Part 9

Dorcas greeted me with a smile.

"Come along," she said, "come and have some coffee, for you must be faint."

"But the woman?"

"The doctor is with her and is bringing her round. I hope presently she will be able to give us a little information."

Dorcas led the way and I followed her. To my astonishment, instead of going downstairs, where I presumed the coffee would be waiting for us, she went upstairs to the second floor.

Dorcas opened a door and I found myself in a little back room that had evidently been inhabited. On a small Oriental table was a French coffee-making machine, and underneath it a spirit lamp. In the corner lay a couple of Oriental rugs, and on a small table by the side of it a box of cigarettes.

"I've taken the liberty of using Mr. Aleem Mohammed's private apartments," said Dorcas. "He evidently furnished them for himself before he made his preparations for a lady visitor below."

"Then he was here all the time?"

"I don't think he was here that night when we nearly knocked the neighbourhood up. But he probably came in later, and he was certainly here last night when we were examining the house. It was only when we began to make a noise that he became aware of our presence. When he heard the locked door of the room on the first floor go, he let himself out, and kept watch from the outside."

"Why?"

"Probably to see what we were going to do."

"But Judkins Barraclough we know has the key of the house. How did the Indian get in?"

"That's simple," replied Dorcas. "They had a latchkey each."

I flung myself down on the rugs and drank the coffee which Dorcas had made.

The coffee revived my drooping energies, and set my brain working again. If the Indian was living in the house and had escaped, what was there to prove that not he but Barraclough was the person who was helping the unhappy creature downstairs to her death?

I asked Dorcas.

"There is no doubt in my mind that Barraclough is the principal, and the Indian only an accomplice," she replied. "But we're not going to let the Indian escape."

"We have done so."

"No. Scotland Yard has him in hand."

"Scotland Yard?"

"Yes; directly the doctor came, which was almost immediately after he received my note, I went out and sent a message. Hark! there's a knock at the door."

Dorcas ran downstairs bidding me follow her. She opened the front door, and a handsome foreign-looking dark man, of about eight-and-thirty, stepped into the hall, and politely raised his hat.

"Ah, Mr. Stromberg, I am glad," exclaimed Dorcas, shaking hands heartily with the new arrival. "I was wondering who would be on duty. Allow me to introduce my friend Mr. Saxon. Mr. Saxon, this is Inspector Stromberg, of the Criminal Investigation Department."

The inspector bowed and smiled.

"I am always delighted to work with the famous Dorcas Dene," he said to me. "My only regret is that she is not one of us." Then turning to Dorcas, he said, "And now what is the mystery we are to have the pleasure of unravelling together this time?"

"The mystery is, I hope, already unravelled," replied Dorcas demurely, "but I must not go any farther with it. It is now a matter for the police."

"And the particulars?"

Clearly and concisely Dorcas gave the famous detective officer the details of the great Barraclough mystery.

When she had finished the Inspector rose and grasped Dorcas warmly by the hand.

"My dear Mrs. Dene," he said, "you have done wonders. Of course, I must take charge of the case now as it is practically an attempt to murder, but I shall do nothing without your approval. The woman is in charge of the doctor still, I presume?"

"Yes. He will call me as soon as she is able to converse coherently."

"And Mr. Judkins Barraclough--what is your idea of the time to make the arrest?"

"To-night."

"To-night?--but why give him so much law as that?"

"I am very much interested in some ragged feminine garments concealed in a cupboard here. I want to find out what object Barraclough can have in keeping them there." She added something in a whisper that I was evidently not intended to hear. The great man looked grave.

"It is a desperate thing to do," he said.

"I am afraid that unless we find the Indian and get him to turn Queen's Evidence, the mere fact of Barraclough having a latchkey will not bring the attempted murder home to him. I like to clear up my cases thoroughly, and I confess that these pauper rags completely baffle me. By the bye, you acted on my information with regard to the Indian?"

"Yes," said the Inspector. "What was your idea in asking me to have enquiries made at the post-offices you named?"

"They are the only ones within reasonable distance which are opened before eight in the morning. My idea was that the man would go to a telegraph office and send a warning wire to Barraclough. You sent a messenger to the receiving offices near Berkeley Square?"

