Collected works of j s f.., p.255
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 255
“How?” demanded Starmidge.
“By calling,” said Easleby, “on Mr. Godwin Markham, in Conduit Street.”
CHAPTER XXIV
MRS. CARSWELL?
STARMIDGE LOOKED AT his companion as if in doubt about Easleby’s exact meaning.
“According to what the theatre chap said just now,” he remarked, “Markham is very rarely to be found in Conduit Street.”
“Exactly,” agreed Easleby. “That’s why I want to go there.”
Starmidge shook his head.
“Don’t follow!” he said. “Make it clear.”
Easleby tapped his fellow-detective’s arm.
“You said just now — would Gabriel Chestermarke be so keen about keeping his secret as to go to any length in keeping it,” he answered “Now I say we can solve that by calling at his office. His manager, as Castlemayne told us, is one Stipp — Mr. Stipp. I propose to see Mr. Stipp. You and I must be fools if, inside ten minutes, we can’t find out if Stipp knows that Godwin Markham is Gabriel Chestermarke! We will find out! And if we find out that Stipp doesn’t know that, if we find that Stipp is utterly unaware that there is such a person as Gabriel Chestermarke, or, at any rate, that he doesn’t connect Gabriel Chestermarke with Godwin Markham — why, then — —”
He ended with a dry laugh, and waved his hand as if the matter were settled. But Starmidge had a love of precision, and liked matters to be put in plain words.
“Well — and what then?” he demanded.
“What, then?” exclaimed Easleby. “Why, then we shall know, for a certainty, that Gabriel Chestermarke is keen about his secret! If he keeps it from the man who does his business for him here in London, he’d go to any length to keep it safe if it was threatened by his manager at Scarnham. Is that clear, my lad?”
The two men in the course of their slow strolling away from the Adalbert Theatre had come to the end of Shaftesbury Avenue, and had drawn aside from the crowds during the last minute or two to exchange their confidences in private.
Starmidge looked meditatively at the thronging multitudes of Piccadilly Circus, and watched them awhile before he answered his companion’s last observation.
“I don’t want to precipitate matters,” he said at last. “I don’t want an anti-climax. Suppose we found Markham — or Chestermarke — there? Or supposing he came in?”
“Excellent! — in either case,” replied Easleby. “Serve our purpose equally well. If he’s there, you betray the greatest surprise at seeing him — you can act up to that. If he should come in, you’re equally surprised — see! We haven’t gone there about any Chestermarke, you know — we aren’t going to let it out there that we know what we do know — not likely!”
“What have we gone there for then?” asked Starmidge.
“We’ve gone to say that Mrs. Helen Lester, of Lowdale Court, near Chesham, has informed us, the police, that she placed a certain sum of money in the hands of her friend, Mr. Frederick Hollis, for the purpose of clearing off a debt contracted by her son, Lieutenant Lester, with Mr. Godwin Markham; that Mr. Hollis had been found dead under strange circumstances at Scarnham, and that we should be vastly obliged to Mr. Markham if he can give us any information or light on the matter, or hints about it,” replied Easleby. “That, of course, is what we shall say — and all that we shall say — to Mr. James Stipp. If, however, we find Gabriel Chestermarke there — well, then, we shall say nothing — at first. We shall leave him to do the saying — it’ll be his job to begin.”
“All right,” assented Starmidge, after a moment’s reflection. “We’ll try it! Meet you tomorrow morning, then — corner of Conduit Street and New Bond Street — say at ten-thirty. Now I’m going home.”
Starmidge, being a bachelor, tenanted a small flat in Westminster, within easy reach of headquarters. He repaired to it immediately on leaving Easleby, intent on spending a couple of hours in ease and comfort before retiring to bed. But he had scarcely put on his slippers, lighted his pipe, mixed a whisky-and-soda, and picked up a book, when a knock at his outer door sent him to open it and to find Gandam standing in the lobby. Gandam glanced at him with a smile which was half apologetic and half triumphant.
“I’ve been to the office after you, Mr. Starmidge,” he said. “They gave me your address, so I came on here.”
Starmidge saw that the man was full of news, and he motioned him to enter and led him to his sitting-room.
