The Stretton Street Affair - free ebook by William Le Queux

NEW YORK THE MACAULAY COMPANY

Copyright , 1922 by WILLIAM LE QUEUX PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE DOCTOR OF PIMLICO THE INTRIGUERS MADEMOISELLE OF MONTE CARLO...

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IS ABOUT MYSELF

The whole circumstances of the Stretton Street Affair were so complicated and so amazing from start to finish that, had the facts been related to me, I confess I should never have for a moment given them credence. That they were hard, undeniable facts, presenting a problem both startling and sensational, the reader will quickly learn from this straightforward narrative—an open confession of what actually occurred. In all innocence, and certainly without any desire to achieve that ephemeral notor

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INTRODUCES OSWALD DE GEX

I had promised to call upon Charles Latimer, my bachelor uncle, a retired naval captain, a somewhat crusty old fellow who lived in Orchard Street, which runs between Oxford Street and Portman Square. I usually went there twice a week. With that intent I took a motor ’bus from Hammersmith Broadway as far as Hyde Park Corner. As I stepped off the ’bus rain began to fall, so turning up the collar of my coat I hurried up Park Lane, at that hour half deserted. When half-way up to Oxford Street I turn

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THE SISTER’S STORY

A strange sensation crept over me, for I suddenly felt that my brain, dazed by that subtle odour of pot-pourri , was slowly unclouding—ever so slowly—until, to my amazement, I found myself seated upon a garden chair on a long veranda which overlooked a sloping garden, with the blue-green sunlit sea beyond. Of the lapse of time I have no idea to this day; nor have I any knowledge of what happened to me. All I am able to relate is the fact that I found myself in overcoat and hat seated upon a long

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WHO WAS GABRIELLE ENGLEDUE?

What, I wondered, had happened during my month of unconsciousness? I wandered into a café and sat pondering. Afterwards I walked about the town aimlessly and rather hungry. My own clothes had been returned to me, but before I assumed them I saw that every mark of identity had been purposely removed. Even the trousers buttons—which had borne the name of my tailor, a reputable firm in New Bond Street—had been substituted. But by whom? On the following afternoon I arrived in London and drove straig

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FACING THE MUSIC

“Do you seriously mean to say that you have no knowledge of me?” I demanded angrily, looking the millionaire straight in the face. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “I seriously mean what I say. But, tell me,” he demanded resentfully, “why are you here to claim acquaintance with me?” “Do you really deny you have ever seen me before?” I asked, astounded at his barefaced pretence of ignorance. “Never to my knowledge,” replied the sallow-faced man whose countenance I so well recollected. “Then you forget a c

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THE CITY OF THE LILY

Full of indignation I remained for a few further moments in that wonderful old room, the room of faded tapestries with the marvellous painted ceiling. From the window was afforded a glorious view over the gardens where, even in winter, tangled masses of flowers ran riot, while beyond lay the picturesque old red-roofed Tuscan city. Fiesole is distinctly a village of the wealthy, for the several colossal villas, built in the days of the Medici and even before, are now owned by rich foreigners, man

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ANOTHER PUZZLE

Kneeling before Donatello’s magnificent picture of the Virgin over one of the side altars, her outline dimly illuminated by the light of many candles, was a slim, dark-haired young woman in deep mourning. Her head was bowed in an attitude of great devotion, but a few moments later, when she raised her face, I stood rooted to the spot. The countenance was that of the dead girl Gabrielle Engledue! An involuntary exclamation left my lips, and a woman standing near me heard me, and wondered. Kneelin

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THE MILLIONAIRE’S APPREHENSIONS

That same evening I made a number of inquiries concerning Doctor Moroni. On every hand I heard high praise of his skill. He was one of the principal physicians at the great hospital at Gelsomino, and among other of his illustrious patients there had been a Russian Grand Duke and an Austrian princess who lived in a magnificent villa upon the Viale dei Colli. I went about the wonderful city of art collecting information concerning the doctor, where and when I could, because a startling fact had be

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LITTLE MRS. CULLERTON

For nearly half an hour Oswald De Gex and the Italian doctor, Moroni, sat chatting in the darkness. De Gex apologized to his visitor for not offering him a cigarette, remarking that the striking of a match might reveal their presence to anyone strolling in the grounds, for guests at dances frequently have that habit. “Indeed, after you have gone, Moroni, I am meeting the lady whom I mentioned, and shall walk with her outside here. I want to speak with her in private.” “But surely that is dangero

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SOME PLAIN SPEAKING

Punctually at three o’clock next afternoon the buxom Italian maid in dainty apron, ushered me into Mrs. Cullerton’s charming salone . From the long windows a magnificent view spread away across the green valley of the Ema to the great monastery of the Certosa, a huge mediæval pile which resembled a mediæval fortress standing boldly against the background of the rolling Apennines. Scarcely had I stood there a moment when my blue-eyed young hostess, in a becoming black-and-cherry frock, entered, a

