IV
Dr. Daincourt called while I was dressing, after a few hours' sleep. I am not usually a dreamer, but I had a dream so strange that I awoke with the memory of it in my mind. It was of hands-ladies' hands-every finger of which was covered with rings. Holding the theory, as I have already explained, that the imagination during sleep is not creative, but invariably works upon a foundation of fact, I was endeavoring to trace the connection between my singular dream and some occurrence or circumstance within my knowledge, when Dr. Daincourt entered.
"Well," were his first words, "have you made anything of the letters which I left with you last night?"
"I was employed only upon one," I said, "which kept me up until six o'clock this morning. I don't begrudge the time or the labor, because I have discovered the clew to Master Eustace Rutland's communications to his sister."
"That means," said Dr. Daincourt, excitedly, "that you have discovered the mystery of the Nine of Hearts."
"In so far," I replied, "as respects the playing-cards found in Miss Rutland's desk-yes, I have discovered that part of the mystery; but I have not yet discovered the mystery of the particular Nine of Hearts which was found in the pocket of Edward Layton's ulster."
I showed Dr. Daincourt the result of my labors on the previous night, and he was delighted and very much interested, but presently his face became clouded.
"I am still disturbed," he said, "by the dread that the task you are engaged upon may bring Miss Rutland into serious trouble."
"I hope not," was my rejoinder to the remark, "but I shall not allow considerations of any kind to stop me. Edward Layton is an innocent man, and I intend to prove him so."
"If he is innocent," said Dr. Daincourt, "then Miss Rutland must also be innocent."
"Undoubtedly," I said, with a cheerful smile, which did much to reassure the worthy doctor.
"Have you opened the two sealed letters," asked Dr. Daincourt, "which I brought from Mrs. Rutland's house?"
"No," I replied. "I have devoted myself only to the first of the opened letters found in Miss Rutland's desk. I shall proceed immediately with the second, and then I shall feel myself warranted in opening and reading the letters which arrived for Miss Rutland during her illness. By-the-way, doctor, I have had a singular dream, and upon your entrance I was endeavoring to track it. It was a dream of ladies' hands, covered with rings."
"Any bodies attached to the hands?" inquired Dr. Daincourt, jocosely.
"No; simply hands. They seemed to pass before my vision, and to rise up in unexpected places pretty, shapely hands. But it was not so much the hands that struck me as being singular as the fact that they were covered with rings of one particular kind."
"What kind?"
"I must have seen thousands of rings upon the shapely fingers, and there was not one that was not set with diamonds and turquoises."
A light came into Dr. Daincourt's face.
"And you mean to tell me that you can't discover the connection?"
"No I can't for the life of me discover it."
"That proves," said Dr. Daincourt, "how easy it is for a man engaged upon a serious task to overlook important facts which are as plain as the noonday sun."
"What facts have I overlooked, doctor?"
"Have you the newspapers in the room containing the reports of the trial?"
"Give me the one containing the report of the third day's proceedings?"
I handed it to him, and he ran his eyes down the column in which the evidence of the waiter in Prevost's Restaurant was reported.
"The waiter was asked," said Dr. Daincourt, "whether the lady who accompanied Edward Layton were married, and whether there were rings upon the lingers of her ungloved hand?"
"Yes, yes," I cried, "I remember! And the waiter answered that she wore a ring of turquoises and diamonds. Of course-of course. That explains my dream."
"Yes," said Dr. Daincourt, "that explains it."
"I need no further assurance," I said, "to prove that it was Miss Rutland who was in Edward Layton's company on the night of the 25th of March, but I wish you to ask her mother whether the young lady possesses such a ring, and is in the habit of wearing it. Your face is clouded again, doctor. You fear that I am really about to bring trouble upon Miss Rutland. You are mistaken I am working in the cause of justice. If I prove Edward Layton to be innocent, no shadow of suspicion can rest upon Miss Rutland. You must trust entirely to me. Can you not now understand why Edward Layton refused to be defended by a shrewd legal mind? He would not permit a cross-examination of any of the witnesses which would bring the name of Mabel Rutland before the public. To save her honor, to protect her from scandal and calumny, he is ready to sacrifice himself. He shall not do so. I will prevent it. Your patient is in a state of delirium, you tell me. She knows nothing of what passes around her, she recognizes no one, she has not heard of the peril in which Edward Layton stands. Say that she remains in this state of ignorance until Edward Layton is sentenced and hanged for a crime which he did not commit-say, then, that she recovers and hears of it-reads of it-why, she will go mad! It would be impossible for her to preserve her reason in circumstances so terrible. There is a clear duty before us, Dr. Daincourt, and we must not shrink from it. I need not urge upon you to use your utmost skill to restore Mabel Rutland to health, and to the consciousness of what is passing around her. If before Edward Layton is put again upon his trial I do not clear him, I shall not hesitate to make some kind of appeal to Miss Rutland which, even should she remain delirious, shall result in favor of the man who is so nobly and rashly protecting her good name."
