greater interest," he added, turning to me and showing me writing in a well-known hand.

"I know that writing!" I cried. "Why--that letter is from poor Mrs.

Courtenay!"

"It is," he said, quietly. "Did I not tell you that we were on the eve of a discovery, and that the dead man lying there could have told us the truth?"

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE POLICE ARE AT FAULT.

Ambler Jevons read the letter, then handed it to me without comment.

It was written upon the note-paper I knew so well, stamped with the neat address "Neneford," in black, but bearing no date. What I read was as follows:--

_"Sir,--I fail to comprehend the meaning of your words when you followed me into the train at Huntingdon last night. I am in no fear of any catastrophe; therefore I can only take your offer of a.s.sistance as an attempt to obtain money from me. If you presume to address me again I shall have no other course than to acquaint the police._

"_Yours truly_

"MARY COURTENAY."

"Ah!" I exclaimed. "Then he warned her, and she misunderstood his intention."

"Without a doubt," said Ambler, taking the letter from my hand. "This was written probably only a few days before her death. That man," and he glanced at the prostrate body, "was the only one who could give us the clue by which to unravel the mystery."

But the dead man's lips had closed, and his secret was held for ever.

Only those letters remained to connect him with the river tragedy; or rather to show that he had communicated with the unfortunate Mrs.

Courtenay.

In company we walked to Leman Street Police Station, one of the chief centres of the Metropolitan Police in the East End, and there, in an upper office, Ambler had a long consultation with the sergeant of the Criminal Investigation Department.

I described the appearance of the body, and stated my suspicions of poisoning, all of which the detective carefully noted before going forth to make his own examination. My address was taken, so that I might a.s.sist at the post-mortem, and then, shortly after midnight I drove back westward through the City with Ambler at my side.

He spoke little, and when in Oxford Street, just at the corner of Newman Street, he descended, wished me a hurried good-night, and disappeared into the darkness. He was often given to strange vagaries of erratic movement. It was as though some thought had suddenly occurred to him, and he acted at once upon it.

That night I scarcely closed my eyes. My brain was awhirl with thoughts of all the curious events of the past few months--the inexplicable presence of old Mr. Courtenay, and the subsequent death of Mary and of the only man who, according to Ambler, knew the remarkable secret.

Ethelwynn's strange words worried me. What could she mean? What did she know? Surely hers could not be a guilty conscience. Yet, in her words and actions I had detected that cowardice which a heavy conscience always engenders. One by one I dissected and a.n.a.lysed the Seven Secrets, but not in one single instance could I obtain a gleam of the truth.

While at the hospital next day I was served with a notice to a.s.sist at the post-mortem of the unfortunate Lane, whose body was lying in the Shadwell mortuary; and that same afternoon I met by appointment Doctor Tatham, of the London Hospital, who, as is well known, is an expert toxicologist.