The Ashiel mystery

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"I wish I could tell you everything," said Lord Ashiel, "but even if I
dared, you must remember that I am sworn to secrecy, and I cannot see
that because I have, by doing so, placed myself in some peril, that on
that account I am entitled to break my word. No, I cannot tell you any
more, but in spite of that, I want you to do me a service."

"I am afraid I can't help you without fuller knowledge," said Gimblet.
"What do you think I can do?"

"You can do this," said Lord Ashiel. He put his hand in his pocket and
Gimblet heard a crackling of paper. "I am thinking out a hiding-place
for some valuable documents that are in my possession, and when I have
decided on it I will write to you and explain where I have put them,
using a cipher of which the key is enclosed in an envelope I have here
in my pocket, and which I will leave with you when I go. Take charge of
it for me, and in the course of the next week or so I will send you a
cipher letter describing where the papers are concealed. Do not read it
unless the occasion arises. I can trust you not to give way to
curiosity, but if anything happens to me, if I die a violent death, or
equally if I die under the most apparently natural circumstances, I want
you to promise you will investigate those circumstances; and, if
anything should strike you as suspicious in connection with what I have
told you, you will be able to interpret my cipher letter, find the
document I have referred to, and act on the information it contains.
Will you undertake to do this for me?"

"I will, certainly," Gimblet answered readily, "but I hope the occasion
will not arise. I beg you to break a vow which was extorted from you by
false representations and which cannot be binding on you. Do confide
fully in me; I do not at all like the look of this business."

"No, no," replied Lord Ashiel, smiling. "You must let me be the judge of
whether my word is binding on me or not. As you say, I hope nothing will
happen to justify my perhaps uncalled-for nervousness. In any case it
will be a great comfort and relief to me to know that, if it does, the
scoundrels will not go unpunished."

"They shall not do that," said Gimblet fervently. "You can make your mind
easy on that score, at least. But I advise you to send your documents to
the bank. They will be safer there than in any hiding-place you can
contrive."

"I might want to lay my hand upon them at any moment," said Lord
Ashiel, "and I admit I don't like parting with my only weapon of
defence. Still, I dare say you are right really, and I will think it
over. But mind, I don't want you to take any steps unless, you can
satisfy yourself that these people have a hand in my death. Please be
very careful to make certain of that. My health is not good, and grows
worse. I may easily die without their interference; but I suspect that,
if they do get me, they will manage the affair so that it has all the
look of having been caused by the purest misadventure. That is what I
fear. Not exactly murder; certainly no violent open assault. But we are
all liable to suffer from accidents, and what is to prevent my meeting
with a fatal one? That is more the line they will adopt, if, as I
imagine, they have decided on my death."

"If ever there were a case in which prevention is better than cure," said
Gimblet, "I think you will own that we have it here. If I had some hint
of the quarter from which you expect danger, I might at least suggest
some rudimentary precautions. What kind of 'accident' do you imagine
likely to occur?"

"That I can't tell," replied Lord Ashiel. "I only know that these enemies
of mine are resourceful people, who are apt to make short work of anyone
whose existence threatens their safety or the success of their designs. I
am, by your help, taking a precaution to ensure that I shall not die
unavenged. They must be taught that murder cannot be committed in this
country with impunity. And I am very careful not to trust myself out of
England. If I crossed the Channel it would be to go to my certain death.
Otherwise I should have gone myself to see Sir Arthur Byrne. But in this
island the man who kills even so unpopular a person as a member of the
House of Lords does not get off with a few years' imprisonment, as he may
in some of the continental countries; and the Nihilists, for the most
part, know that as well as I do."

Gimblet followed Lord Ashiel into the hall with the intention of showing
him out of the flat, but the sudden sound of the door bell ringing made
him abandon this courtesy and retreat to shelter.

He did not wish to be denied all possibility of refusing an interview to
some one he might not want to see.

So it was Higgs who opened the door and ushered out the last visitor, at
the same time admitting the newcomer.

This proved to be a small, slight woman dressed in deepest black and
wearing the long veil of a widow, who was standing with her back to the
door, apparently watching the rapid descent of the lift which had brought
her to the landing of No. 7.

