'I repeat that I doubt it.'
Atherton struck in.
'I am bound to say, with the best will in the world to think
otherwise, that I agree with Lessingham.'
'You are wrong.'
'It's all very well for you to talk in that cock-sure way, but
it's easier for you to say I'm wrong than to prove it. If I am
wrong, and if Lessingham's wrong, how do you explain his
extraordinary insistance on taking it inside the cab with him,
which the bobby describes? If there wasn't something horrible,
awful in that bundle of his, of which he feared the discovery, why
was he so reluctant to have it placed upon the roof?'
'There probably was something in it which he was particularly
anxious should not be discovered, but I doubt if it was anything
of the kind which you suggest.'
'Here is Marjorie in a house alone—nothing has been seen of her
since,—her clothing, her hair, is found hidden away under the
floor. This scoundrel sallies forth with a huge bundle on his
head,—the bobby speaks of it being five or six feet long, or
longer,—a bundle which he regards with so much solicitude that he
insists on never allowing it to go, for a single instant, out of
his sight and reach. What is in the thing? don't all the facts
most unfortunately point in one direction?'
Mr Lessingham covered his face with his hands, and groaned.
'I fear that Mr Atherton is right.'
'I differ from you both.'
Sydney at once became heated.
'Then perhaps you can tell us what was in the bundle?'
'I fancy I could make a guess at the contents.'
'Oh you could, could you, then, perhaps, for our sakes, you'll
make it,—and not play the oracular owl!—Lessingham and I are
interested in this business, after all.'
'It contained the bearer's personal property: that, and nothing
more. Stay! before you jeer at me, suffer me to finish. If I am
not mistaken as to the identity of the person whom the constable
describes as the Arab, I apprehend that the contents of that
bundle were of much more importance to him than if they had
consisted of Miss Lindon, either dead or living. More. I am
inclined to suspect that if the bundle was placed on the roof of
the cab, and if the driver did meddle with it, and did find out
the contents, and understand them, he would have been driven, out
of hand, stark staring mad.'
Sydney was silent, as if he reflected. I imagine he perceived
there was something in what I said.
'But what has become of Miss Lindon?'
'I fancy that Miss Lindon, at this moment, is—somewhere; I don't,
just now, know exactly where, but I hope very shortly to be able
to give you a clearer notion,—attired in a rotten, dirty pair of
boots; a filthy, tattered pair of trousers; a ragged, unwashed
apology for a shirt; a greasy, ancient, shapeless coat; and a
frowsy peaked cloth cap.'
They stared at me, opened-eyed. Atherton was the first to speak.
'What on earth do you mean?'
'I mean that it seems to me that the facts point in the direction
of my conclusions rather than yours—and that very strongly too.
Miss Coleman asserts that she saw Miss London return into the
house; that within a few minutes the blind was replaced at the
front window; and that shortly after a young man, attired in the
costume I have described, came walking out of the front door. I
believe that young man was Miss Marjorie Lindon.'
Lessingham and Atherton both broke out into interrogations, with
Sydney, as usual, loudest.
'But—man alive! what on earth should make her do a thing like
that? Marjorie, the most retiring, modest girl on all God's earth,
walk about in broad daylight, in such a costume, and for no reason
at all! my dear Champnell, you are suggesting that she first of
all went mad.'
'She was in a state of trance.'
'Good God!—Champnell!'
'Well?'
'Then you think that—juggling villain did get hold of her?'
'Undoubtedly. Here is my view of the case, mind it is only a
hypothesis and you must take it for what it is worth. It seems to
me quite clear that the Arab, as we will call the person for the
sake of identification, was somewhere about the premises when you
thought he wasn't.'
'But—where? We looked upstairs, and downstairs, and everywhere—
where could he have been?'
'That, as at present advised, I am not prepared to say, but I
think you may take it for granted that he was there. He hypnotised
the man Holt, and sent him away, intending you to go after him,
and so being rid of you both—'
'The deuce he did, Champnell! You write me down an ass!'
