Chapter XXVI: The Mysterious Mr Stonor

About half-past ten o'clock Whitlock, who appeared uncommonly restless, announced his intention of going out for another stroll along the promenade. The night was bright and glorious, therefore I accompanied him, and we turned our faces towards the myriad lights of the town lying in its valley.

Crossing the Spa Bridge we were quickly in the vicinity of the Grand Hotel, when he suddenly said he wished to call at the post-office again.

In Huntriss Row he left me for a few moments.

"We've had bad luck," he said, on rejoining me. "The telegram has been returned not delivered, as the addressee has left the hotel."

"And we don't know where he may have gone to."

"He's probably on his way here," my friend said. "And now we have to decide whether to leave, or whether to wait and face him."

"In either case his sister will tell him of her suspicions," I remarked.

"That's the dickens of it. I was a confounded fool to say that I knew him. I ought to have started the matter in another way," he declared, as we strolled slowly along together by the way we had come. At that hour there were very few people about, for Scarborough retires to bed early.

"Suppose we remain till he comes home--what will happen?" I queried.

"Both of them are in deadly fear, and he'll clear out again as soon as ever she warns him."

"In fear of what?"

"Ah, that's the question!" he laughed. "That's what we must find out in the course of the next few days."

"Well, if he bolts you can have him watched. He would have bolted just the same had he got his sister's telegram."

"Certainly; but it isn't wise that he should see me yet. I may have to watch him myself," Whitlock pointed out. "If I only had a man here I'd disappear to-night, and leave him to meet Stonor and watch where he bolts to. At all hazards he must not know me yet. I've blundered badly, and must try and recover lost ground."

"In that case why shouldn't you leave Kazan House, and I'll remain?" I suggested. "You can keep watch at the railway station for our appearance."

"No. If you'll wait here I'll disappear until you follow him and ascertain his hiding-place. Then I can appear on the scene and you can return to London. I'll go and see your people at the office to-morrow and explain your absence, if you like."

"Very well," I agreed.

"Then I shan't come into that house any more. Here's the key of my bag. You can abandon it when you go away, for you'll be off so suddenly you won't be able to pay Mrs Pennington her bill. Make an excuse for me to-morrow morning. Tell what lie you like. You've always said you'd like to do a bit of inquiry work, Keene, and now's your chance."

"I'm delighted," I said, not without some excitement. "Rest assured that I'll act with promptness and discretion, and wire to you as soon as I have anything to report."

He gave me certain injunctions, and then, at the foot of the Valley Bridge, we parted, and he turned back into the town, leaving me in charge of the inquiry into one of the most sensational and important London mysteries of the past half-century.

I walked back along the deserted Esplanade to Kazan House, wondering whether the man Stonor was already on his way from London. He had left the Hotel Russell, which seemed as though he had started on the homeward journey. Whitlock had told me that there was a train due in from London about half-past eleven.

He might come by that.

So, entering the house, I sat alone listening for an arrival. Midnight struck, and I heard Mrs Pennington turning out the gas in the hall and bolting the front door. It was evident that she did not expect her brother that night.

Before I could get to sleep I lay for hours deeply reflecting. It was nearly a year ago since Louise Lorimer had had her photograph taken in Bond Street. But with what object did Mrs Pennington persist in those denials?

Was this man, whose existence we had discovered in such curious circumstances, the actual assassin? Somehow, notwithstanding all the varied suspicions of the past few days, I became convinced that it was actually Stonor who had killed the woman. Had not his sister declared to us that the pair were enemies? Had she not asserted that they would never, in the future, be upon friendly terms? Without doubt, that man had evidently an object in getting rid of the girl.

But who was his enemy? Whose hand had written that curious Press message which had caused us to go to Woburn Square and find the dead woman's portrait? That it had been done by an enemy was certain. Yet how could the person in question have surmised that we should discover Stonor's existence? Mrs Pennington was filled with fear regarding her brother's safety, and had secretly warned him. Therefore she must be in possession of knowledge of his guilt.

The telegraph notice of non-delivery had not been sent to her. Whitlock had delayed it until the morning, therefore the woman had gone to her room in the full belief that her brother, having received word from her, would disappear.

A thousand regrets concerning Daisy arose within me. Her last words rang ever in my ears. Loving her as fondly as I did, I somehow refused to believe those allegations against her. The world is cruel to every woman, and the pure and virtuous are for ever suffering equally with their erring sisters. Women are the bitterest enemies towards their own sex, for gossip, lightly said, easily ruins the reputation of the most honest and upright, and whispers about defenceless women pass swiftly from mouth to mouth. A man will always seek to conceal a woman's shortcomings, while a woman invariably endeavours to expose them.

It was a woman who was Daisy's enemy, and who had told Whitlock that extraordinary story of what he had referred to as a "double life." Of that I was convinced. Some woman, jealous, perhaps, of my love's good looks, was seeking to ruin her. Who was she? I wondered. I resolved to discover her identity and learn the truth with my own ears. It was the only way.