She did not move when the door behind her opened, and Lord Ashiel,
emerging from it in a hurry to catch the lift before it vanished, nearly
knocked her down. She gave a startled gasp and stepped hastily to one
side into the dark shadows of the passage as he, muttering an apology,
darted forward to the iron gateway and applied his finger heavily to the
electric bell-push. But the liftboy had caught sight of him with the tail
of his eye, and was already reascending.

His anxiety allayed, Lord Ashiel turned again to express his regrets to
the lady he had inadvertently collided with, but she had disappeared into
the flat, of which Higgs was even then closing the door.

Ashiel stepped into the lift and sat down rather wearily on the
leather-covered seat.

Although, to some extent, the relief of having unburdened his mind of
secrets that had weighed upon it for so many years produced in him a
certain lightness of heart to which he had long been a stranger, yet
the very charm of the impression made upon him by Juliet Byrne, during
his first meeting with her that morning, led him to suspect uneasily
that his hopes of her proving to be his child were due rather to the
pleasure it gave him to anticipate such a possibility than to any more
logical reason.

He was so entirely engrossed in an honest endeavour to adjust correctly
the balance of probabilities, as to remain unconscious that the lift had
stopped at the ground floor, and it was not until the boy who was in
charge had twice informed him of the fact, that he roused himself with an
effort and left the building.

Still absorbed in his speculations and anxieties, he walked rapidly away,
and, having narrowly escaped destruction beneath the wheels of more than
one taxi, wandered down Northumberland Avenue on to the Embankment. He
crossed to the farther side, turned mechanically to the right and walked
obliviously on.

It was not until he came nearly to Westminster Bridge that he remembered
the cipher that he had prepared for Gimblet, and that he had, after all,
finally left without giving it to him. It was still in his pocket, and
the discovery roused him from his abstraction.

He took a taxi and drove back to the flats. A motor which had been
standing before the door when he had come out was still there when he
returned; so that, thinking it probably belonged to the lady he had met
on the landing, and guessing that if so the detective was still occupied
with her, he did not ask to see him again, but handed the envelope over
to Higgs when he opened the door, with strict injunctions to take it
immediately to his master.

CHAPTER V

The lady, whose visit to Gimblet dovetailed so neatly with the departure
of his other client on that summer afternoon, was unknown to him.

He had scarcely re-entered the room and resumed his accustomed seat by
the window when Higgs announced her.

"A lady to see you, sir."

The lady was already in the doorway. She must have followed Higgs from
the hall, and now stood, hesitating, on the threshold.

"What name?" breathed Gimblet; but Higgs only shook his head.

The detective went forward and spoke to his visitor.

"Please come in," he said. "Won't you sit down?"

And he pushed a chair towards her.

"Thank you," said the lady, taking the seat he offered. "I hope I do not
disturb you; but I have come on business," she added, as the door closed
behind Higgs.

"Yes?" said Gimblet interrogatively. "You will forgive me, but I didn't
catch your name when my man announced you."

"He didn't say it," she replied. "I had not told him. I am sure you would
not remember my name, and it is of no consequence at present."

"As you wish," said the detective.

But he wondered who this unknown woman could be. When she said he would
not remember her name, did she mean to imply that he had once been
acquainted with it? If so, she was right in thinking that he did not
recognize her now; but, if she did not choose to raise the thick crape
veil that hid her face, she could hardly expect him to do so.

He wondered whether she kept her veil lowered with the intention of
preventing his recognizing her, or whether in truth she were anxious not
to expose grief-swollen features to an unsympathetic gaze.

Her voice, which was low and sorrowful, though at the same time curiously
resonant, seemed to suggest that she was in great trouble. She spoke, he
fancied, with a trace of foreign accent.

For the rest, all that he could tell for certain about her was that she
was short and slender, with small feet, and hands, from which she was now
engaged in deliberately withdrawing a pair of black suede gloves.

He watched her in silence. He always preferred to let people tell their
stories at their own pace and in their own way, unless they were of those
who plainly needed to be helped out with questions.

And about this woman there was no suspicion of embarrassment; her whole
demeanour spoke of calmness and self-possession.