'As soon as the coast was clear he discovered himself to Miss
Lindon, who, I expect, was disagreeably surprised, and hypnotised
her.'
'The hound!'
'The devil!'
The first exclamation was Lessingham's, the second Sydney's.
'He then constrained her to strip herself to the skin—'
'The wretch!'
'The fiend!'
'He cut off her hair; he hid it and her clothes under the floor
where we found them—where I think it probable that he had already
some ancient masculine garments concealed—'
'By Jove! I shouldn't be surprised if they were Holt's. I remember
the man saying that that nice joker stripped him of his duds,—and
certainly when I saw him,—and when Marjorie found him!—he had
absolutely nothing on but a queer sort of cloak. Can it be
possible that that humorous professor of hankey-pankey—may all
the maledictions of the accursed alight upon his head!—can have
sent Marjorie Lindon, the daintiest damsel in the land!—into the
streets of London rigged out in Holt's old togs!'
'As to that, I am not able to give an authoritative opinion, but,
if I understand you aright, it at least is possible. Anyhow I am
disposed to think that he sent Miss Lindon after the man Holt,
taking it for granted that he had eluded you.—'
'That's it. Write me down an ass again!'
'That he did elude you, you have yourself admitted.'
'That's because I stopped talking with that mutton-headed bobby,—
I'd have followed the man to the ends of the earth if it hadn't
been for that.'
'Precisely; the reason is immaterial, it is the fact with which we
are immediately concerned. He did elude you. And I think you will
find that Miss Lindon and Mr Holt are together at this moment.'
'In men's clothing?'
'Both in men's clothing, or, rather, Miss Lindon is in a man's
rags.'
'Great Potiphar! To think of Marjorie like that!'
'And where they are, the Arab is not very far off either.'
Lessingham caught me by the arm.
'And what diabolical mischief do you imagine that he proposes to
do to her?'
I shirked the question.
'Whatever it is, it is our business to prevent his doing it.'
'And where do you think they have been taken?'
'That it will be our immediate business to endeavour to discover,
—and here, at any rate, we are at Waterloo.'
I turned towards the booking-office on the main departure
platform. As I went, the chief platform inspector, George
Bellingham, with whom I had some acquaintance, came out of his
office. I stopped him.
'Mr Bellingham, will you be so good as to step with me to the
booking-office, and instruct the clerk in charge to answer one or
two questions which I wish to put to him. I will explain to you
afterwards what is their exact import, but you know me
sufficiently to be able to believe me when I say that they refer
to a matter in which every moment is of the first importance.'
He turned and accompanied us into the interior of the booking-
case.
'To which of the clerks, Mr Champnell, do you wish to put your
questions?'
'To the one who issues third-class tickets to Southampton.'
Bellingham beckoned to a man who was counting a heap of money, and
apparently seeking to make it tally with the entries in a huge
ledger which lay open before him,—he was a short, slightly-built
young fellow, with a pleasant face and smiling eyes.
'Mr Stone, this gentleman wishes to ask you one or two questions.'
'I am at his service.'
I put my questions.
'I want to know, Mr Stone, if, in the course of the day, you have
issued any tickets to a person dressed in Arab costume?'
His reply was prompt.
'I have—by the last train, the 7.25,—three singles.'
Three singles! Then my instinct had told me rightly.
'Can you describe the person?'
Mr Stone's eyes twinkled.
'I don't know that I can, except in a general way,—he was
uncommonly old and uncommonly ugly, and he had a pair of the most
extraordinary eyes I ever saw,—they gave me a sort of all-overish
feeling when I saw them glaring at me through the pigeon hole. But
I can tell you one thing about him, he had a great bundle on his
head, which he steadied with one hand, and as it bulged out in all
directions it's presence didn't make him popular with other people
who wanted tickets too.'
Undoubtedly this was our man.
'You are sure he asked for three tickets?'
