The Mystery Queen Page 7

  In two days the sheet was filled with letters from various people, and the matter was much discussed. Some of the writers laughed at the idea of such a society existing in a civilised country such as England was, while others expressed alarm and asked what the police were doing not to arrest the criminals. These last scribes evidently entirely forgot that no one knew where the central quarters of the gang were, and that the letter of Mr. Laurance was an attempt to root out the heart of the mystery. Those who appeared in print and aided the circulation of “The Moment” by buying their own lucubrations certainly did not help much. The generality of the letters were discursive and ornate, wandering very much from the point, and giving no positive information such as would assist Freddy’s purpose. But three or four epistles drew attention to certain mysterious crimes, the perpetrators of which had never been brought to justice, and who were not even known. There was the case of a young girl found dead on the Brighton railway line near Redhill, and who must have been thrown out of the train. Then someone wrote about a miser in the East End who had been strangled, and another person recalled the drowning of a well-known philanthropist in the Serpentine. A verdict of suicide had been brought in as regards this last victim, but the writer of the letter positively asserted that the philanthropist had not the slightest intention of making away with himself. Finally came a batch of letters concerning children who had been murdered.

  But only in one case did it appear that any fly was seen on the victim, and that was when a schoolmistress was stabbed to the heart while in bed and asleep. The assassin had entered and escaped by the window, and the victim’s mother—who wrote the letter drawing attention to this case—had found the fly on her daughter’s cheek. She had thought nothing of it at the time, and had brushed away the insect. But after the mention of the fly on Sir Charles Moon’s neck, she remembered the incident. Also it turned out that the schoolmistress, had she lived, would have inherited a large sum of money. It was this last circumstance that suggested the intervention of the gang to murder the girl so that someone else might inherit. But all the letters dealing with the various cases were vague, and no enlightening details could be given. All that could be said was that there were many unusual deaths, the mystery of which could not be solved. Laurance, reading the letters during the week of their appearance, felt sure that the gang existed, but he was more or less alone in his opinion. Even Dan was doubtful.

  “It seems such a large order for a number of people to band themselves together in order to murder on this comprehensive scale,” he objected; “and I don’t quite see the object. Many of the victims mentioned in these letters are poor.”

  “You seem to have changed your mind about the matter,” said Laurance drily, “for when my letter appeared you were assured that there was such a gang.”

  “Only because of Sir Charles’s remarks to Durwin.”

  “It was a pity Sir Charles was not more explicit,” retorted Freddy crossly.

  “He had no time to be explicit,” said Dan, patiently, “since he died before he could explain. But let us admit, for the sake of argument, that such a gang exists. Why should the members murder poor people?”

  “Folks have been murdered by way of revenge, as well as for money. And let me remind you, Dan, that four or five of these victims mentioned in the letters had money, or were about to inherit money. I am quite convinced,” said Laurance, striking the table, “that there is such an association.”

  “An association for what?”

  “You are very dull. To get undesirable people out of the way. Remember, in the reign of Louis XIV, there were dozens of poisoners in Paris who undertook to kill people when engaged to do so. The reason was for revenge, or desire for money, or—or—or for other reasons,” ended Laurance vaguely.

  “Hum!” Dan stroked his chin, “it may be as you say. Certainly Sir Charles was got rid of, because he knew too much.”

  “About this gang,” insisted Laurance, “since he was to see Durwin about the same. I am certain that such an association exists.”

  “You said that before,” Halliday reminded him.

  “And I say it again. At all events there is one thing certain—that we have learned from these letters of many mysterious crimes.”

  “But only in one case was the fly discovered,” objected Dan again.

  “That is not to be wondered at,” replied the journalist; “the wonder is that such a small insect should be noticed at all. No one would ever think of connecting a fly, whether dead or alive, with the death. The mother of the schoolmistress did not, until your experience with regard to Moon was quoted in my letter. The fly business is quite ridiculous.”

  “And perhaps means nothing.”

  “Oh, I think it does, seeing that in Moon’s case the fly was artificial. Probably in the case of the schoolmistress it was artificial also, only the mother who noticed it did not make an examination. Why should she? I wonder the gang don’t have a better trade-mark.”

  “Perhaps the gang may think it would be spotted if it did.”

  “Then why have any trade-mark at all,” answered Laurance, sensibly. “If there is to be a sign, there should be some sensible one. If the fly was stamped on the skin, as the purple fern was stamped, there would be some sense in the matter. But a fly, artificial or not, is—” Freddy spread out his hands, for words entirely failed him.

  “Well,” said Dan after a pause, “I don’t know what to say, since everything is so vague. However, I shall assume that such a gang exists, and shall do my best to help you to bring about its destruction, as that means my marriage to Lillian. To help, I must have money, so the sooner we get north and engage one of Vincent’s machines with all the latest improvements, the better shall I be pleased.” He moved towards the door, as they were in Laurance’s rooms when this conversation took place, and there he halted. “I think, Freddy, you will have a chance of proving in your own person, as to the truth of your supposition regarding this gang!”