"I believe," she said at last, "that you are a private detective. I come
to ask for your help in a matter of some difficulty. Some papers of the
utmost importance, not only to me but to others, are in the possession of
a person who intends to profit by the information contained in them to do
myself and my friends an irreparable injury. You can imagine how anxious
we are to obtain them from him."

"Do I understand that this person threatens you with blackmail?"
asked Gimblet.

The lady hesitated.

"Something of the kind," she replied after a moment's pause.

"And you have so far given in to his demands?"

"Yes," admitted the visitor. "Up till now we have been obliged to
submit."

"Has he proposed any terms on which he will be willing to return you the
papers?" asked the detective.

"No," she replied. "I do not think any terms are possible."

"How did this person obtain possession of the papers?" Gimblet asked
after a moment. "Did he steal them from you?"

"No."

"From your friends?"

She hesitated.

"No--not exactly."

"From whom, then?" asked Gimblet in surprise. "I suppose they were yours
in the first place?"

"He has always had them," she said reluctantly; "but they must not
remain his."

"Do you mean they are his own?" exclaimed Gimblet. "In that case it is
you who propose to steal them!"

"No," replied the strange lady calmly. "I want you to do that."

"I'm sorry," said Gimblet; "that is not in my line of business. I'm
afraid you made a mistake in coming to me. I cannot undertake your
commission."

"Money is no object; we shall ask you to name your own price," urged
his visitor.

But the detective shook his head.

"It is a matter of life and death," she said, and her voice betrayed an
agitation which could not have been inferred from her motionless shrouded
figure. "If you refuse to help me, not one life, but many, will be
endangered."

"If you can offer me convincing proof of that," said Gimblet, "I might
feel it my duty to help you. I don't say I should, but I might. In any
case I can do nothing unless you are perfectly open and frank with me.
Expect no assistance from me unless you tell me everything, and then only
if I think it right to give it."

For the first time she showed some signs of confusion. The hand upon her
lap moved restlessly and she turned her head slowly towards the window as
if in search of suitable words. But she did not speak or rise, though she
gradually fidgeted round in her chair till she faced the writing-table;
and so sat, with her head leaning on her hand, in silent consideration.

It was clear she did not like Gimblet's terms; and after a few minutes
had passed in a silence as awkward as it was suggestive he pushed back
his chair and stood up. He hoped she would take the hint and bring an
unprofitable and embarrassing interview to an end.

But she did not appear to notice him, and still sat lost in her
own thoughts.

Suddenly the door opened and Higgs appeared.

Gimblet looked at him with questioning disapproval.

It was an inflexible rule of his that when engaged with a client he was
not to be disturbed.

Higgs, well acquainted with this rule, hovered doubtfully in the
doorway, displaying on the salver he carried the blue, unaddressed
envelope Lord Ashiel had told him to deliver at once.

"It's a note, sir," he murmured hesitatingly. "The gentleman who was with
you a little while ago came back with it. He asked me to be sure and
bring it in at once."

He avoided Gimblet's reproachful eye and stammered uneasily:

"Put it down on that table and go," said the detective. He indicated a
little table by the door, and Higgs hastily placed the letter on it and
fled, with the uncomfortable sensation of having been sternly reproved.

As a matter of fact Gimblet would have shown more indignation if he
had not at heart felt rather glad of the interruption. His visitor had
decidedly outstayed her welcome; and, though she stirred his curiosity
sufficiently to make him wish he could induce her to raise her veil
and let him see what manner of woman it was who had the effrontery to
come and make him such unblushing proposals, he far more urgently
desired to see the last of her. She was wasting his time and annoying
him into the bargain.

As the door shut behind the servant he made a step towards her.

"If, madam, there is nothing else you wish to consult me about," he
began, taking out his watch with some ostentation--"I am a busy man--"

The lady gave a little laugh, low and musical.

"I will not detain you longer," she said, also rising from her chair. "I
am afraid I have cut into your afternoon, but you will still have time
for a game if you hurry."

She laughed again, and moved over to the writing-table, where, among a
litter of papers and writing materials, a couple of golf balls were
acting as letter weights. A putter lay on the chair in front of the desk,
and she took it up and swung it to and fro.

"A nice club," she remarked. "Where do you play, as a rule? There are so
many good links near London; so convenient. Well, I mustn't keep you."
She laid down the putter and fingered the balls for a moment. "Where have
I put my gloves?" she said then, looking around to collect her
belongings.

