A Mysterious Disappearance - free ebook by Louis Tracy

GORDON HOLMES

NEW YORK EDWARD J. CLODE 156 FIFTH AVENUE 1905 Copyright, 1905, by Edward J. Clode The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass....

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CHAPTER I

Alice, Lady Dyke, puckered her handsome forehead into a thoughtful frown as she drew aside the window-curtains of her boudoir and tried to look out into the opaque blackness of a November fog in London. Behind her was cheerfulness—in front uncertainty. Electric lights, a nice fire reflected from gleaming brass, the luxury of carpets and upholstery, formed an alluring contrast to the dull yellow glare of a solitary lamp in the outer obscurity. But Lady Dyke was a strong-minded woman. There was no

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CHAPTER II

Lady Dyke had disappeared. Whether dead or alive, and if alive, whether detained by force or absent of her own unfettered volition, this handsome and well-known leader of Society had vanished utterly from the moment when Claude Bruce placed her in a first-class carriage of a Metropolitan Richmond train at Victoria Station. At first her husband and relatives hoped against hope that some extraordinary tissue of events had contributed to the building up of a mystery which would prove to be no myste

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CHAPTER III

The first difficulty experienced by the barrister in his self-imposed task was the element of mystery purposely contributed by Lady Dyke herself. To a man of his quick perception, sharpened and clarified by his legal training, it was easy to arrive at the positive facts underlying the trivial incidents of his meeting with the missing lady at Victoria Station. Briefly stated, his summary was this: Lady Dyke intended to go to Richmond at a later hour than that at which his unexpected presence had

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CHAPTER IV

Really, the maid deserved to have her ears pulled. People in her walk in life should not ape their betters. Lady Dyke, owing to her position, was entitled to some degree of oddity or mystery in her behavior. But for a lady’s maid to so upset the entire household at Wensley House, Portman Square, was intolerable. Sir Charles became, if possible, more miserable; the butler fumed; the housekeeper said that the girl was always a forward minx, and the footman winked at Buttons, as much as to say that

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CHAPTER V

By tacit consent, Claude and his fair companion dropped for the hour the rôles of inquisitor and witness. They were both excellent talkers, they were mutually interested, and there was in their present escapade a spice of that romance not so lacking in the humdrum life of London as is generally supposed to be the case. Bruce did not ask himself what tangible result he expected from this quaint outcome of his visit to Sloane Square. It was too soon yet. He must trust to the vagaries of chance to

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CHAPTER VI

The uncertain rays of a weak lamp, struggling through panes dulled by dirt and black letters, cast a fitful light about the precincts of the stage-door. Elderly women and broken-down men, slovenly and unkempt, kept furtive guard over the exit, waiting for the particular “super” to come forth who would propose the expected adjournment to a favorite public-house. Some smart broughams, a four-wheeler, and a few hansoms, formed a close line along the pavement, which was soon crowded with the hundred

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CHAPTER VII

Messrs. Dodge &amp; Co., of Leadenhall Street, possessed business premises of greater pretensions than Bruce had pictured to himself from Mrs. Hillmer’s description of their transactions with her brother. Not only were their offices commodious and well situated, but a liberal display of gold lettering, intermingled with official brass plates marking the registering offices of many companies, gave evidence of some degree of importance—whether fictitious or otherwise Bruce could not determine,

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CHAPTER VIII

Bruce did not go to Bournemouth. He quitted London by the next mail, and after a wearisome journey of thirty-six hours, found himself in the garden courtyard of the Hotel du Cercle at Monte Carlo. Refreshed by a bath and an excellent déjeuner , he decided to go quietly to work and search the visitors’ book for himself without asking any questions. The Hotel du Cercle was a popular resort, and it took him some time, largely devoted to the elucidation of hieroglyphic signatures, before he was quit

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CHAPTER IX

There were not many people in this part of the Casino gardens. A few love-making couples and a handful of others who preferred the chilly quietude of Nature to the throng of the interior promenade, made up the occupants of the winding paths that cover the seaward slope. At last Mensmore halted. There was no one in front, and he turned to look if the terrace were clear behind him. He caught sight of Bruce, but did not recognize him, and leant against a low wall, ostensibly to gaze at the sea unti

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CHAPTER X

Once safe in the seclusion of Claude’s sitting-room Mensmore almost collapsed. The strain had been a severe one, and now he had to pay the penalty by way of reaction. The barrister forced him to swallow a stiff brandy and soda, and then wished him to retire to rest, but the other protested with some show of animation. “Let me talk, for goodness’ sake!” he cried. “I cannot be alone. You have seen me through a lot of trouble to-night. Stick to me for another hour, there’s a good fellow.” “With ple