“You’ve heard something, then?” he asked.
“Seen something, Mr. Starmidge,” answered Gandam, taking the chair which Starmidge pointed to. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear anything — I wish I had!”
Starmidge gave his visitor a drink and dropped into his own easy-chair again.
“Chestermarke, of course!” he suggested. “Well — what!”
“I happened to catch sight of him this evening,” replied Gandam. “Sheer accident it was — but there’s no mistaking him. Half-past six I was coming along Piccadilly, and I saw him leaving the Camellia Club. He — —”
“What sort of a club’s that, now?” asked Starmidge.
“Social club — men about town, sporting men, actors, journalists, so on,” replied Gandam. “I know a bit about it — had a case relating to it not so long ago. Well — he went along Piccadilly, and, of course, I followed him — I wasn’t going to lose sight of him after that set-back of last night, Mr. Starmidge! He crossed the Circus, and went into the Café Monico. I followed him in there. Do you know that downstairs saloon there?”
“I know it,” assented Starmidge.
“He went straight down to it,” continued Gandam. “And as I knew that he didn’t know me, I presently followed. When I’d got down he’d taken a seat at a table in a quiet corner, and the waiter was bringing him a glass of sherry. There was a bit of talk between ’em — Chestermarke seemed to be telling the waiter that he was expecting somebody, and he’d wait a bit before giving an order. So I sat down — in another corner — and as I judged it was going to be a longish job, I ordered a bit of dinner. Of course I kept an eye on him — quietly. He read a newspaper, smoked a cigarette, and sipped his sherry. And at last — perhaps ten minutes after he’d got in — a woman came down the stairs, looked round, and went straight over to where he was sitting.”
“Describe her,” said Starmidge.
“Tallish, very good figure, very good-looking, well-dressed, but quietly,” replied Gandam. “Had a veil on when she came in, but lifted it when she sat down by Chestermarke. What I should call a handsome woman, Mr. Starmidge — and, I should say, about thirty-five to forty. Dark hair, dark eyes — taking expression.”
“Mrs. Carswell, for a fiver!” thought Starmidge. “Well?” he said aloud. “You say she went straight over to him?”
“Straight to him — and began talking at once,” answered Gandam. “It seemed to me that it was what you might call an adjourned meeting — they began talking as if they were sort of taking up a conversation. But she did most of the talking. He ordered some dinner for both of ’em as soon as she came — she talked while they ate. Of course, being right across the room from them, I couldn’t catch a word that was said, but she seemed to be explaining something to him the whole time, and I could see he was surprised — more than once.”
“It must have been something uncommonly surprising to make him show signs of surprise!” muttered Starmidge, who had a vivid recollection of Gabriel Chestermarke’s granite countenance. “Yes? — go on.”
“They were there about three-quarters of an hour,” continued Gandam. “Of course, I ate my dinner while they ate theirs, and I took good care not to let them see that I was watching them. As soon as I saw signs of a move on their part — when she began putting on her gloves — I paid my waiter and slipped out upstairs to the front entrance. I got a taxi-cab driver to pull up by the kerb and wait for me, and told him who I was and what I was after, and that if those two got into a cab he was to follow wherever they went — cautiously. Gave him a description of the man, you know. Then I hung round till they came out. They parted at once — she went off up Regent Street — —”
“I wish you’d had another man with you!” exclaimed Starmidge. “I’d give a lot to get hold of that woman. She’s probably the housekeeper who disappeared from the bank, you know.”
“So I guessed, Mr. Starmidge, but what could I do?” said Gandam. “I couldn’t follow both, and it was the man you’d put me on to. I decided, of course, for him. Well — he tried to get my cab; when he found it was engaged, he walked on a bit to the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue and got one there. And, of course, we followed. A longish follow, too! — right away up to the back of Regent’s Park. You know those detached houses — foot of Primrose Hill? It’s one of those — he was a cute chap, my driver, and he contrived to slow down and keep well behind, and yet to see where Chestermarke got out. The name of the house is Oakfield Villa — it’s on the gateposts. Of course, I made sure. I sent my man off — and then I hung round some time, passing and re-passing once or twice. And I saw Chestermarke in a front room — the blinds were not drawn — and he was in a smoking-cap and jacket, so I reckoned he was safe for the night. But I can watch the house all night if you think it’s necessary, you know, Mr. Starmidge.”