  “What do you mean?” asked Laurance somewhat startled.

  “Well,” murmured Dan, “the gang know you started the hunt for its destruction, as I expect the members read the papers. If that is the case you will be a source of danger, such as Sir Charles was and—”

  “I’ll look after myself,” interrupted Laurance grimly.

  “Well, if you don’t, and the worst comes,” said Dan agreeably, “I shall carefully examine your corpse for the celebrated fly.”

  “I’ll look after myself,” said Laurance again, “and if you think I am going to give up doing business through fear of death, you are much mistaken. If I can find the gang and exterminate them, I’ll get a much larger salary, and so will be able to marry Mildred.”

  “Oh, that’s her name is it! Mildred Vincent! Is she pretty?”

  “You might not think so since Miss Moon is your ideal,” said Freddy, with a blush. “Mildred is dark and tall, and well-proportioned—none of your skimpy women, old man.”

  “Lillian isn’t skimpy,” cried Halliday indignantly.

  “I never said she was. Let us call her fairy-like.”

  “That’s better. And your Mildred?”

  “You’ll see her when we go north the day after to-morrow.”

  “Good!” Dan nodded thankfully, “we go to Vincent the day after to-morrow?”

  “Yes. Meet me at a quarter to twelve at St. Pancras Station; the train leaves at mid-day and we change for Beswick about four o’clock. I expect we’ll arrive—all going well—at Sheepeak about six.”

  “Good! But why shouldn’t all go well?” inquired Dan, after a pause.

  Laurance chuckled. “According to you, the gang will hunt me down, and as you are in my company—well!” he chuckled again.

  “Oh, I don’t care a cent for the gang, no more than yourself,” retorted Dan with a shrug. “I’m not even going to think of the beasts. We go north to get the machine which will enable me to win this two thousand. And then—”

  “And then?” ech
oed Laurance with a grin.

  “Then I shall discover the truth, crush the gang, and marry Lillian.”

  In this way, therefore, the muddy water was stirred up.

  Chapter VI. THE INVENTOR

  Freddy Laurance usually opened his mouth to ask questions, rarely to talk about himself. In the newspaper world, confidences may mean copy; given that such are worthy to appear in print. Therefore, as the young man found, it is just as well to be sparing of personal details, and having made this discovery, he was careful to keep his tongue between his teeth in all matters dealing with his private life. This reticence, useful in business but wholly unnecessary in friendship—particularly when the friendship had to do with Dan Halliday—had grown upon Laurance to such an extent that he said very little about his love affair. Dan, being a genial soul, and a fellow-sufferer in the cause of Cupid, and having heart-whole liking for the journalist, resented being shut out in this way. He therefore made it his business to extract Freddy’s love story from him when the two were in the train making for Sheepeak, via Thawley and Beswick.

  “Where did you meet her?” asked Dan abruptly, as they had the compartment to themselves, and he had exhausted not only the newspapers but the magazines.

  “Her?” repeated Laurance, who was calmly smoking, with his feet on the opposite seat; “what her?”

  “The Her. The one girl in the world for you?”

  “Oh, bosh!” Freddy coloured, and looked pleasantly embarrassed.

  “Is it? Perhaps you are right” and Dan began to hum a simple little American song, entitled, “I wonder who’s kissing her now.”

  Laurance took this personally. “No one is! I can trust her.”

  “Trust who?” asked Dan innocently.

  “The person you mentioned now. Miss Vincent,—Mildred.”

  “Did I mention her? Well, now you recall her name, I did. Old man, we are the best of friends, but this fourth estate habit of holding your confounded tongue is getting on my nerves. Give yourself a treat by letting yourself go. I am ready to listen,” and he leaned back with a seraphic smile.

  Freddy did not fence any longer, but came out with details. After all, since he could trust Dan, he was beginning to think that it would be delightful to talk his heart empty. “She’s the dearest girl in the world,” was the preamble.

  Dan twiddled his thumbs. “We all say that. Now Lillian—”

  “Mildred! We are speaking of her.” Freddy spoke very fast lest his friend should interrupt. Since Dan wanted confidences, Dan should have them given to him in a most thorough manner. “Mildred is an angel, and her uncle is an old respectable, clever beast.”

  “Yes!” said Halliday persuasively. “I thought in that way of Sir Charles when he interrupted private conversations between Lillian and myself. I am of the same opinion as regards Sir John Moon because—”

  “Yes, I know what you mean by ‘because’. But with regard to Mildred—”

  “Who is an angel. Yes?”

  “I met her a year ago in London—Regent Street, to be precise as to locality. A snob spoke to her without an introduction, so she appealed to me, and I punched his head. Then I escorted her home—”

  “To Hillshire? What a knight-errant!” chuckled Dan.

  “Don’t be an ass. I escorted her to the Guelph Hotel in Jermyn Street, where she and her uncle were staying. The uncle appreciated the service I did for his niece, and made me welcome, especially when he found that, as a newspaper man, I was able to talk in print about his machines. For an inventor the old man has an excellent idea of business.”