Before my eyes, as I lay with the gas turned low and my ears strained to catch every sound, arose a hateful vision--the face of the young man I had first seen in the Gambrinus, Francis Drayton. They said he was her lover. What proof had I of that? A very plain one, surely. She had forsaken me.

I clenched my hands in anger as I realised the ghastly truth. I was the victim of that man. But he should, I determined, answer to me for any wrong that he might have done to her. Daisy had been mine, and she still should be. I loved her, and I still believed as I had always believed--that she was pure and good.

How long I slept I do not know. I dozed many times, until at last I found the sun shining in from across the sea, and rose. When I sat down to my breakfast alone it was just nine. Five minutes previously Mrs Pennington had entered the room fussily, and I had explained my friend's absence. He had gone to York on urgent business, and would be back in the evening. He was a civil engineer, I casually explained, and had gone to York concerning the plans for a new bridge which the corporation were proposing to build.

In this she became much interested. It puzzled her, for she no doubt entertained some suspicion of my friend's real calling. Then, when I had ordered luncheon, she left the room.

For an hour I idled over the paper, sitting near the window, whence I had a view along the Esplanade in the direction of the town. Every cab that passed caused my heart to beat quickly. A number of people were taking their morning stroll along the cliff, for the day was perfect and the sea unusually blue for the Yorkshire coast. I longed to be able to go for a stroll myself, but was prevented by the fact that Stonor might return at any moment.

In ignorance that her warning had not reached her brother, Mrs Pennington, believing him safe, had grown quite calm again. But it was a waiting game. I had, of course, no certainty that he would come, beyond the woman's expectation expressed on the previous night. That expectation was that he would arrive in the evening, while it was as yet the forenoon.

Impatient to be active, I waited in all the morning, seated nearly the whole time at the same point of vantage, whence I could see without being seen.

The day wore on. I had lunched, and was seated in the armchair with a cigarette when I heard the clip-clap of a horse's hoofs upon the asphalt outside, and springing up I saw a station-fly stop before the door. From it descended a man whom I saw in a moment was the person I expected.

A trifle stout, aged about forty-five, with small moustache turning grey, round-faced, and with ruddy cheeks, he wore a well-cut blue serge suit and a felt hat. The cabman carried his kit-bag inside the hall, and receiving his fare drove away.

All this happened within a few moments, and in the brief few seconds from the instant of alighting until he entered the house I was able to obtain a good look at his rather bloated features.

His reappearance had, no doubt, entirely upset his sister. My first object was not to be seen. As soon as she told him her suspicions he would endeavour to get sight of me. Therefore, I saw that if the surveillance was to be conducted successfully I must make myself scarce before he had time to see me. With that object I placed one or two of my possessions in my pockets, slipped on my coat, took my hat, and went down the stairs as noiselessly as I could until I gained the front door, out of which I walked straight, taking great care that anyone who might be at the lower windows would not be able to get a glimpse of my features.

I walked straight along the Esplanade, crossed by the Spa Bridge, and went up through the town to the station. There I left my overcoat, and going forth again to an outfitter's shop in Westborough, I purchased a light grey coat and a brown hat, which I assumed, telling the shopman to send my own coat to London. Therefore, save for my dark tweed trousers, my appearance was changed from what it was when I had left Kazan House.

Then I went back to the station, feeling convinced that sooner or later Stonor would return there in order to get away at once. As he had not seen my face I would be able to watch and learn his destination.

There was no train to York for another hour and a half, so, feeling sure that he would make for York, as from there he could get rapidly anywhere, I idled in the refreshment-bar. Indeed, I hung about the place for hours, spending a very weary time. The longer Stonor remained at his sister's house the more remarkable would my absence be regarded. Though I might have to wait there many hours, I nevertheless had the satisfaction of knowing that the fugitive must leave that station sooner or later.

The sunset faded and evening was creeping on, when, soon after half past five, I saw a porter come upon the platform carrying a bag I recognised, and behind him Stonor himself. At the moment I was looking at some books upon the stall, but I saw that the man glanced furtively up and down, as though in fear lest he might be followed. But he walked to the York train, where his bag was put into a first-class smoker, he afterwards purchasing a paper and entering the compartment. Presently I saw a ticket inspector commence the work of examination at the rear of the train, and half a crown in his palm resulted in his statement a few minutes later that the destination of "the gentleman in the first smoker" was King's Cross.

He was returning to London.

Therefore, I got a ticket myself and entered a third-class compartment near the engine. Up to the present he was, I saw, entirely unsuspicious of me.

But had I only known what the result of my boldness was to be, I don't think I should ever have dared to face the risk.

That moment proved to be the opening of a series of very strange, very remarkable, and withal exciting adventures, which, if you will bear with me, I will chronicle as briefly as possible.

They will, I am confident, amaze you, as much as they amazed myself.