Part 22 (2/2)
In order to watch his att.i.tude I suddenly exclaimed,--
”That affair in Charlton Wood seems still a mystery. And yet I hear,” I added, making a bold shot, ”that the police have at last found a clue.”
His countenance remained perfectly unchanged. He merely responded,--
”I hope they have. It was a dastardly thing. The poor fellow must have been shot treacherously--murdered in cold blood. Jack is most anxious to find the culprit, and I don't wonder. It isn't nice to have a murder committed upon one's own estate.”
”It's curious that the man has not yet been identified,” I said, regarding him keenly.
”And has it not also struck you as strange that Tibbie should suddenly disappear on the night of the murder?” he asked, his eyes fixed upon mine.
”No,” I replied, quite unconcernedly. ”I had never given that a thought. It is curious, now that you recall it. A mere coincidence, of course.”
”Of course,” he said, pouring me out a gla.s.s of still Moselle. His air of refinement was irritating.
Then, after a brief silence, he said,--
”Do you know, Hughes, I can't help thinking that something serious has happened to Tibbie. The letter Lady Scarcliff received was posted in Glasgow, but of course that was only a blind. She's in London somewhere. I told Wydcombe to-day that they ought to advertise and offer a reward for her.”
His suggestion suddenly gave me an idea. In the pockets of the unknown man in Charlton Wood I had found the key to a cipher which he had evidently used to correspond with his friends. Why should I not through the medium of the papers open up some correspondence? Would anyone reply?
”You know how erratic Tibbie always is,” I remarked. ”I've perhaps known her longer than you have. She was always the same, even as a girl--the despair of the old viscount.”
”And yet she is very charming, don't you think so?” asked the man whom she declared to be one of her bitterest enemies.
”Delightfully amusing,” I agreed. ”The set she mixes with spoils her.
If she could only sever herself entirely from Cynthia's friends she would be a very different woman.”
”Oh, she'll marry some day and settle down,” laughed Winsloe. ”I used at one time to hear that you were likely to be the lucky man.”
”I think not,” was my quick reply, somewhat annoyed at his remark. ”I can't afford to marry,” whereat he laughed, as though in disbelief of my poverty.
He questioned me with a subtle ingenuity worthy of a counsel at the criminal bar, but my replies were all of them empty ones, while at the same time I was watching him narrowly, noting that this warm friendliness was merely a.s.sumed, and that beneath that veneer of good fellows.h.i.+p was a fierce and bitter antagonism that I had never before suspected. Ever since Scarcliff had introduced us eighteen months ago we had been very good friends, and had seen quite a good deal of each other on the Riviera the previous season. I was staying at the Metropole at Monte Carlo, while he was at the Hermitage.
He seemed to have many friends there, well-dressed men whom I did not know. But one's acquaintances on the Riviera are generally somewhat doubtful, and need not be recognised beyond the confines of the Princ.i.p.ality. He became one of Jack's most intimate friends. They often went over to Paris together, and on such occasions it was believed that young Lord Scarcliff played baccarat at a certain private house in the Avenue Kleber and lost considerable sums. Tibbie had told me so in confidence, but Jack naturally never mentioned his losses. If this were true, then it looked very much as though Ellice Winsloe was a shark, as my friend Domville declared him to be.
In a London club a white s.h.i.+rt and well-cut evening clothes enables many a scoundrel to pa.s.s himself off as a gentleman. Few young men who come into their inheritance and lead the fevered life of the West End escape the traps laid for them by those well-dressed blackguards who pose as friends and advisers, and at the same time cleverly contrive to pluck the pigeon. By some clever ruse or other they get him into their power, threatening exposure or the police for some fancied offence, and then the question of hush-money is mooted and the rest is so very easy. The fly is caught in the net, and the spiders grow fat at their leisure.
Ask any official at Scotland Yard, and what he will reveal to you regarding this will surely astound you.
Sitting with Winsloe and listening to his clever chatter I was rather amused than otherwise. Inwardly I laughed at his shrewd but futile efforts to obtain from me something concerning Tibbie.
We smoked a cigar, and about ten o'clock strolled along to the Empire, where we took a turn round the crowded grand circle. Variety performances, however, possess but little attraction for me, and we soon went out again. In the vestibule a fair-moustached, bald-headed man in evening dress greeted my companion effusively, exclaiming,--
”Why, Ellice--actually! My dear old fellow, how are you?--how are you?”
and he wrung his hand in warmest greeting.
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