"Remember," said Dr. Daincourt, gravely, "that she is in great danger."
"You man that she may die soon?"
"Yes."
"But not suddenly?" I asked, in alarm.
"I think not suddenly."
"Still," I said, "there is a chance of her being restored to health?"
"Yes, there is a chance of it."
"If the worst happens," I said, "is it likely that she would recover consciousness before her death?"
"It is almost certain that she would."
"Then it would be necessary," I said, "to take her dying deposition. Doctor, it is my firm conviction that the man and the woman who entered Edward Layton's house after midnight on the 25th of March were not Edward Layton and Mabel Rutland."
"But the coachman drove them home!" exclaimed Dr. Daincourt.
"So he said."
"And took them from Prevost's Restaurant."
"So he said. Recall that part of the coachman's evidence bearing upon it. He says that Edward Layton, accompanied by a lady, issued from the restaurant at five minutes to twelve; that Layton appeared excited; which he, the coachman, attributed to the fact of his having taken too much wine. To rebut this we have the evidence of the waiter, who declared that Layton simply tasted the wine that was ordered. He could not have drunk half a glass. The man and the woman who came from the restaurant jumped quickly into the carriage, and but one word, 'Home!' was uttered in a thick voice. Now, Layton, in his ridiculously weak cross-examination, put two questions to the witness. 'Did it occur to you,' he asked, 'or does it occur to you now, that the voice which uttered that word was not my voice?' The witness replied that it had not occurred to him. Then Layton said, 'You are certain it was my voice?' And the witness replied, 'Yes, sir.' To me, these two questions put by Layton are convincing proof that it was not he who entered the carriage from Prevost's Restaurant."
"But he wore his ulster," said Dr. Daincourt.
"Here, again," I said, "we have evidence which, to my mind, is favorable. The waiter testifies that when Layton entered the room in which the supper was ordered he took off his ulster and hung it on a peg in the wall, at some distance from the table at which he sat. Moreover, he sat with his back to the coat. Layton, in his cross-examination, asked the waiter, 'Did I put the overcoat on before I left the room?' The waiter replied, 'Yes.' The judge intervened with the rebuke, 'You have said in examination that you did not see the prisoner and his companion leave the room.' And the witness replied, 'But when I returned, after being away for three or four minutes, monsieur was gone, and the coat was also gone.' The prisoner put his last question to the waiter, 'You did not see me put on the overcoat?' And the witness answered, 'No.' Doctor, I see light. Bring me news of the ring set with turquoises and diamonds. I shall be at home the whole of the evening."
After Dr. Daincourt's departure I made a hurried breakfast, went through my correspondence, and resumed my task of examining Eustace Rutland's letters to his sister. The second opened communication was exactly of the same shape and form as the first which I had deciphered. I give here an exact copy of it:
The notation of the nine figures, representing the nine pips in the playing-card, in Eustace's first communication, was 6, 2, 7, 3, 9, 1, 4, 5, 8. Taking as my guide the alphabetical letter A, I found that the notation in Eustace Rutland's second communication was 3, 6, 1, 5, 2, 9, 4, 8, 7. I placed the playing-card, with its pips cut out, over the paper, and the following was revealed:
"Of-street-at-night-chester corner o'clock-nine-Tuesday."
Arranging these words according to the new notation of figures, they formed this sentence:
"At corner of Chester Street Tuesday night nine o'clock."
"Now," thought I, "this may have been an appointment."
If so-and nothing was more likely-I could derive no assistance from it. It conveyed no information, and contained nothing which would assist me in my inquiries. It was very likely that I should light upon something further, and I proceeded with my task. The figure immediately following the alphabetical letter A was 12, which meant, if I were on the right track, that the second sentence in this communication was composed of twelve words. I followed the same process I had previously employed, and the twelve words formed themselves thus:
"Awfully hard up ida is an angel I love her to distraction."
So as to finish this communication, I unravelled the last ten words, and found them to be,
"I will do all in my power yours till death."
This I set aside as being intended to convey no meaning. The first sentence, making an appointment at the corner of Chester Street, was, whether correct or not, of little importance. I concentrated my attention upon the second sentence of twelve words: "Awfully hard up ida is an angel I love her to distraction."
So the young scamp was hard up again, and knew that his sister would respond to his appeal. And he was in love, too, and ida was an angel. Ida, of course, with a capital I.
I jumped to my feet as if I had been shot. Ida! What was the name of Mrs. Layton's maid who had given such damning evidence against the man I meant to set free? Ida White!
