Part 21 (2/2)
”And didn't he ask you to keep that property safe in your strong-room?”
”He did.”
”Well--doesn't it seem as if somebody was precious anxious to lay his hands upon that property, and that Mr. Paxton was equally anxious that he shouldn't?”
”Precisely.”
”And yet you go and tell me that all the property he has is contained in that Gladstone bag. What is there that should make any one go out of his way to take it? You tell me that!”
When the manager replied, it was with an appreciable amount of hesitation.
”I think that is a point on which I may be able to throw some light.”
”Then throw it--do!”
”I shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Paxton took all that the bag contained which was of value up to London with him this morning, and left it there. Indeed, this evening, before he went out, he told me that that was what he had done.”
Mr. Ireland gave utterance to what, coming from the mouth of any one but an inspector of police, would have sounded like a string of execrations.
”I suppose you've no idea what it was that he took with him or where it was he took it?”
”Not the faintest notion.”
”Mr. Treadwater, this is another ill.u.s.tration of the fact that if you want a thing well done you must do it yourself. This morning I set a man to shadow Mr. Paxton--I told him not to let him get out of his sight. What does he do, this utter idiot? He sees our gentleman drop a ring. My man, he picks it up, and he gets into such a state of excitement that he loses his head and tears straight off with it to me. I'm not saying that he'd not chanced upon an important piece of evidence, because he had; but if he'd kept his wits about him, and had his head screwed on straight, he'd have had the ring and Mr. Paxton too. As it was, that was the last he saw of Mr. Paxton.”
”May I ask what it is you suspect Mr. Paxton of having taken with him up to town?”
”Unless I'm out of my reckoning, Mr. Paxton went up to town with the d.u.c.h.ess of Datchet's diamonds stowed away in his pockets.”
The manager's face was a vivid note of exclamation.
”No! My dear sir, I have been acquainted with Mr. Paxton some considerable time. I happen to know that he's a gentleman of position in the City. You must surely be mistaken in supposing that he could be mixed up in such an affair as that--it's incredible!”
”Is it? That's all right. If you like, you think so. Gentlemen of position in the City have had their fingers in some queer pies before to-day. If you don't happen to know it, I present you with the information gratis. Have you any idea of where he was going when he went out to-night?”
”I fancy that when he comes to Brighton he comes to see a lady. I rather took it for granted that, as usual, he was going to her.”
”What's her name; and where does she live?”
”I don't know her name; but I believe she lives in Medina Villas--that, you know, is at West Brighton.”
”Medina Villas?” Ireland seemed to be turning something over in his mind. He smiled. ”I shouldn't be surprised. If she does, I'm inclined to think that one of my men has got his eye on her address. If Mr.
Paxton's there, he's nabbed. But I'm afraid he isn't. On this occasion I'm inclined to think that he had an appointment which he found to be slightly more pressing than that which he had with the lady.” Ireland looked at the manager with what he probably intended for a look of frankness. ”I don't mind owning that there are features about the case, as it stands at present, which are beyond my comprehension, and I tell you, I would give a good round sum to be able this moment to lay my finger on Mr. Paxton.”
”So would I. I'd give a great deal to be able to lay my finger on Mr.
Paxton. With all my heart I would. Yes, sir, indeed I would.”
Each of the talkers had been too much interested in what the other had to say to notice that while they talked, without invitation or any sort of announcement, a procession--the procession of three!--had entered the room. The speaker was, of course, Miss Strong. Behind her, gripping the handle of her parasol, as it seemed a little nervously, came Miss Wentworth. Mr. Franklyn, looking distinctly the most uncomfortable of the trio, brought up the rear. Miss Strong, in front, bore herself like a female paladin. She held herself quite straight; her shoulders were thrown well back; her dainty head was gallantly poised upon her lovely neck; she breathed the air of battle. She might not have known it, but seldom had she looked more charming. The detective and the manager both looked at her askance. She only looked at the detective.
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