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MONSIEUR SUZOR AGAIN

Mrs. Cullerton’s words held me breathless. At first I believed that I might wring the truth from her lips, but I quickly saw that she intended to preserve her secret at all costs. Whether she actually believed what I had told her concerning her own peril was doubtful. In any case, she seemed in some strange manner held powerless and fascinated by the rich man who had saved her speculating husband from ruin. I remained there for still another quarter of an hour until her maid announced a visitor,

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THE ABSOLUTE FACTS

“Monsieur Suzor has not yet returned,” was the reply of the smart reception-clerk when I inquired for the French banker. “But he is often away for two or three days.” I left the hotel, and taking a taxi to the Euston Road made a thorough examination of the high shabby house with its smoke-grimed lace curtains, a place which bore over the fan-light the words “Private Hotel.” In the broad light of day it looked a most dull, uninviting place; more so even than its neighbours. There are many such ho

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“RED, GREEN AND GOLD!”

“I know you!” she cried, staring at me as though transformed by terror. “They told me you would come! You are my enemy—you are here to kill me!” “To kill you, Miss Tennison!” I gasped. “No, I am certainly not your enemy. I am your friend!” She looked very hard at me, and I noticed that her lips twitched slightly. “You—you are Mr. Garfield—Hugh Garfield?” she asked, her hands quivering nervously. “Yes. That is my name,” I replied. “How do you know it?” “They—they told me. They told me in Florence

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SOME INTERESTING REVELATIONS

Next day I went to the office of Francis and Goldsmith, and after a consultation with both principals, during which I briefly outlined the curious circumstances such as I have here related, I was granted further leave of absence. Yet I entertained a distinct feeling that old Mr. Francis somewhat doubted the truth of my statements. But was it surprising, so extraordinary had been my adventures? “Perhaps you do not credit my statements, gentlemen,” I said before leaving their room. “But one day I

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THE GATE OF THE SUN

The spring morning was grey and rather threatening as I left the Hôtel de la Paix in Madrid and walked from the Puerta del Sol past the smart shops in the Carrera de San Jeronimo and across the broad handsome Plaza de Canovas, in order to meet Hambledon at a point which he had indicated in the Retiro Park. Late on the previous night I had arrived in the Spanish capital, and while Hambledon was at the Palace Hotel in the Plaza de Canovas I had gone to the Paix in the Puerta del Sol. I had been in

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THE INTRUDER

During the next few days I remained idle in the hotel, not daring to go out while it was light, and leaving the surveillance upon De Gex and his friend to my old friend Hambledon. Each night we met at one café or another as we appointed, when he would report to me what he had witnessed during the day. It seemed that De Gex—or Monsieur Thibon, as he preferred to call himself—shared Suzor’s private sitting-room and, curiously enough, he also did not go out in the daytime! After all, that was not s

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ANOTHER STRANGE DISCLOSURE

On the ground, close to my bed, were three brass-headed carpet pins which had apparently spilt accidentally out of a box. The sharp point of each was upturned, and it was a marvel that during the night I had not stepped upon them. How had they come there? Was it by accident or design that they were beside my bed? At first I wondered whether the hotel upholsterer had been at work on the previous day and had left them behind. He might have used them for pinning down my carpet. I took one up and ex

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WHAT THE PROFESSOR FOUND

When I met my friend Hambledon in secret at two o’clock that day under the trees at a spot in the Retiro, not far from the great Plaza de la Independencia, we sat down and I described to him my strange midnight adventure. He listened in amazement, which was increased when I told him how the police had recognized in the inoffensive lawyer of Burgos the notorious bandit Despujol, who was wanted not only by Scotland Yard, but by the police of Europe. “But those carpet pins are a curious feature of

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MORE ABOUT THE MYSTERY-MAN

One very important fact I had established. Orosin was the obscure and little-known drug that had been administered to Gabrielle Tennison, as well as to myself, by the mystery-man of Europe at his palatial house in Stretton Street. Gabrielle being the weaker, was still suffering from its paralysing effects, while I, the stronger, had practically recovered. Yet it had been intended by the daring Despujol that a fatal “accident” should now befall me! And could anything be plainer than that the fell

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THE TRACK OF DESPUJOL

Having decided to still remain in Madrid I deemed it advisable to engage the services of a private inquiry agent to watch the movements of De Gex and Suzor, who still remained at the Ritz. The mystery-man, living under an assumed name, never went out in the daytime, though Suzor often went forth, paying visits to certain banks and commercial offices in connexion with the proposed new railway. The man we engaged was an elderly ex-detective of the Seville police, named Pardo, who very soon discove