“No!” answered Starmidge. “Not at all. But I’ll tell you what — you be about there first thing tomorrow morning. Can you hang about without attracting attention?”
“Easily!” replied Gandam. “Easiest thing in the world. Do you know where a little lodge stands, as you go into Primrose Hill, the St. John’s Wood side? Well, his house is close by that. On the other side of the road there’s a little path leading over a bridge into the Park — close by the corner of the Zoo — I can watch from that path. You can rely on me, Mr. Starmidge. I’ll not lose sight of him this time.”
Starmidge saw that the man was deeply anxious to atone for his mistake of the previous night, and he nodded assent.
“All right,” he said, “but — take another man with you. Two are better than one in a job like that — and Chestermarke might be meeting that woman again. Watch the house carefully tomorrow morning from first thing — follow him wherever he goes. If he should meet the woman, and they part after meeting, one of you follow her. And listen — I shall be at headquarters at twelve o’clock tomorrow. Contrive to telephone me there as to what you’re doing. But — don’t lose him — or her, if you see her again.”
“One thing more,” said Gandam, as he rose to go. “Supposing he goes off by train? Do I follow?”
“No,” answered Starmidge after a moment’s reflection, “but manage to find out where he goes.”
He sat and thought a long time after his visitor had left, and his thoughts all centred on one fact: the undoubted fact that Gabriel Chestermarke and Mrs. Carswell had met.
CHAPTER XXV
THE PORTRAIT
THE OFFICES OF Mr. Godwin Markham, at which the two detectives presented themselves soon after half-past ten next morning, were by no means extensive in size or palatial in appearance. They were situated in the second floor of a building in Conduit Street, and apparently consisted of no more than two rooms, which, if not exactly shabby, were somewhat well-worn as to furniture and fittings. It was evident, too, that Mr. Godwin Markham’s clerical staff was not extensive. There was a young man clerk, and a young woman clerk in the outer office: the first was turning over a pile of circulars at the counter; the second, seated at a typewriter, was taking down a letter which was being dictated to her by a man who, still hatted and overcoated, had evidently just arrived, and was leaning against the mantelpiece with his hands in his pockets. He was a very ordinary, plain-countenanced, sandy-haired, quite commercial-looking man, this, who might have been anything from a Stock Exchange clerk to a suburban house-agent. But there was a sudden alertness in his eye as he turned it on the visitors, which showed them that he was well equipped in mental acuteness, and probably as alert as his features were commonplace.
The circular-sorting young man looked up with indifference as Easleby approached the counter, and when the detective asked if Mr. Godwin Markham could be seen, turned silently and interrogatively to the man who leaned against the mantelpiece. He, interrupting his dictation, came forward again, narrowly but continually eyeing the two men.
“Mr. Markham is not in town, gentlemen,” he said, in a quick, business-like fashion, which convinced Starmidge that the speaker was not uttering any mere excuse. “He was here yesterday for an hour or two, but he will be away for some days now. Can I do anything for you? — his manager.”
Easleby handed over the two professional cards which he had in readiness, and leaned across the counter.
“A word or two in private,” he whispered confidentially. “Business matter.”
Starmidge, watching Mr. James Stipp’s face closely as he looked at the cards, saw that he was not the sort of man to be taken unawares. There was not the faintest flicker of an eyelid, not a motion of the lips, not the tiniest start of surprise, no show of unusual interest on the manager’s part: he nodded, opened a door in the counter, and waved the two detectives towards the inner room.
“Be seated, gentlemen,” he said, following them inside. “You’ll excuse me a minute — important letter to get off — I won’t keep you long.”
