The Yellow Claw Part 9

"Miss c.u.mberly?" said the new arrival in a pleasant American voice.

"Yes-I am Helen c.u.mberly. Oh! I am so glad to know you at last! I have often pictured you; for Mira-Mrs. Leroux-is always talking about you, and about the glorious times you have together! I have sometimes longed to join you in beautiful Paris. How good of you to come back with her!"

Miss Ryland unrolled the Scotch m.u.f.fler from her throat, swinging her head from side to side in a sort of spuriously truculent manner, quite peculiarly her own. Her keen hazel eyes were fixed upon the face of the girl before her. Instinctively and immediately she liked Helen c.u.mberly; and Helen felt that this strong-looking, vaguely masculine woman, was an old, intimate friend, although she had never before set eyes upon her.

"H'm!" said Miss Ryland. "I have come from Paris"-she punctuated many of her sentences with wags of the head as if carefully weighing her words-"especially" (pause) "to see you" (pause and wag of head) "I am glad... to find that... you are the thoroughly sensible... kind of girl that I... had imagined, from the accounts which... I have had of you."...

She seated herself in an armchair.

"Had of me from Mira?" asked Helen.

"Yes... from Mrs. Leroux."

"How delightful it must be for you to have her with you so often! Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to that particular sort of good-time, doesn't it?"

"It does... very properly... too. No MAN... no MAN in his ... right senses... would permit... his wife... to gad about in Paris with another... girl" (she presumably referred to herself) "whom HE had only met... casually... and did not like"...

"What! do you mean that Mr. Leroux doesn't like you? I can't believe that!"

"Then the sooner... you believe it... the better."

"It can only be that he does not know you, properly?"

"He has no wish... to know me... properly; and I have no desire... to cultivate... the... friendship of such... a silly being."

Helen c.u.mberly was conscious that a flush was rising from her face to her brow, and tingling in the very roots of her hair. She was indignant with herself and turned, aside, bending over her table in order to conceal this ill-timed embarra.s.sment from her visitor.

"Poor Mr. Leroux!" she said, speaking very rapidly; "I think it awfully good of him, and sporty, to allow his wife so much liberty."

"Sporty!" said Miss Ryland, head wagging and nostrils distended in scorn. "Idi-otic... I should call it."

"Why?"

Helen c.u.mberly, perfectly composed again, raised her clear eyes to her visitor.

"You seem so... thoroughly sensible, except in regard to... Harry Leroux;-and ALL women, with a few... exceptions, are FOOLS where the true... character of a MAN is concerned-that I will take you right into my confidence."

Her speech lost its quality of syncopation; the whole expression of her face changed; and in the hazel eyes a deep concern might be read.

"My dear," she stood up, crossed to Helen's side, and rested her artistic looking hands upon the girl's shoulder. "Harry Leroux stands upon the brink of a great tragedy-a life's tragedy!"

Helen was trembling slightly again.

"Oh, I know!" she whispered-"I know-"

"You know?"

There was surprise in Miss Ryland's voice.

"Yes, I have seen them-watched them-and I know that the police think"...

"Police! What are you talking about-the police?"

Helen looked up with a troubled face.

"The murder!" she began...

Miss Ryland dropped into a chair which, fortunately, stood close behind her, with a face suddenly set in an expression of horror. She began to understand, now, a certain restraint, a certain ominous shadow, which she had perceived, or thought she had perceived, in the atmosphere of this home, and in the manner of its occupants.

"My dear girl," she began, and the old nervous, jerky manner showed itself again, momentarily,-"remember that... I left Paris by ... the first train, this morning, and have simply been... traveling right up to the present moment."...

"Then you have not heard? You don't know that a-murder-has been committed?"

"MURDER! Not-not"...

"Not any one connected with Mr. Leroux; no, thank G.o.d! but it was done in his flat."...

Miss Ryland brushed a whisk of straight hair back from her brow with a rough and ungraceful movement.

"My dear," she began, taking a French telegraphic form from her pocket, "you see this message? It's one which reached me at an unearthly hour this morning from Harry Leroux. It was addressed to his wife at my studio; therefore, as her friend, I opened it. Mira Leroux has actually visited me there twice since her marriage-"

"Twice!" Helen rose slowly to her feet, with horrified eyes fixed upon the speaker.

"Twice I said! I have not seen her, and have rarely heard from her, for nearly twelve months, now! Therefore I packed up post-haste and here I am! I came to you, because, from what little I have heard of you, and of your father, I judged you to be the right kind of friends to consult."...

"You have not seen her for twelve months?"

Helen's voice was almost inaudible, and she was trembling dreadfully.

"That's a fact, my dear. And now, what are we going to tell Harry Leroux?"