"Yes; no telegram will be delivered to Barraclough without our knowledge of its contents."

"That's all right," said Dorcas, "and of course, by some unaccountable accident, that telegram won't reach Mr. Barraclough."

Inspector Stromberg shrugged his shoulders.

"The Post Office is a sacred institution in this country," he said. "The police do not tamper with letters and telegrams."

"No," said Dorcas, sweetly, "but sometimes accidents happen--a careless clerk, for instance, puts a wrong address on the envelope and that causes somebody else to open the telegram _after_ the boy has gone."

The Inspector gazed at Dorcas admiringly.

A door on the first floor opened, and a voice called "Mrs. Dene."

Presently she came down again.

"The woman is better and able to talk. But the doctor says that for many reasons it would be as well to get her to a hospital at once."

"Very well," said the Inspector. "Perhaps your friend will go and get a four-wheel cab?"

I took the hint and went out. There were plenty of cabs near St. Pancras, and I was back with one in about five minutes.

Wrapped in a blanket and a rug, which we brought down from the Indian's room, the doctor, myself, and Stromberg carried the woman, rescued from a lingering death, out of the house, and got her into the cab without attracting the attention of anyone but a small boy who was delivering newspapers. The doctor drove away with his patient, and we returned to the house, Dorcas taking the Inspector upstairs to see the cage and the Indian's apartment.

At a quarter to eight a man arrived to see Stromberg and made a communication to him.

"That's all right," exclaimed the Inspector, and calling Dorcas, he told her that the Indian had just sent a telegram to Barraclough.

"It won't be delivered till ten minutes past eight. I'll go up to the receiving office and arrange for that mistake in the address. I shall be there by eight o'clock, which is the time they open. Stop here till I come back."

In an hour Stromberg returned radiant. He had the telegram:

"Don't go house. See me at once old place. Important. M."

"That's all right," said Dorcas. "Now I want to send another telegram to Barraclough." Dorcas tore a leaf from her pocket-book and wrote: "All over. Come Crescent, ten to-night."

"I understand," said the Inspector. "I'll send it at once. In the meantime the men who are trying to track the Indian, will, I hope, succeed. They will bring him straight to the Yard to me. You had better be there this afternoon at three. There's only one thing that may upset _your_ plan. Suppose Barraclough comes here this afternoon, lets himself in, and finds the woman gone."

"I've thought of that," said Dorcas. "But is he likely to in the daylight? It is easy to make him alter his determination if he does. Put a special policeman on with instructions to keep his eye on the door, and directly he sees anyone going towards it let him stroll up. Barraclough won't risk letting himself in with a latchkey under the eyes of a policeman. He'll go away again and come after dark and then we shall be ready for him."

"You're right," said the Inspector. "I'll have the policeman put on. But there's one thing more--we know what we _want_ Barraclough to do, but how about the broken-open door--that will rouse his suspicions at once?

"Send some workmen you can trust to put it right again. He's not likely to examine it very closely."

"I'll send the workmen at once. You'll have to stay and let them in. A couple of hours will see them through. But who is going to stay here to let _us_ in?"

"You'll want help to-night," replied Dorcas. "Send a plain clothes officer with the men--he can stay on in charge of the house."

"Yes, that will do--and now--Au revoir."

"What is this mysterious plan of yours?" I said to Dorcas, when the Inspector had gone.

"Oh, I only wanted to see what Barraclough wanted with those old clothes. Now, I'm going to lie down for an hour in the Indian's room--I'm tired. You had better go home."

"Aren't you going to let me see the end of it?" I asked eagerly.

"Certainly, if you wish it. I shall be back here at seven o'clock--come then."

* * * * * * *

At seven o'clock that evening, I rang cautiously at No. ---, Burton Crescent. The Inspector opened the door to me.

"Mrs. Dene's upstairs," he said, "front room, first floor."

I went upstairs, found the door open and started back in astonishment. Dorcas was there, sitting on one of the small tables which had been brought down from the Indian's room, and in the corner sitting cross-legged and smoking a cigarette was Mr. Aleem Mohammed. Near him was a man, who was, I concluded the plain clothes officer from the Yard.

Dorcas beckoned me out on to the landing.