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MADEMOISELLE JACQUELOT

I returned to my rather barely-furnished room at the Hôtel du Midi which overlooked the Place outside the station in the suburb across the river, and sank into a chair to reflect. The concierge—a lad who wore the concierge’s cap—the concierge being off duty at his evening meal—informed me that my friend had not returned. He seemed an alert French lad of that type so frequently seen in Continental hotels. Señor Rivero had disappeared! For an hour I waited seated alone in my room reflecting deeply

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AT THE HÔTEL LUXEMBOURG

As a detective Rivero was of outstanding shrewdness. He knew that more could be gained by patience than by sharp activity. Hence he did not go near the Rue de Lalande. Indeed, on the Saturday night we both left Montauban together, and travelled by that slow, cross-country route through the Aveyron, by way of Sévérac, down to the ancient city of Nîmes—that quaint, quiet old place which contains more monuments of antiquity than any other town in France. Early in the morning we alighted at the stat

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GABRIELLE AT HOME

I had been back in London a little over a week when I read in the paper one morning a paragraph which possessed for me a peculiar interest. It ran as follows: “The notorious Spanish bandit Rodriquez Despujol, who has for several years terrorized Murcia and Andalusia and has committed several murders, is dead. The police have been searching for him everywhere, but so elusive was he that he always evaded them. The celebrated Spanish detective Señor Rivero learnt a short time ago that the wanted ma

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THE DEATH-DRUG

It was July. The London season, later in these modern days, was already on the wane. The Derby and Ascot had been won, in glorious weather. There had been splendid cricket at Lord’s, fine polo at Hurlingham, and Henley Week had just passed. London Society was preparing for the country, the Continental Spas, and the sea, leaving the metropolis to the American cousins who were each week invading London’s big hotels. I was back at Francis and Goldsmith’s hard at work as I had been before my strange

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YET ANOTHER MYSTERY

The first week in August was unusually hot and dry in London. Gabrielle and Mrs. Tennison had remained in Lyons, for Professor Gourbeil had suggested that his patient should, as a desperate resource, remain under his treatment for a few weeks. He gave practically no hope of her recovery. The dose of orosin that had been administered was, he declared, a larger one than that which De Gex had introduced into my drink on that night of horrors. The effect upon me had been to muddle my brain so that I

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WHAT THE VALET KNEW

At the time appointed, as I stood in the hall, a tall, clean-shaven, rather spruce young man entered and spoke to the concierge, who at once brought him over to me. I took him into a corner of the lounge, and when we were seated I told him of my suspicions and my quest. Like many Swedes he spoke English, and in reply said: “Well, sir, I was in the Baron’s service for five years, and I knew his habits very well. He was an excellent master—most kind and generous, and with him I have travelled Euro

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MORE ABOUT MATEO SANZ

The means by which the unfortunate Baron van Veltrup had met with his death was as ingenious as that practised upon me by the expert thief, Despujol. As I reflected upon all the details as related to me by the valet, Folcker, I suddenly recollected that the Baron’s strange visitor, the man who must have placed that sharp scrap of razor-blade within his glove at the moment when the unsuspicious victim had gone outside to speak with his servant, was described as a man with a red face and a dark mo

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A CURIOUS STORY

At Scotland Yard they acted upon my suggestion, and at once sent a wireless message to Señor Rivero in Madrid, telling him of the discovery of the notorious Mateo Sanz. In the meantime my curiosity was further aroused by a note sent to me by Mrs. Tennison’s servant, Mrs. Alford, next day, saying that Doctor Moroni had called at Longridge Road and that, finding Miss Gabrielle absent, he had put to her a number of questions concerning myself. “As I promised you, sir,” the woman wrote, “I pleaded i

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LOVE THE CONQUEROR

The sudden revelation of the motive of the crime at Stretton Street staggered me. An hour later I saw the Count’s lawyer, Señor Serrano, at his hotel in Russell Square, and from him learned much more regarding his late client’s disposition of his property. The Count had apparently not been on very affectionate terms with his second wife, which accounted for him leaving the bulk of his fortune to his daughter Gabrielle, and in case of her death, to his partner De Gex, whom he had, of course, beli

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ANOTHER PLOT

Among my letters on the following morning was a small packet which I opened. Within was a tablet of dark-brown toilet-soap bearing the name of a well-known firm of manufacturers. With it was a typewritten letter upon dark-blue commercial paper with a printed heading. I was addressed as “H. Granfield, Esq.,” and the letter proved to be a polite intimation that as the firm in question was putting on to the market a new brand of toilet-soap, they begged me to accept with their compliments the enclo

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CONCLUSION

Just after noon I accompanied Superintendent Fletcher and Señor Rivero with three detectives from Scotland Yard to the little hotel at Notting Hill Gate, where Mateo Sanz was then staying, for he had twice changed his abode within the past week. Rivero saw the proprietor, and giving his name as Sanchez Orozco, a well-known criminal and friend of his, asked to see his visitor who we knew had taken the name of Nardiz, and represented himself as an agent of a firm of Spanish wine exporters. Mention

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