It was a question, the answer to which was by no means evident at a glance; and leaving Helen c.u.mberly face to face with this new and horrible truth which had brought Denise Ryland hotfoot from Paris to London, let us glance, for a moment, into the now familiar room of Detective-Inspector Dunbar at Scotland Yard.

He had returned from his interrogation of Brian; and he received the report of Sowerby, respecting the late Mrs. Vernon's maid. The girl, Sergeant Sowerby declared, was innocent of complicity, and could only depose to the fact that her late mistress took very little luggage with her on the occasions of her trips to Scotland. With his notebook open before him upon the table, Dunbar was adding this slight item to his notes upon the case, when the door opened, and the uniformed constable entered, saluted, and placed an envelope in the Inspector's hand.

"From the commissioner!" said Sowerby, significantly.

With puzzled face, Dunbar opened the envelope and withdrew the commissioner's note. It was very brief:- "M. Gaston Max, of the Paris Police, is joining you in the Palace Mansions murder case. You will cooperate with him from date above."

"MAX!" said Dunbar, gazing astoundedly at his subordinate.

Certainly it was a name which might well account for the amazement written upon the inspector's face; for it was the name of admittedly the greatest criminal investigator in Europe!

"What the devil has the case to do with the French police?" muttered Sowerby, his ruddy countenance exhibiting a whole history of wonderment.

The constable, who had withdrawn, now reappeared, knocking deferentially upon the door, throwing it open, and announcing: "Mr. Gaston Max, to see Detective-Inspector Dunbar."

Bowing courteously upon the threshold, appeared a figure in a dazzling check traveling-coat-a figure very novel, and wholly unforgettable.

"I am honored to meet a distinguished London colleague," he said in perfect English, with a faint American accent.

Dunbar stepped across the room with outstretched hand, and cordially shook that of the famous Frenchman.

"I am the more honored," he declared, gallantly playing up to the other's courtesy. "This is Detective-Sergeant Sowerby, who is acting with me in the case."

M. Gaston Max bowed low in acknowledgment of the introduction.

"It is a pleasure to meet Detective-Sergeant Sowerby," he declared.

These polite overtures being concluded then, and the door being closed, the three detectives stood looking at one another in momentary silence. Then Dunbar spoke with blunt directness: "I am very pleased to have you with us, Mr. Max," he said; "but might I ask what your presence in London means?"

M. Gaston Max shrugged in true Gallic fashion.

"It means, monsieur," he said, "-murder-and MR. KING!"

XII

MR. GIANAPOLIS

It will prove of interest at this place to avail ourselves of an opportunity denied to the police, and to inquire into the activities of Mr. Soames, whilom employee of Henry Leroux.

Luke Soames was a man of unpleasant character; a man ever seeking advancement-advancement to what he believed to be an ideal state, viz.: the possession of a competency; and to this ambition he subjugated all conflicting interests-especially the interests of others. From narrow but honest beginnings, he had developed along lines ever growing narrower until gradually honesty became squeezed out. He formed the opinion that wealth was un.o.btainable by dint of hard work; and indeed in a man of his limited intellectual attainments, this was no more than true.

At the period when he becomes of interest, he had just discovered himself a gentleman-at-large by reason of his dismissal from the services of a wealthy bachelor, to whose establishment in Piccadilly he had been attached in the capacity of valet. There was nothing definite against his character at this time, save that he had never remained for long in any one situation.

His experience was varied, if his references were limited; he had served not only as valet, but also as chauffeur, as steward on an ocean liner, and, for a limited period, as temporary butler in an American household at Nice.

Soames' banking account had increased steadily, but not at a rate commensurate with his ambitions; therefore, when entering his name and qualifications in the books of a certain exclusive employment agency in Mayfair he determined to avail himself, upon this occasion, of his comparative independence by waiting until kindly Fate should cast something really satisfactory in his path.

Such an opening occurred very shortly after his first visit to the agent. He received a card instructing him to call at the office in order to meet a certain Mr. Gianapolis. Quitting his rooms in Kennington, Mr. Soames, attired in discreet black, set out to make the acquaintance of his hypothetical employer.

He found Mr. Gianapolis to be a little and very swarthy man, who held his head so low as to convey the impression of having a p.r.o.nounced stoop; a man whose well-cut clothes and immaculate linen could not redeem his appearance from a const.i.tutional dirtiness. A jet black mustache, small, aquiline features, an engaging smile, and very dark brown eyes, viciously crossed, made up a personality incongruous with his sheltering silk hat, and calling aloud for a tarboosh and a linen suit, a shop in a bazaar, or a part in the campaign of commercial brigandage which, based in the Levant, spreads its ramifications throughout the Orient, Near and Far.