Gimblet was slightly put out at her inference that his plea of business
was merely an excuse to dismiss her in order that he might go off and
play golf. Heaven knew it was no affair of hers whether he played golf
that day or not! But as a matter of fact he had no intention of leaving
the flat that afternoon, and had merely been practising a shot or two on
the carpet after lunch before Lord Ashiel's arrival. Still it was true
that he had made business a pretext for getting rid of her, and this made
the injustice of the widow's further inference ruffle him more than it
might have if she had been entirely in the wrong. He was the most
courteous of men, and that anyone should suspect him of unnecessary
rudeness distressed him.

He made no reply, however, in spite of the temptation to defend himself;
but stooped to pick up a diminutive black suede glove which his visitor
had dropped when she took up the putter.

She thanked him and put it on, depositing, while she did so, her other
glove, her handkerchief, sunshade and a small brown-paper parcel upon the
writing-table at her side.

Gimblet did not appreciate seeing these articles heaped upon his
correspondence. Without any comment he removed them, and stood holding
them silently till she should be ready.

She took them from him soon, with a little inclination of the head which
he felt was accompanied by a smile of thanks, though through the thick
crape it was impossible to do more than guess at any expression.

She drew on her other glove and held out her hand again.

"My purse?" she said. "Will you not give me that too? Where have you put
it? And then I must really go."

"I haven't seen any purse," said Gimblet.

"Yes, yes!" she cried. "A black silk bag! It has my purse inside it. I
had it, I am sure."

She turned quickly back to the chair she had been sitting in, and taking
up the cushion, shook it and peered beneath it.

"What can I have done with it? All my money is in it."

Gimblet glanced round the room. He did not remember having noticed any
bag, and he was an observant person. She had probably left it in a cab.
Women were always doing these things. Witness the heaped shelves at
Scotland Yard.

"Perhaps you put it down in the hall?" he suggested.

"I am sure I had it when I came in here," she repeated in an agitated
voice. "But it might be worth while just to look in the hall," she added
doubtfully, and moved towards the door.

Gimblet opened it for her gladly; but she came to a standstill in
the doorway.

"There is nothing there, you see;" she said dolefully. "Oh, what
shall I do!"

Gimblet looked over her shoulder. The hall was shadowy, with the
perpetual twilight of the halls of London flats, but he fancied he
could perceive a darker shadow lying beside his hat on the table near
the entrance.

"Is that it? On the table?" he asked.

"Where? I don't see anything," murmured the lady; and indeed it was
unlikely that she could distinguish anything in such a light from
behind her veil.

"On the table by my hat," repeated Gimblet; and as she still did not
move, he made a step forward into the hall.

Yes, it was her bag, beyond a doubt. A silken thing of black brocade,
embroidered with scattered purple pansies.

Gimblet picked it up and turned back to his visitor. After a second's
hesitation she had followed him into the hall and was coming towards him,
groping her way rather blindly through the gloom.

"Oh, thanks, thanks!" she exclaimed. "How stupid of me to have left it
there. Thank you again. My precious bag! I am so glad you have found it."
She took the bag eagerly from him. "I am afraid I have been a nuisance,
and disturbed you to no purpose. You must forgive my mistake. But now I
will not keep you any longer. Good-bye."

She showed no further disposition to loiter; and Gimblet rang the bell
for the lift and saw her depart with a good deal of satisfaction.

In spite of her extremely hazy ideas on the subject of other people's
property, there was, he admitted, something attractive about her. Still
he was very glad she had gone.

He returned to his room, taking up and pocketing Lord Ashiel's envelope
as he passed the little table by the door.

He did it mechanically, for his mind was occupied with a question which
must be immediately decided.

Was it, or was it not, worth while to have the woman who had just left
him followed and located, and her identity ascertained?

Gimblet disliked leaving small problems unsolved, however insignificant
they appeared. On the whole, he thought he might as well find out who she
was, and he turned back into the hall and called for Higgs.

If she were to be caught sight of again before leaving the house there
was not a moment to lose. But Higgs did not reply, and on Gimblet's
opening the pantry door he found it empty. Unknown to him, the moment the
lady had departed Higgs had gone upstairs to the flat above to have a
word with a friend.