Not a common name. An unusual one. I walked about the room in a state of great excitement. Ida White, the angel, and Eustace Rutland, the scamp. But the woman must be at least eight or ten years older than Eustace. What mattered that? All the more likely her hold upon him. Young fools frequently fall in love with women much older than themselves, and when the women get the chance they don't let the youngsters escape easily. Yes, opposite to each other stood two men-one a worthless ne'er-do-well, the other a martyr! Opposite to each other stood two women-one a scheming woman of the world, the other a suffering, heart-broken girl! I would save the noble ones. Yes, I would save them! The chain was forming link by link.
* * * * * *
I broke off here to despatch telegrams to two of my confidential agents. My instructions to them were to employ themselves immediately in discovering where Ida White, the maid who had given evidence against her master at the trial, was living, and having found it, not to lose sight of her for a single moment, but to set a strict watch upon her, and to take note of her proceedings and movements, however trivial they might be. These telegrams being despatched, I returned to my task.
The two sealed letters which Dr. Daincourt had received from Mrs. Rutland lay before me. I took up the first, which I knew to be in Eustace's handwriting. I opened it. It was of a similar nature to the two I had already examined and interpreted. There is no need here to repeat the details of the process by means of which I read this third communication, a copy of which I also append:
I will simply say that the notation was 7,1, 9, 5, 6, 3, 4, 8, 2, and that the words resolved themselves into the following:
"Yon know where to find me. The old address."
"An awful charge may be laid against me. I am not guilty."
"Do not desert me. I swear that I am innocent."
I decided that the whole of this was intended to be conveyed to Mabel Rutland's understanding, and that in the last of Eustace's communications to his sister there was not one idle word.
"An awful charge may be laid against me." That charge, undoubtedly, was the murder of Mrs. Layton. "I am not guilty. I swear that I am innocent." But all guilty men are ready to swear that they are innocent. Not a moment was to be lost in setting my agents to work to discover Eustace Rutland's address as well as the address of Ida White. I quickly opened the letter which Edward Layton had written in prison to Mabel Rutland, and which I had posted. It was very short, to the following effect:
"Dear Miss Rutland, – All is well. Have no fear. Do not write to me until you hear from me again. Believe me, faithfully yours,
"Edward Layton."
Thus it was that he endeavored to keep from the woman he loved the true knowledge of the peril in which he stood. To save her good name, he was ready to go cheerfully to his death.
V
I rose early this morning in the expectation of a busy day. Dr. Daincourt called on Saturday evening, as I had expected, and narrated to me the result of his inquiries respecting Mabel Rutland's jewellery. Among it there was a ring set with turquoises and diamonds which had been given to her by her mother, and which she wore constantly. Dr. Daincourt had received from Mrs. Rutland further instances of the profound attachment which Mabel bore for her twin-brother.
"Deep as was her love," Mrs. Rutland had said, "for Mr. Layton, there is in her love for her brother an element so absorbing that she would not hesitate to make the most terrible sacrifices for his sake. My poor Eustace! It is weeks since I saw him, and I have no idea where he is. He is not altogether to blame, doctor he has been led away by bad companions. Ah, when I think of him and Mabel as little children, and see them, as I often do, playing their innocent games together-when I think of the exquisite joy we drew from them, and of the heavenly happiness they were to us, it seems to me that I must be under the influence of some horrible dream, that things have changed so!"
At half-past nine o'clock one of my confidential agents, Fowler by name, made his appearance.
"Found, sir," was the first thing he said to me.
"Who?" I quickly asked.
"Ida White. Living at Brixton. The drawing-rooms. Quite a swell in her way, sir."
"Is she living alone?"
"So far as we can make out. There are two men now on the watch, one to relieve the other."
"And Mr. Eustace Rutland?" I asked.
"Haven't got track of him yet, sir. The week is rather against us."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Why, sir, you don't forget that it is Derby week, do you? I suppose you backed one, but I can give you the straight tip if you want it."
"I backed Paradox for a couple of sovereigns," I said. (Where is the man who does not take an interest in the Derby?)
"Not in it, sir. There is only one horse will win, and that is Melton."
"But," I said, coming back to the all-engrossing subject I was engaged upon, "what difference will the Derby week make to you?"
"Well, you see, sir, London is so full. There is too much rushing about for calm, steady work. In such a task as ours a man wants a double set of eyes this week. Suppose my lady takes it into her head to go to the Derby? It will be all a job not to lose sight of her."
"What lady do you refer to?"
"Ida White, to be sure. She's a bit of a blood, sir, and the result of the Derby may mean a lot to her."
"Does she bet, then?"
"There is not much doubt of that, sir."