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CHAPTER XI

Bruce announced his departure from Monte Carlo by a telegram to his valet. Nevertheless, he did not expect to find that useful adjunct to his small household—Smith and his wife comprised the barrister’s ménage —standing on the platform at Charing Cross when the mail train from the Continent steamed into the station. Smith, who had his doubts about this sudden trip to the Riviera, was relieved when he saw his master was alone. “Sir Charles Dyke called this afternoon, sir,” he explained. “I told S

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CHAPTER XII

“Inexorable Fate!” is a favorite phrase with the makers of books; but Fate, being feminine according to the best authorities, is also somewhat fickle in disposition. Not only is she not invariably inexorable, but at times she delights to play with her poor subjects, to dazzle them with surprise, as it were, to stupefy them with the sense of their sheer inability to foresee or understand her vagaries. It was Bruce’s turn to receive the sharpest lesson in this respect that he ever remembered. At b

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CHAPTER XIII

“If any one calls, I am out,” cried Claude to his factotum, as he crossed the entrance-hall of his well-appointed flat, and flung open the door of his library. “The guv’nor’s in a tantrum,” observed Smith to his wife, and he settled himself to renew the perusal of Grand National training reports. He had just noticed the interesting fact that last year’s winner had “jumped in for the last mile” in a gallop given to a rank outsider, when the electric bell upset his calculations. “My master is out,

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CHAPTER XIV

When the door of Corbett’s or Mensmore’s flat swung open before the skilful application of a skeleton key, a gust of cold air swept from the interior blackness, and whirled an accumulation of dust down the stairs. It is curious how a disused house seems to bottle up, as it were, an atmospheric accumulation which always seeks to escape at the first available moment. Emptiness is more than a mere word; it has life and the power of growth. A residence closed for a week is less depressing than if it

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CHAPTER XV

“I wonder if I shall have such exciting times to-day as I had yesterday,” said Bruce to himself, as he unfolded his Times next morning at breakfast. Affairs had so jumbled themselves together in his brain the previous evening that he had abandoned all effort to elucidate them. He retired to rest earlier than usual, to sleep soundly, save for a vivid dream in which he was being tried for his life, the chief witnesses against him being Mrs. Hillmer, Phyllis Browne, and Jane Harding, the latter var

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CHAPTER XVI

The keen, cold air of the streets soon restored the man to his habitual calm. He felt that a quiet stroll would do him good. As he walked he pondered, and the more critically he examined Mrs. Hillmer’s change of attitude the less he understood it. “For some ridiculous reason,” he communed, “the woman believes her brother guilty. Now I shall have endless trouble at getting at the truth. She will not be candid. She will only tell me that which she thinks will help him, and conceal that which she c

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CHAPTER XVII

Bruce now had several lines of inquiry open. Apart from the main and vital question as to the exact method of Lady Dyke’s death, and the identity of the person responsible for it, a number of important matters required attention. Why had Jane Harding quitted her situation so suddenly? Whence did she obtain the money that enabled her to blossom forth as Marie le Marchant? Who was Sydney H. Corbett? Why did Mensmore adopt a false name; and, in any case, why adopt the name of Corbett? Why did Mrs.

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CHAPTER XVIII

The White Heather swung quietly at her moorings in the harbor of Genoa the Superb. The lively company on board, tired after a day’s sight-seeing, had left the marble streets and palace cafés to the Genoese, and sought the pleasant seclusion of the yacht’s airy promenade deck. “Dinner on board, followed by a dance,” said Phyllis, as arbiter of the procedure. A few hasty invitations sent out to British residents in Genoa met with general acceptance, and the lull between afternoon tea and the more

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CHAPTER XIX

Sir Charles Dyke, in sending off the hurried announcement of his wife’s death, forgot the “society” papers. Such a promising topic did not come in their way every week, and they made the most of it. Where did Lady Dyke die? Under what circumstances did she die? They rolled the morsel under their tongue in every conceivable manner. Details were not forthcoming. “Our representative called at Wensley House, Portman Square, but was informed that Sir Charles was in Yorkshire.” Inquiry by a local repo

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CHAPTER XX

The detective glanced up at Bruce’s chambers while passing through Victoria Street. “I wonder what he would think if he knew what we are after,” he said to his colleague, one of the two who accompanied him when the barrister was arrested by mistake. “What are we after?” said the policeman. “This time we are going to nail the right Corbett,” was the confident answer. “Will we cart him off?” “Well, now, that depends. I think I am quite right in collaring him unless he explains to my satisfaction,

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CHAPTER XXI

Mr. White was actually inclined to preserve silence while they walked to Victoria Street. The events of the preceding hour had not exactly conduced to the maintenance, in the eyes of his brother officer, of that pre-eminent sagacity which he invariably claimed. His companion rubbed in this phase of the matter by saying: “I should think, Jim, you will give Raleigh Mansions wide berth for some time to come, after making two bad breaks there.” But it was no part of Bruce’s scheme that the detective

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CHAPTER XXII

Bruce sent a telegram to Mrs. Hillmer at Paris. “Matters satisfactorily arranged pending your arrival,” he wired, and early on Monday morning he received a reply: “Due Charing Cross 7.30 P.M. Will drive straight to your chambers with my brother. “ Gwendoline Hillmer. ” He forwarded the message with a note to the detective, asking him to be present. About one o’clock Corbett turned up. “Guess I slept well last night after the excitement,” he said, with a pleasant smile. “You seemed to skeer those

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CHAPTER XXIII

Quick on the heels of the footman’s stammered explanation came the voice of Sir Charles himself: “Sorry to disturb you, Bruce, if you are busy, but I must see you for a moment on a matter of the utmost importance.” There was that in his utterance which betokened great excitement. He was not visible to the occupants of the room. During the audible silence that followed his words, they could hear him stamping about the passage, impatiently awaiting Bruce’s presence. Mrs. Hillmer quietly collapsed

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CHAPTER XXIV

Like most men, Claude took a different view of events in the morning to that which he entertained over night. Yesterday, the surprises of the hour were concrete embodiments, each distinct and emphatic. To-day they were merged in the general mass of contradictory details that made up this most bewildering inquiry. That matters could not be allowed to rest in their present state was clear; that they would, in the natural course of things, reveal themselves more definitely, even if unaided, was als

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CHAPTER XXV

Bruce was quite positive in his belief that Jane Harding was the paid agent of some person who wished to conceal the facts concerning Lady Dyke’s death. Her unexpected appearance in the field at this late hour, no less than the bold rôle she adopted, proved this conclusively. But in England there was no torture-chamber to which she might be led and gradually dismembered until she confessed the truth. So long as she adhered to the policy of pert denial she was quite safe. The law could not touch

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CHAPTER XXVI

When the young people had gone—Mensmore ill at ease, though tremuously happy that Phyllis had so demonstrated her trust in him, Phyllis herself radiantly confident in the barrister’s powers to set everything right—Bruce devoted himself to the task of determining a new line for his energies. The first step was self-evident. He must ascertain if the Dykes knew a Colonel Montgomery. He drove to the Club frequented by Sir Charles, but the baronet was not there, so he went to Wensley House. Sir Charl

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CHAPTER XXVII

The policeman spoke first. “Has Jane Harding been here, then?” he said. His words conveyed no meaning to his hearer. They were so incongruous, so ridiculously unreasoning, that Bruce laughed hysterically. “You must have seen her,” cried the detective excitedly. “I know you have learned the truth, and in no other way that I can imagine could it have reached you.” “Learnt what truth?” “That Sir Charles Dyke himself is at the bottom of all this business.” “Indeed. How have you blundered upon that s

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CHAPTER XXVIII

The streets were comparatively deserted as they drove quickly up Whitehall and crossed the south side of Trafalgar Square. It is a common belief, even among Londoners themselves, that the traffic is dense in the main thoroughfares at all hours of the night until twelve o’clock has long past. But to the experienced eye there is a marked hiatus between half-past nine and eleven o’clock. At such a time Charing Cross is negotiable, Piccadilly Circus loses much of its terror, and a hansom may turn ou

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CHAPTER XXIX

( Being the Manuscript left by Sir Charles Dyke, Bart., and addressed to Claude Bruce, Esq., Barrister-at-law ) It is customary, I believe, for poor wretches who are sentenced to undergo the last punishment of the law to be allowed a three weeks’ respite between the date of their sentence and that on which they are executed. I am in the position of such a one. The difference between me and the convicted felon lies merely in environment; in most respects I am worse situated than he. My period of

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CHAPTER XXX

“A mere suspicion, indeed!” she said, and there was that in her voice which warned me that I had better try unarmed to control a tigress than a wife who deemed herself wronged; “these are pretty suspicions that surround you. A house tenanted by another woman where you are evidently master! A mistress who left the ranks of the ballet, or something of the sort, living in luxury on means supplied by you! A married woman who casts off her husband with her poverty, to take up a paramour and riches! D

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CHAPTER XXXI

Much as Bruce would have wished to inter his dead friend’s secret with his mortal remains in the tomb, it was impossible. Sir Charles Dyke’s sacrifice must not be made in vain, and the strange chain of events encircled other actors in the drama too strongly to enable the barrister to adopt the course which would otherwise have commended itself to him. An early visit to Scotland Yard, where, in company with Mr. White, he interviewed the Deputy Commissioner, and a conference with the district coro

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