  “Inventors being generally fools. So you called the next day to see if Miss Vincent’s nerves were better.”

  Freddy cast a look of surprise at Dan’s dark face. “How did you guess that, Halliday? Well, I did, and I got on better with Solomon Vincent than ever.”

  “Undoubtedly you got on better with the niece,” murmured Dan, mischievously.

  “Well,” Laurance coloured, “you might put it that way.”

  “I do put it that way,” said Dan firmly, “and from personal experience.”

  “Not with Mildred. To make a long story short, I saw a great deal of them in town, and took them out to dinner and got them theatre seats, and fell deeper in love every day. Then Vincent asked me to visit Sheepeak to inspect his machines and I wrote several articles in ‘The Moment’.”

  “Ah. I thought I remembered Vincent’s name. I read those articles. But you didn’t mention the niece.”

  “Ass!” said the journalist scornfully, “is it likely? Well, that’s the whole yarn. I’ve been several times to Sheepeak and Vincent likes me.”

  “To the extent of taking you as a nephew?” inquired Dan, thoughtfully.

  “No, hang him! That’s why I call him a beast. He says that Mildred is necessary to his comfort as a housekeeper, and he won’t allow her to marry me. She is such a good girl that she obeys her uncle because he brought her up when her parents died, and has been a father to her.”

  “A dull romance and a league-long wooing, with the lady in Hillshire and the swain in London. How long is this unsatisfactory state of things going to last, my son?”

  “I don’t know,” rejoined Freddy mournfully, “until her uncle dies, perhaps.”

  “Then let us hope he’ll fly once too often,” said Dan cheerfully; “but do not be downhearted. I am sure it will be all right. I shall dance at your wedding and you will dance at mine. By the way, there’s no necessity to talk to Vincent or his niece about our endeavours to spot this gang.”

  “Of course not. The matter won’t be mentioned. All I am talking about is private, and you come to Sheepeak with me to get a machine so as to win the London to York race. It will be an advertisement for Vincent.”

  “That’s all right. And Mildred—talk about her, old man. I know you are dying to explain the kind of angel she really is. Lull me to sleep with lover’s rhapsodies”—a request with which Freddy, now having broken the ice, was perfectly willing to comply. He described Mildred’s appearance with a lover’s wealth of details, drew attention to her many admirable qualities, quoted her speeches, praised her talents, and thus entertained his friend—and incidentally himself—all the way to Thawley. Dan closed his eyes and listened, puffing comfortably at his pipe. Occasionally he threw in a word, but for the greater part of the time held his peace, and let Laurance babble on about his darling’s perfections. Secretly, Dan did not think these could match Lillian’s in any way.

  At the great manufacturing town of Thawley, which was overshadowed by a cloud of dun smoke, the travellers left the main line, and crossed to another platform where they boarded the local train to Beswick. This station was only six miles down the line, and they turned on their tracks to reach it, since it branched off from the main artery into the wilds. It nestled at the foot of a lofty hill covered from top to bottom with trees, now more or less leafless. Laurance informed his companion that there was a ruined abbey hidden in the wood, and also pointed out several interesting places, for he was well acquainted with the locality. At Beswick they piled their bags on a ramshackle old trap, and proceeded in this to climb up a long, winding, steep road, which mounted gradually to the moors. As the year was yet wintry and the hour was late, the air became wonderfully keen, and—as Freddy said—inspiriting. Dan, however, did not find it so, as he felt quite sleepy, and yawned the whole way until the trap stopped at the solitary hotel of Sheepeak, a rough stone house, with thick walls and a slate roof.

  The landlady, raw-boned, sharp-eyed, and not at all beautiful, met them at the door, smiling in what was meant for an amiable manner when she saw Laurance. “Oh, you’re here again?” she said defiantly, and Dan noticed that beyond the northern burr she did not reproduce the country dialect.

  “Yes, Mrs. Pelgrin, and I have brought a friend to stay for three or four days. We want two bedrooms and a sitting-room, and supper straight away.”

  “You shall have them,” said Mrs. Pelgrin, still defiantly
.

  “And the price will be a pound each for the four days,” ventured Freddy.

  “With ten shillings extra for the sitting-room,” said Mrs. Pelgrin, fiercely.

  “Oh, come now.”

  “I’ll not take you in for less.”

  “Well,” put in Dan, shrugging, “sooner than stand here in the cold and argue, I shall pay the extra ten shillings.”

  “Cold, do you call it? Cold!” Mrs. Pelgrin’s tone was one of scorn. “Ha, cold!” and she led the way through a flagged stone passage to a large and comfortable room at the back of the house. “Will this suit you?”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Pelgrin,” said Freddy, throwing himself down on a slippery horse-hair sofa—“and supper?”

  “You’ll have it when it’s ready, no sooner and no later,” barked the ogress, leaving the room. “Cold is it?” and she laughed hoarsely.