"You see, we've got Aleem," she said.

"Yes, how did you manage it?"

"The Yard promptly ran him down and brought him to Stromberg. The man, seeing his game is up, has given us every information. Stromberg has promised that if he helps us to-night he may get off lightly."

"What has he told you?"

"All we wanted to know. He is a man whom Barraclough employed in South America, and brought over here with him when he came. Barraclough made wealth rapidly in South America, and in fact accumulated a vast fortune equal to two or three millions of money, but he made the foundation of that fortune by unscrupulous means. Once in possession of money his natural ability enabled him to conduct his operations with skill, and his later successes were legitimate enough. But Aleem knew him in his shady days, so he tells us, and he didn't mean to be left in South America.

"About a fortnight ago Barraclough went to him--he had a little flat in Great Russell Street--and offered him £5,000 if he would consent to get a house and take charge of a woman who was drinking herself to death. The rest you know. Aleem swears that he only got the house and the things Barraclough ordered him to, and that he has never interfered in any way with the woman."

"But who got her here?"

"Barraclough himself--but that we have learned from the woman herself. Stromberg interviewed her at the hospital. Her name is Judkins. Twenty years ago she married John Judkins, a clever but improvident clerk in the employ of a firm of financiers in the City. Judkins got into debt and difficulties and one day disappeared, and she never saw him again until lately.

"She managed as well as she could for herself, and being a handsome woman did fairly well. One evening some weeks ago she was at the Empire when she heard a gentleman behind her call out 'Hullo, Judkins!' She turned and saw two gentlemen in evening dress greet each other. The name Judkins caused her eagerly to scrutinise the features of the elder of them. She recognised him in a moment as her husband----"

I interrupted Dorcas with a remark which rose to my lips:

"Why did the gentleman call Mr. Barraclough 'Judkins'?"

"Most of his friends clip his double barrel name to that, I expect. But let me go on. After the two gentlemen separated, Mrs. Judkins followed her husband until he was in a quiet part of the promenade and then touched him on the shoulder and said 'Jack!'

"Judkins started and turned as pale as his bronzed face would let him. Then he took her arm and they went out into Leicester Square together. He explained that he had intended to write to his wife after he decamped, but he had got into fresh trouble and had to clear out of the country. He had come back some years ago intending to find his wife, but he was in with a bad set and for his share in a fraud he had been sentenced to ten years' imprisonment. He had been out for a year, but he was still getting his living by his wits.

"He had promised her he would do what he could for her, and gave her £50 in bank-notes. He met her by appointment some time after that, and made her a present of some jewellery and quite won her confidence, only he was always careful to warn her that he was still what the fraternity call 'crook,' and the police were keeping an eye on him.

"One day he said he should have to lie quiet for a bit, and he told her to come to him where he was staying at No. ---, Burton Crescent. She was to come at midnight. He would, he hoped, have some money and jewellery to give her which he wanted her to take care of while he was away.

"The woman fell into the trap. At midnight her husband let her in. The house was in darkness. He took her by the hand and led her upstairs.

"Suddenly the idea came to her that all was not right--she grew nervous and tried to drag her hand away. The man seized her forcibly and thrust his arm across her mouth to stop her screaming. She struggled and bit fiercely into his flesh. He uttered a cry of rage, and thrust his pocket-handkerchief into her mouth. Then he held something to her nose, which she supposed must have been chloroform, for she remembers no more. When she came to herself she felt weak and unable to move, and was lying in a kind of cage in one of the rooms. She saw brandy by her side and she drank. The brandy was all she had, and she drank to drive away her terror. She confesses that she had been a hard drinker, and that on several occasions when Judkins met her she had been drinking heavily. It was probably this discovery which gave him the idea of letting her drink herself to death quietly, using the chloral as a means to an end."

"And now?" I said as Dorcas finished her narrative.

"And now she is getting round----Well?"

The last word was addressed to Inspector Stromberg, who had come upstairs.

"Everything is ready," he said. "I've two men posted out of sight in front, and there's no chance of an escape at the back."

We went into the room all three together.

"Now," said the Inspector to the Indian, "you quite understand what you are to do?"

"Yes, I understand," replied Mr. Mohammed with a sickly grin.