He closed the door upon them and Starmidge and Easleby glanced round before taking the chairs to which Mr. Stipp had pointed. There was little to see. A big, roomy desk, middle-Victorian in style, some heavy middle-Victorian chairs, a well-worn carpet and rug, a book-case filled with peerages, baronetages, county directories, Army lists, Navy lists, and other similar volumes of reference to high life, a map or two on the walls, a heavy safe in a corner — these things were all there was to look at. Except one thing — which Starmidge was quick to see. Over the mantelpiece, with an almanac on one side of it, and an interest-table on the other, hung a somewhat faded photograph of Gabriel Chestermarke.
The younger detective tapped his companion’s arm and silently indicated this grim counterfeit of the man in whose doings they were so keenly interested just then.
“That’s — the man!” he whispered. “Chestermarke! Gabriel!”
Easleby opened mouth and eyes and stared with eager interest.
“Egad!” he muttered. “That’s lucky! Makes it all the easier. I’ll lay you anything you like, my lad, this manager doesn’t know anything — not a thing! — about the double identity business. We shall soon find out — leave it to me — at first, anyway. A few plain questions — —”
Mr. Stipp came bustling in, closing the door behind him. He took off overcoat and hat, ran his fingers through his light hair, and, seating himself, glanced smilingly at his visitors.
“Well, gentlemen!” he demanded. “What can I do for you now? Want to make some inquiries?”
“Just a few small inquiries, sir,” replied Easleby. “I haven’t the pleasure of knowing your name — Mr. —— ?”
“Stipp’s my name, sir,” answered the manager promptly. “Stipp — James Stipp.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Easleby, with great politeness. “Well, Mr. Stipp, you see from our cards who we are. We’ve called on you — as representing Mr. Godwin Markham — on behalf — informally, Mr. Stipp — of Mrs. Lester, of Lowdale Court, Chesham.”
Mr. Stipp’s face showed a little surprise at this announcement, and he glanced from one man to the other as if he were puzzled.
“Oh!” he said. “Dear me! Why — what has Mrs. Lester called you in for?”
Easleby, who had brought another marked newspaper with him, laid it on the manager’s desk.
“You’ve no doubt read of this Scarnham affair, Mr. Stipp?” he asked, pointing to his own blue pencillings. “Most people have, I think. Or perhaps it’s escaped your notice.”
“Hardly could!” answered Mr. Stipp, with a friendly smile. “Yes — I’ve read it. Most extraordinary! One of the most puzzling cases I ever did read. Are you in at it? But this call hasn’t anything to do with that, surely? If it has — what?”
“This much,” answered Easleby. “Mrs. Lester has told us, of course, that her son, the young officer, is in debt to your governor. Well, last week, Mrs. Lester handed a certain sum of money to the Mr. Frederick Hollis who’s been found dead at Scarnham, to be applied to the settlement of her son’s liability in that respect.”
Mr. Stipp showed undoubted surprise at this announcement.
“She did!” he exclaimed. “Gave Mr. Hollis money — for that? Why! — Mr. Hollis never told me of it!”
In the course of a long professional experience Easleby had learned to control his facial expression; Starmidge was gradually progressing towards perfection in that art. But each man was hard put to it to check an expression of astonishment. And Easleby showed some slight sign of perplexity when he replied.
“Mr. Hollis has — called on you, then?” he said.
“Hollis was here last Friday afternoon,” answered Mr. Stipp. “Called on me at five o’clock — just before I was leaving for the day. He never offered me any money! Glad if he had — it’s time young Lester paid up.”
“What did Hollis come for, then, if that’s a fair question?” asked Easleby.
“He came, I should say, to take a look at us, and find out who he’d got to deal with,” replied the manager, smiling. “In plain language, to make an inquiry or two. He told me he’d been empowered by Mrs. Lester to deal with us, and he wanted the particulars of what we’d advanced to her son, and he got them — from me. But he never made me any offer. He just found out what he wanted to know — and went away.”
“And, evidently, next day travelled to Scarnham,” observed Easleby. “Now, Mr. Stipp, have you any idea whether his visit to Scarnham was in connection with the money affair of yours and young Lester’s?”
Again the look of undoubted surprise; again the appearance of genuine perplexity.
“I?” exclaimed Mr. Stipp. “Not the least! Not the ghost of an idea! What could his visit to Scarnham have to do with us? Nothing! — that I know of, anyway.”