The detective seized his hat and ran downstairs, but he was too late.

The widow lady, the porter told him, had gone away two or three minutes
ago in the motor that had been waiting for her. No, he hadn't noticed the
number of the car. Neither had he seen Higgs.

Gimblet shrugged his shoulders as he went upstairs again. After all, the
matter was of no great consequence.

The widow was a cool hand, certainly, he thought, to come to him and
propose he should steal for her what she wanted; but the fact of her
having done so made it on the whole improbable that she was a thief, or
she would not have had need of him. She was certainly a person of
questionable principles, and it seemed likely that in one way or another
a theft would be committed through her agency, if not by herself, as
soon as the opportunity presented itself. She was, in fact, a woman on
whom the police might do worse than keep an eye; but, reflected Gimblet,
he was not the police, and the dishonesty of this scheming widow was
really no concern of his. As he reached his door, a postman was leaving
it, and two or three letters had been pushed through the flap. He let
himself in and took them out of the box. They were not of great
importance. A bill, an appeal for a subscription to some charity, a
couple of advertisements and the catalogue of a sale of pictures in
which he was interested. He turned over the leaves slowly, holding the
pamphlet sideways from time to time to look at the photographs which
illustrated some of the principal lots.

Presently he turned and went back into his room. He sat down in his
favourite arm-chair near the window, where he habitually passed so much
time gazing out on to the smooth surface of the river, and fell to
ruminating on the problem presented by Lord Ashiel's story.

For a long while he sat on, huddled in the corner of an arm-chair, his
elbows on the arm, his chin resting on his hand, and in his eyes the look
of one who wrestles with obscure and complicated problems of mental
arithmetic. From time to time, but without relaxing his expression of
concentrated effort, he stretched out long artistic fingers to a box on
the table, took from it a chocolate, and transferred it mechanically to
his mouth. He always ate sweets when he had a problem on hand. He was
trying to think of some means by which his client could be protected from
the mysterious danger that threatened him; that it was a very real
danger, Gimblet accepted without question; he had only seen Lord Ashiel
twice in his life, but it was quite enough to make him certain that here
was a man whom it would take a great deal to alarm. This was no boy
crying "wolf" for the sake of making a stir.

But the more he thought, the more he saw that there was nothing to be
done. A word to the police would suffice, no doubt, to precipitate
matters; for, if the Nihilist Society which threatened Lord Ashiel
contemplated his destruction, a hint that he might be already taking
reciprocal measures would not be likely to make them feel more mercifully
towards him. It was obvious that Ashiel would look with suspicion upon
any Russian who might approach him, but Gimblet determined to write him a
line of warning against foreigners of any description. Still, these
societies sometimes had Englishmen amongst their members, and ways of
enforcing obedience upon their subordinates which made any decision they
might come to as good as carried out almost as soon as it was uttered.

The detective's cogitations were disturbed by Higgs, who had returned,
and now brought him in some tea. He poured himself out half a cup, which
he filled up with Devonshire cream. He had a peculiar taste in food, and
was the despair of his excellent cook, but on this occasion he ate none
of the cakes and bread and butter she had provided, the chocolates having
rather taken the edge off his appetite.

From where he sat he could see, through the open window, the broad grey
stretches of the river, with a barge going swiftly down on the tide;
brown sails turned to gleaming copper by the slanting rays from the West.
The hum and rattle of the streets came up to him murmuringly; now and
then a train rumbled over Charing Cross Bridge, and the whistle of
engines shrilled out above the constant low clamour of the town.

Gimblet leant out of the window and watched the barge negotiate the
bridge. Then he returned to his chair, and taking Lord Ashiel's envelope
out of his pocket looked it over thoughtfully before opening it. He had
no doubts as to what it contained; he had been on the point of reminding
the peer that he had forgotten to give him the key of the cipher he had
spoken of when the widow's ring at the door had driven him to a hurried
retreat, but he had not considered the omission of any particular
significance. His client would certainly discover it and either return to
give him the key, or send it to the flat.

It would probably be some time before it was required for use here. In
the meantime, thought Gimblet, he would have a look at it before locking
it away in the safe.

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