The Stretton Street Affair Part 6

I obeyed, and he conducted me to a small kind of office in which two men were standing. Both were middle-aged, and of official aspect.

Having given me a chair they all seated themselves when the thin man--who I rightly judged to be the director of the hospital--commenced to interrogate me.

"How do you feel to-day?" was his first question, which he put in French in a quiet, kindly manner.

"I feel much better," was my reply. "But yesterday my nurse revealed to me some very extraordinary facts concerning myself."

"Yes. You have been seriously ill," he said. "But now you are better these gentlemen wish to put a few questions to you."

"They are police officers, I presume."

The director nodded in the affirmative.

"We wish to ascertain exactly what happened to you, monsieur,"

exclaimed the elder of the pair.

"I really don't know," I replied. "I must have lost all consciousness in London, and----"

"In London!" exclaimed Monsieur Leullier, the Prefect of Police, in great surprise. "Then how came you here in St. Malo?"

"I have not the slightest idea," was my reply. "I only presume that I was found here."

"You were. A fish-porter pa.s.sing along the Quay St. Vincent at about two o'clock in the morning found you seated on the ground with your back to the wall, moaning as though in pain. He called the police and you were removed on the ambulance to the hospital here. The doctors found that you were in no pain, but that you could give no intelligible account of yourself."

"What did I tell them?"

"Oh! a number of silly stories. At one moment you said you had come from Italy. Then you said that you had hired a motor-car and the driver had attacked you in the night. Afterwards you believed yourself to be in some office, and talked about electrical engineering."

"That is my profession," I said. And I told them my name and my address in London, facts which the police carefully set down.

"You told us that your name was Henry Aitken, and that you lived mostly in Italy--at some place near Rome. We have made inquiries by telegraph of a number of people whom you have mentioned, but all their replies have been in the negative," said the police official.

"Well, I am now entirely in possession of my full senses," I declared.

"But how I got to France I have not the slightest knowledge. I lost consciousness in a house in Stretton Street, in London. Since then I have known nothing--until yesterday."

"In what circ.u.mstances did you lapse into unconsciousness?" asked the doctor, looking intently at me through his gla.s.ses, for mine was no doubt an extremely interesting case. "What do you remember? Did you receive any sudden shock?"

I explained that being on a visit to a friend--as I designated Oswald De Gex--his niece died very suddenly. And after that I became unconscious.

The Prefect of Police naturally became very inquisitive, but I preferred not to satisfy his curiosity. My intention was to return to London and demand from De Gex a full explanation of what had actually occurred on that fatal night. I was full of suspicion regarding the sudden death of his niece, Gabrielle Engledue.

The police official told me that from my clothes all the tabs bearing the tailor's name had been removed, and also the laundry marks from my underclothes. There was nothing upon me that could possibly establish my ident.i.ty, though in my pocket was found five thousand pounds in bank notes--which he handed to me. They were intact--the same notes which De Gex has given me in return for the false death certificate I had signed.

I sat utterly aghast at the story of my discovery, of the many attempts made to establish my ident.i.ty, of the visit of the British Vice-Consul to the hospital, and of his kindness towards me. It seemed that he had questioned me closely, but I had told an utterly fantastic story.

Indeed, as I sat there, I felt that neither of my three interrogators believed a single word of the truth I related. Yet, after all, I was not revealing the whole truth.

Certain recollections which I would have forgotten came to me. I had, I knew, committed a very serious criminal offence in posing as a medical man and giving that death certificate. Possibly I had been an accessory to some great crime--the crime of murder!

That thought held me anxious and filled me with fear.

The Prefect of Police seemed entirely dissatisfied with my explanation, nevertheless he was compelled to accept it, and an hour later I was released from the hospital. Before leaving, however, I was shown the register in which I had signed my name as "Henry Aitken."

This I erased and subst.i.tuted my own name.

Then I thanked the tall, thin director and walked out into the streets of St. Malo a changed man.

CHAPTER THE THIRD

WHO WAS GABRIELLE ENGLEDUE?

What, I wondered, had happened during my month of unconsciousness? I wandered into a cafe and sat pondering. Afterwards I walked about the town aimlessly and rather hungry. My own clothes had been returned to me, but before I a.s.sumed them I saw that every mark of ident.i.ty had been purposely removed. Even the trousers b.u.t.tons--which had borne the name of my tailor, a reputable firm in New Bond Street--had been subst.i.tuted.

But by whom?

On the following afternoon I arrived in London and drove straight to Rivermead Mansions. I entered with my latchkey, and on glancing around saw signs that my friend Hambledon was still living there. The fire in the sitting-room had been lit by the "Kaiserin" ready for his home-coming, and everything seemed bright and cosy.

It was then about four o'clock, and Hambledon would certainly not return till six. Therefore after a good wash, a shave, and a clean collar, I set forth for Stretton Street to interview Oswald De Gex.

The house in the dusk was just as I recollected it on that eventful night when I was so unexpectedly called inside.

I rang the bell three times, until at last the door opened and a tall, stalwart man appeared.

I inquired for Mr. De Gex, whereupon he replied:

"Mr. De Gex is in Italy, sir."

"Oh! When did he leave town?"

"About a month ago, sir," the man answered.

"You are, I suppose, the caretaker?" I asked. "Now, I wonder if you will do me a very great favour. You may think me a thief or a burglar," I laughed, "but the fact is I have a great desire to see Mr.

De Gex's house. I've heard so much about its beauties. I wonder if you would show me the drawing-room and the library?"

The man hesitated, saying:

"Well, sir, I've no orders to show anyone over. Have you a card?"

I at once produced one from my cigarette-case, and added that I was a personal friend of the millionaire's. He read my name and looked again at me. I a.s.sured him that I was not prospecting with a view to burglary.

"I'm only asking you to do me a favour," I went on, and I put a couple of Treasury notes into his hand. "You can inquire about me at my office to-morrow, if you like. They will tell you, I expect, that I have been away on a month's leave."

The little palm-oil no doubt propitiated him, for he invited me in.

Then he switched on the light in the hall, and as he did so, said: