Chapter TWENTY-SIX: Without Prejudice

That afternoon I recrossed the lake to Evian-les-Bains amid a crowd of English tourists, and after tea at the Royal, Lord Oxenwood gave me back the well-filled dispatch box to take to Downing Street, saying:

“I expect you’ll have to come out again next week. But I shall be at Geneva, as I am attending the League of Nations next Friday.”

He also gave me the dispatch for the Ambassador in Paris, and a box of fresh flowers to take to Lady Oxenwood in Grosvenor Square.

At seven o’clock I was back in Lausanne where I dined at the Café Central up on the Place St. François. Afterwards I watched the dancing until eleven o’clock. Leaving then on the homeward bound Simplon-Orient express, I arrived in Paris next morning, and delivered the dispatch to a secretary from the Embassy. It was seven o’clock the next evening when I arrived in London.

The curious fact frequently struck me how, during my period of unconsciousness, I had been appointed to that highly responsible post of King’s Foreign Service Messenger. For many months I had traveled constantly hither and thither, at the same time leading a criminal life of which I had not the slightest knowledge, except what from time to time I had been able to gather from my undesirable associates.

What would the world have said if it had been known that the secrets of Great Britain’s diplomacy were being entrusted to an expert thief of women’s jewels?

As soon as Bruce opened my door I knew by his scared face that something was wrong.

“The police were here yesterday, sir,” he said, “and they came again to-day. They were here at five o’clock.”

“The police!” I gasped, thoroughly taken aback. “Who?”

“Two detectives, sir. They were very anxious to see you. They showed me a search warrant, and then went over everything. They had all the books down from the shelves, and opened everything.”

“And what did they find?” I asked.

“Nothing, sir. But it’s queer, isn’t it? Why did they get a search warrant, I wonder? Do they think you are a thief?”

“How can I tell, Bruce?” I laughed, remembering with satisfaction how, after taking the pearls from the hollow book, I had destroyed the latter, and had placed the key to the musical cipher in my pocket-book.

One serious fact was now quite plain. Illona had forestalled me, and had already given information to the police, believing that Lady Rathgormly’s pearls were still in their hiding-place.

The bitter vindictiveness of the woman who called me husband I now realized, and in fury I at once took the train down to Mortlake. Without much difficulty I found Beverley Villa, a small detached modern house, the hall of which was badly lit. My ring was answered by a slatternly young girl, of whom I asked for Mr. Whittaker. At the end of the narrow passage appeared a dark, curly-haired man in his shirt-sleeves, who came forward rather pugnaciously, I thought.

“Mr. Whittaker?” I inquired politely. “I have called to see Illona,” I added in a low voice: “I have a message from--from His Excellency.”

The man looked me up and down suspiciously.

“Who are you?” he asked, with a distinct Cockney twang.

For answer I took out the paper with the double noughts and musical notes on it.

Instantly that satisfied him, for he conducted me to a small, cheaply-furnished back sitting-room on the first floor, where I found Illona wearing a soiled _négligé_ gown of pale pink silk.

“You!” she gasped, starting up, and staring at me astounded.

“Yes!” I cried anxiously. “So you have already commenced your devil’s work against me, have you? But two can play at this game. Read that!”

And I pushed into her face the bars of music which His Excellency had scribbled and signed.

“Here is the key, if you want it,” I laughed gloatingly, placing my own key into her hand. “Read it, you traitor, and take heed what you do!”

In a few minutes, by reference to the six circles, she realized what order the master-criminal had issued; for, I watched her face go pale as death.

“I--I----”

“I want no explanation,” I cried. “His Excellency has given me that to convey to you. The future is now your own affair.”

“But, Lionel!” she cried. “I did not mean to----”

“You meant to cause my arrest,” I shouted at her in anger. “But I defy you! His Excellency will deal with you as he thinks fit, never fear. Any one of us who betrays the other pays the penalty, and that is upon you.”

“I swear that I did not mean any harm. I was forced to----” cried the hideous, distorted woman, white to the lips, and staggering.

“His Excellency, I know, is aware of more concerning you than you ever dream,” I said, as laughing defiantly in her face, I turned and left that dark, mysterious abode of thieves.

She darted out after me, and taking my coat-sleeve, pulled me back into the passage.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What has His Excellency told you?”

“Only that you are my bitterest enemy, and now you have proved it and treated me as such,” was my harsh reply. “The police have searched my rooms.”

“And they have found nothing,” she said. “Therefore why worry further?”

“I don’t,” I said. “It is for you now to worry, I think. His Excellency means what he says, remember.”

“But it is too late,” she screamed. “I can’t draw back now. I was a fool--an accursed fool.”

“Yes,” I said. “I think you were. Good night,” and I left her standing half fainting in the doorway. Whatever cryptic message Felix Zuroff had written in that code of music, it had had a most startling and crushing effect on her. Her face became haggard and drawn, with her eyes starting wildly out of her head. She appeared to be absolutely frozen with horror.

Back in Sackville Street an hour later, it then being nearly midnight, I wondered if I should receive another visit from the police. Nothing had been found. And, in that case, I could see no reason why they should arrest me. Nevertheless, the position had become full of gravest peril. Probably the woman Illona had denounced me by means of an anonymous letter. If so, Scotland Yard would probably act with both hesitancy and discretion.

If a statement had been made that Lady Rathgormly’s pearls were concealed in my room, then naturally the search warrant granted by the magistrate at Marlborough Street Police Court, allowed them to pry into my belongings. Quite certain it was that Illona would never dare to go to the police openly, and denounce me, as it would be far too dangerous a procedure for her. No, as I sat far into the night reflecting over the events of the last forty-eight hours, I arrived at the conclusion that my official position would satisfy the police that I was no thief.

By my conversation with the most notorious motor-bandit Europe had known, I had learned one very important fact, namely, the hiding-place of Roddy Owen, who had so cleverly slipped through the hands of the police from Harrington Court. At half-past nine next morning, I called at Queen’s Gate, and told Mr. Gell of the fellow’s address, without, however, explaining how I had become possessed of it.

“Excellent, my dear Lionel!” he cried enthusiastically. “The information is most important, for it will enable the C.I.D. to take up the case again. Come down to Scotland Yard with me.”

This I did. The Assistant Commissioner had not arrived, but we saw Superintendent Nethersole--one of the “Big Four”--who was an intimate friend of Mr. Gell’s, and who gave orders which resulted in two detectives being told off to keep strict observation upon the house in Sheen Lane, and its fair-haired male lodger.

Superintendent Nethersole’s attitude towards me, however, struck me as distinctly peculiar. I had never met him before, but he inquired if I were Mr. Hipwell, the King’s Messenger, and if I lived in Sackville Street. Was it possible that under his instructions my rooms had been searched? I felt confident that it was so--hence the situation became further extremely awkward.

I walked out into Parliament Street with the extreme satisfaction of knowing that wherever Owen went in the future he would be closely watched. Mr. Gell continued in his car to the Law Courts, while I strolled back home across St. James’s Park.

I found a middle-aged, well-dressed man awaiting me in my room. He introduced himself as Inspector Jerrold of the C.I.D., and he said apologetically:

“We think, sir, that it is only right to explain the reason we searched your apartments during your absence the day before yesterday, and why we also made inquiries at your bank, and examined what you have there in safe custody. At Scotland Yard a letter posted in Paris was received, alleging that the pearls, stolen from Lady Rathgormly some time ago, were in your possession--concealed in a hollow book.”

“Well,” I laughed, “I hope you found them!”

“Of course not, sir,” replied the police officer. “From the first it was considered a wild and improbable story. But we were compelled to do our duty and investigate. I have been sent by the Superintendent to apologize to you.”

“Superintendent who?”

“Superintendent Nethersole at the Yard, sir.”

I smiled. The reason was now plain, why he had evinced such an interest in me.

“I expect you have some secret enemy sir, eh? Oh, you’ve no idea how many foolish and unfounded denunciations we receive against perfectly innocent people,” the inspector said. “There are so many mad people about nowadays. In every case of murder, we always get dozens of false accusations against the supposed culprit. In the Bow Road affair last month, for instance, no fewer than fifty-eight different people were accused as the assassin--mostly by anonymous letter-writers.”

“As long as I’m not proved to be a jewel-thief, Mr. Jerrold, I think we may allow the matter to rest, eh?” I said.

“I think so, sir,” he laughed. Then, politely but firmly refusing a whiskey-and-soda I offered him, he wished me good morning, and I admit that I felt greatly gratified when the door closed behind him.

Certainly I had had a most narrow escape from arrest. The whole affair naturally caused a most intense hatred and loathing to arise within me against my treacherous wife Illona, who, while declaring her extreme solicitude for me, at the same time had acted as my most bitter and dangerous enemy. Yet by the drastic action of His Excellency--whatever it was--her game had now been spoiled. She feared me, I knew. Why? Was it because she anticipated reprisals?

The one vital point which annoyed me to desperation was, that I had in my unconscious state actually married such a painted-up freak. I was wondering whether my marriage could be annulled. I doubted it, for to all intents and purposes I had been quite sane and of sound mind, when I had stood before the Registrar. There would be a hundred people to come forward and declare that I was quite sane and normal. In the papers I had seen reports of many marriage contracts, which the court after evidence had declared null and void. But in my own case, I knew too well that I had been at the time existing in a dream, induced by that baneful drug which had been injected into my veins, causing me to become a criminal and a jewel-thief.

If I told my story in the Divorce Court, people would only laugh at me. And such a thought caused me a deep and most terrible depression.

Even if I succeeded in finding poor Joan alive, I could never marry her, tied as I was to that ugly, done-up traitor, that habitual criminal who had proved herself my worst enemy.

Three days went by. I had been out for an afternoon stroll, and had called on a family named Fleming in Upper Brook Street, where I had tea when, on returning, Bruce told me that Mr. Gell wished to see me at the Temple as soon as possible.

I took a taxi to Fleet Street and was soon shown into the dull, time-dimmed chambers of the eminent King’s Counsel.

“My dear Lionel,” began the burly lawyer, who had just come across from court, and still wore his silk gown. “Your information has brought forth fruit. Nethersole found me in court this afternoon, and tells me that through watching Owen they have found Dufour and his wife. You remember they fled mysteriously from Finlay Street in Fulham. They are now in hiding in a house in Windsor Terrace up at Hoxton, a very low neighborhood, I believe.”

“Dufour is a thief, no doubt.”

“Of course. He was, like Owen, an associate of Tuggy Wilson. The police are greatly gratified, as they have come across quite a little nest of men they have long wanted.”

“Ah, if we only could obtain news of poor Joan!” I cried. “To rediscover Dufour is not of very great interest, is it?”

“No. But to find Owen is. The police have been making a quantity of diligent inquiries about him and a woman who is lodging at the same house at Mortlake, and it is quite possible there may be some dramatic arrests in the immediate future.”

“Arrests?” I gasped, for if Illona were arrested she would attribute it all to me, and would certainly incriminate me.

In a flash I realized the extreme seriousness of the situation.

“You seem surprised, Lionel,” said Mr. Gell. “But as a matter of fact I believe arrests are to be made to-night. I have promised to go up to Hoxton with Nethersole. You’d better come with me. I should be glad to see Owen in the dock; for, we might then learn something of interest. I’m meeting Nethersole at the Yard at half past nine. Dress rough, as I shall, and come along,” he urged.