'Certain. He said three tickets to Southampton; laid down the
exact fare,—nineteen and six—and held up three fingers—like
that. Three nasty looking fingers they were, with nails as long as
talons.'
'You didn't see who were his companions?'
'I didn't,—I didn't try to look. I gave him his tickets and off
he went,—with the people grumbling at him because that bundle of
his kept getting in their way.'
Bellingham touched me on the arm.
'I can tell you about the Arab of whom Mr Stone speaks. My
attention was called to him by his insisting on taking his bundle
with him into the carriage,—it was an enormous thing, he could
hardly squeeze it through the door; it occupied the entire seat.
But as there weren't as many passengers as usual, and he wouldn't
or couldn't be made to understand that his precious bundle would
be safe in the luggage van along with the rest of the luggage, and
as he wasn't the sort of person you could argue with to any
advantage, I had him put into an empty compartment, bundle and
all.'
'Was he alone then?'
'I thought so at the time, he said nothing about having more than
one ticket, or any companions, but just before the train started
two other men—English men—got into his compartment; and as I
came down the platform, the ticket inspector at the barrier
informed me that these two men were with him, because he held
tickets for the three, which, as he was a foreigner, and they
seemed English, struck the inspector as odd.'
'Could you describe the two men?'
'I couldn't, not particularly, but the man who had charge of the
barrier might. I was at the other end of the train when they got
in. All I noticed was that one seemed to be a commonplace looking
individual and that the other was dressed like a tramp, all rags
and tatters, a disreputable looking object he appeared to be.'
'That,' I said to myself, 'was Miss Marjorie Lindon, the lovely
daughter of a famous house; the wife-elect of a coming statesman.'
To Bellingham I remarked aloud:
'I want you to strain a point, Mr Bellingham, and to do me a
service which I assure you you shall never have any cause to
regret. I want you to wire instructions down the line to detain
this Arab and his companions and to keep them in custody until the
receipt of further instructions. They are not wanted by the police
as yet, but they will be as soon as I am able to give certain
information to the authorities at Scotland Yard,—and wanted very
badly. But, as you will perceive for yourself, until I am able to
give that information every moment is important.—Where's the
Station Superintendent?'
'He's gone. At present I'm in charge.'
'Then will you do this for me? I repeat that you shall never have
any reason to regret it.'
'I will if you'll accept all responsibility.'
'I'll do that with the greatest pleasure.'
Bellingham looked at his watch.
'It's about twenty minutes to nine. The train's scheduled for
Basingstoke at 9.6. If we wire to Basingstoke at once they ought
to be ready for them when they come.'
'Good!'
The wire was sent.
We were shown into Bellingham's office to await results Lessingham
paced agitatedly to and fro; he seemed to have reached the limits
of his self-control, and to be in a condition in which movement of
some sort was an absolute necessity. The mercurial Sydney, on the
contrary, leaned back in a chair, his legs stretched out in front
of him, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, and stared
at Lessingham, as if he found relief to his feelings in watching
his companion's restlessness. I, for my part, drew up as full a
precis of the case as I deemed advisable, and as time permitted,
which I despatched by one of the company's police to Scotland
Yard.
Then I turned to my associates.
'Now, gentlemen, it's past dinner time. We may have a journey in
front of us. If you take my advice you'll have something to eat.'
Lessingham shook his head.
'I want nothing.'
'Nor I,' echoed Sydney.
I started up.
'You must pardon my saying nonsense, but surely you of all men, Mr
Lessingham, should be aware that you will not improve the
situation by rendering yourself incapable of seeing it through.
Come and dine.'
I haled them off with me, willy nilly, to the refreshment room, I
dined,—after a fashion; Mr Lessingham swallowed with difficulty,
a plate of soup; Sydney nibbled at a plate of the most unpromising
looking 'chicken and ham,'—he proved, indeed, more intractable
than Lessingham, and was not to be persuaded to tackle anything
easier of digestion.
I was just about to take cheese after chop when Bellingham came
hastening in, in his hand an open telegram.