"How did you discover it?"
"Oh, easily enough. We have ways of our own. Why, sir, when I found out last night where she lives, what did I do an hour afterwards but present myself to the landlady of the house and ask her whether she could let me have a room for a week or two? I didn't tell you that there was a bill in her window, 'A Bedroom to Let to a Single Young Man.' Well, if I ain't a single young man, what is that to do with anybody-except my wife? I'm a soft-spoken chap when I like, and before the landlady and me are together five minutes I'm hand-and-glove with, her, and already a bit of a favorite. So I take her room and sleep there last night, and the first thing this morning down-stairs I am at the street door when the postman comes with the letters. Well, sir, would you believe it, he delivers five letters, and every one of them for Miss Ida White? I, opening the door for the postman, take the letters from him, and hand them one by one to the landlady, who comes puffing and panting up from the basement she weighs fourteen stone if she weighs an ounce. 'Miss Ida White,' says I, giving her the first letter. 'Miss Ida White,' says I, giving her the second letter. 'Miss Ida White,' says I, giving her the other three, one by one. 'Why, it is quite a correspondence!' All these letters are from Boulogne, sir, from betting firms. I know them by their outsides; I believe I should know them by the smell. Then, sir, there's something else. My lady is fond of newspapers. What kind of newspapers? Why, the sporting ones, to be sure. The Sportsman, Sporting Life, Sporting Times, Referee, and the like. Put this and that together, and what do you make of it, sir?"
"You are progressing, Fowler," I said.
"Yes, sir, we're moving. The landlady, bless her heart, she doesn't suspect what the letters from Boulogne are, but in less than a brace of shakes I worm out of her that Miss Ida White has received any number of them since she came to live in the house."
"Have you an idea what horse she has backed?"
"I have an idea that she has backed half a dozen, and that neither of the favorites is among them. When a woman bets, she wants fifty to one as a rule, and as a rule she gets it, and has to part."
I debated a moment or two, and then I showed Fowler one of the envelopes addressed by Eustace Rutland to his sister.
"Are you certain that none of the envelopes you saw this morning were addressed in this handwriting?"
"Quite certain, sir."
"I should like to see the house that Miss Ida White lives in, Fowler."
"Nothing easier but I shouldn't go as I am, if I were you."
"Why not?"
"Well, you see, she had a pretty long examination in court at the Layton trial, and you were there all the time. She has sharp eyes in her head, has Miss Ida White, and she might recognize you, and smell a rat."
"You are right. I had better not go."
"I don't see why you shouldn't, if you let me fix you up."
"Fix me up?"
"Yes, sir."
He took from his pocket a small box of paints, and two or three sets of wigs and whiskers and mustaches.
"I always travel with them, sir. I can make myself into another man in five minutes or so, and as for a change of clothes, any handy cheap-clothes shop will serve my turn. Put on these sandy whiskers and mustaches-always hide your mouth, sir-and this sandy wig, and let me touch you up a bit, and your own mother wouldn't know you."
I doubted whether she would when I looked at myself in the glass after carrying out Fowler's instructions, and in less than a quarter of an hour we were riding in a four-wheeled cab to Brixton. We alighted within a couple of hundred yards of Miss Ida White's lodgings, and Fowler took me boldly into the house, requesting me on the way thither to try and discover the men working under him who were keeping watch upon the lady's-maid's movements. To his gratification, I failed to discover them.
"Then you didn't see me give the office to them?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
"I did, though, under your very nose. That is a guarantee to you, sir, that the thing is being neatly done. Miss White is in the house. If she were not, my men wouldn't be in the street. Did you hear the snapping of a lock down-stairs?"
"No."
We were sitting at the window of Fowler's room, which was situated on the second floor. It was the front room, and we could therefore see into the street.
"It was the key turning in my lady's room. She is going out. There's the street door slamming. You heard that, of course?"
"Yes, I heard that."
"And there is Miss Ida White crossing the road to the opposite side of the way, and there, sir, are my men following her, without her having the slightest suspicion that she is being tracked."
My sight is strong, and I had a clear view of Ida White. She was stylishly dressed, and was certainly good-looking.
"It is my opinion," said Fowler, "that she feathered her nest when she was in Mrs. Layton's service but I don't care how much money she may have saved or filched, if she goes on betting on horses the book-makers will have every penny of it."
There was nothing more to be done, and feeling somewhat ill at ease in my disguise, I prepared to leave.
"I will see you out of the street, sir," said Fowler. "It happens often enough that watchers are watched, without their being aware of it."
Before I bade Fowler good-day I impressed upon him that no money was to be spared in the business had intrusted to him, and that he had better engage two or three more men, to be ready for any emergency that might occur. He promised to do so, and I made my way home.