Mr. Gianapolis had the suave speech and smiling manner. He greeted Soames not as one greets a prospective servant, but as one welcomes an esteemed acquaintance. Following a brief chat, he proposed an adjournment to a neighboring saloon bar; and there, over c.o.c.ktails, he conversed with Mr. Soames as one crook with another.

Soames was charmed, fascinated, yet vaguely horrified; for this man smilingly threw off the cloak of hypocrisy from his companion's shoulders, and pretended, with the skill of his race, equally to nudify his own villainy.

"My dear Mr. Soames!" he said, speaking almost perfect English, but with the sing-song intonation of the Greek, and giving all his syllables an equal value-"you are the man I am looking for; and I can make your fortune."

This was entirely in accordance with Mr. Soames' own views, and he nodded, respectfully.

"I know," continued Gianapolis, proffering an excellent Egyptian cigarette, "that you were cramped in your last situation-that you were misunderstood"...

Soames, cigarette in hand, suppressed a start, and wondered if he were turning pale. He selected a match with nervous care.

"The little matter of the silver spoons," continued Gianapolis, smiling fraternally, "was perhaps an error of judgment. Although"-patting the startled Soames upon the shoulder-"they were a legitimate perquisite; I am not blaming you. But it takes so long to acc.u.mulate a really useful balance in that petty way. Now"-he glanced cautiously about him-"I can offer you a post under conditions which will place you above the consideration of silver spoons!"

Soames, hastily finishing his c.o.c.ktail, sought for words; but Gianapolis, finishing his own, blandly ordered two more, and, tapping Soames upon the knee, continued: "Then that matter of the petty cash, and those trifling irregularities in the wine-bill, you remember?-when you were with Colonel Hewett in Nice?"...

Soames gripped the counter hard, staring at the newly arrived c.o.c.ktail as though it were hypnotizing him.

"These little matters," added Gianapolis, appreciatively sipping from his own gla.s.s, "which would weigh heavily against your other references, in the event of their being mentioned to any prospective employer"...

Soames knew beyond doubt that his face was very pale indeed.

"These little matters, then," pursued Gianapolis, "all go to prove to ME that you are a man of enterprise and spirit-that you are the very man I require. Now I can offer you a post in the establishment of Mr. Henry Leroux, the novelist. The service will be easy. You will be required to attend to callers and to wait at table upon special occasions. There will be no valeting, and you will have undisputed charge of the pantry and wine-cellar. In short, you will enjoy unusual liberty. The salary, you would say? It will be the same as that which you received from Mr. Mapleson"...

Soames raised his head drearily; he felt himself in the toils; he felt himself a mined man.

"It isn't a salary," he began, "which"...

"My dear Mr. Soames," said Gianapolis, tapping him confidentially upon the knee again-"my dear Soames, it isn't the salary, I admit, which you enjoyed whilst in the services of Colonel Hewett in a similar capacity. But this is not a large establishment, and the duties are light. Furthermore, there will be-extras."

"Extras?"

Mr. Soames' eye brightened, and under the benignant influence of the c.o.c.ktails his courage began to return.

"I do not refer," smiled Mr. Gianapolis, "to perquisites! The extras will be monetary. Another two pounds per week"...

"Two pounds!"

"Bringing your salary up to a nice round figure; the additional amount will be paid to you from another source. You will receive the latter payment quarterly"...

"From-from"...

"From me!" said Mr. Gianapolis, smiling radiantly. "Now, I know you are going to accept; that is understood between us. I will give you the address-Palace Mansions, Westminster-at which you must apply; and I will tell you what little services will be required from you in return for this additional emolument."

Mr. Soames hurriedly finished his second c.o.c.ktail. Mr. Gianapolis, in true sporting fashion, kept pace with him and repeated the order.

"You will take charge of the mail!" he whispered softly, one irregular eye following the movements of the barmaid, and the other fixed almost fiercely upon the face of Soames. "At certain times-of which you will be notified in advance-Mrs. Leroux will pay visits to Paris. At such times, all letters addressed to her, or re-addressed to her, will not be posted! You will ring me up when such letters come into your possession-they must ALL come into your possession!-and I will arrange to meet you, say at the corner of Victoria Street, to receive them. You understand?"

Mr. Soames understood, and thus far found his plastic conscience marching in step with his inclinations.

"Then," resumed Gianapolis, "prior to her departure on these occasions, Mrs. Leroux will hand you a parcel. This also you will bring to me at the place arranged. Do you find anything onerous in these conditions?"

"Not at all," muttered Soames, a trifle unsteadily; "it seems all right"-the c.o.c.ktails were beginning to speak now, and his voice was a duet-"simply perfectly all right-all square."