"And remember you can't save him. If you warn him and he tries to bolt, my men are outside--so you'll let him come in and do exactly as he tells you."

"Yes."

"Now, once more you are sure you have no idea to whom those old clothes in the cupboard belong, nor why Barraclough brought them here!

"No; he must have brought them and put them there when I did not see."

* * * * * * *

At ten o'clock there was the sound of a key turning in the lock downstairs. The house was in darkness. In the centre of the first-floor back room the cage, restored to its former condition, stood as before; only one side had been torn away by Aleem in order that he might ascertain if the woman was really dead. Covered over with a scarlet blanket lay something that looked like a human form. A cloth was flung over the face.

Dorcas and I were sitting with the front room door open when we heard the key. Stromberg and the plain-clothes officer were nowhere to be seen.

The Indian had taken down the sacking that formed the roof of the cage, and flung it into the corner. Through the thin partition that separated the back and front rooms two gimlet-holes had been bored. Dorcas knelt down and fixed her eyes to these. We could hear every word that was spoken.

Barraclough called out softly, "Aleem, Aleem, are you there?"

"I am here," answered Aleem. "Come up--all is over."

Barraclough came quickly up the stairs. Aleem opened the door of the back room.

"She died this morning early. Now, what are we to do? Bury her here?"

"No; it would look like murder if the body was ever found, and one never knows. She'll be much safer buried in a cemetery."

"In a cemetery?"

"Yes--after an inquest. We had better let the law establish our innocence _in case_ of accidents. It's always safer to do the bold thing, Aleem--I've always found it so. Take this key, go downstairs, unlock the cupboard in the parlour, and bring me up a bundle of old clothes you'll find there--and bring a light."

I almost thought I heard Dorcas give a sigh of relief. She had forgotten that she had burst the cupboard open. Had Barraclough gone himself he would have noticed it.

Aleem went downstairs, and Dorcas rose quietly, went out softly, and stopped him as he came up. "Leave the door ajar," she said under her breath. Aleem evidently obeyed, for she remained outside.

I took her vacant place at the peepholes.

"Now," said Barraclough, as the Indian handed him the bundle and put the candle on the floor, "you're quicker-fingered than I am--go in and strip the body."

The Indian hesitated. "Why should I do this?"

"Why? Because you're going to have five thousand pounds. I'm not going to pay you and do the dirty work myself. Off with every rag--the jewels you can keep for yourself."

Still the Indian hesitated. "But why should we strip the body?" he said.

"Why?--to put those rags on it."

"And then?"

"Well, then all we've got to do is wait till there isn't a soul about and then pop the body outside on the doorstep."

"But the police--they will make inquiries."

"The police will do nothing of the sort. A wretched, ragged outcast will be found on a doorstep dead. She will be taken to the mortuary and a post-mortem made. The cause of death will be found to be starvation and drink, and the body will be buried. The law doesn't trouble itself about paupers found dead on a doorstep."

"Ah!" exclaimed Aleem, "that is what you wanted with those rags then?"

"Yes. Now, then, let me see what sort of a lady's maid you make."

At that moment the corpse moved slightly under the scarlet blanket.

Barraclough sprang back. "You fool--she's _not_ dead!" he cried.

"No," exclaimed Inspector Stromberg, leaping up and flinging the blanket from him. "We're all very much alive."

At the same moment the sacking in the corner lifted up, and the plain-clothes officer slipped from under it, and Dorcas, pushing the door open, ran into the room.

"Mr. Barraclough," said the Inspector. "I arrest you on a charge of attempting to murder your wife, Marian Judkins."

The millionaire grasped the situation in a moment.

"You infernal traitor!" he hissed at the mild Mohammed. "I'll-- I'll----"

In a moment the two officers had him by the arms.

"Come along," said the Inspector. "We'll get a four-wheeler to the door. I presume you haven't got your brougham waiting outside?"

As the men went downstairs with their prisoner, Dorcas nodded pleasantly to the Inspector.

"Thank you so much," she said, "for helping me to find out what those clothes in the cupboard were for." Then she turned to me and said, "You've had twenty-four hours' excitement straight off--you must be tired. Go home and go to bed."

"And you?"

"I'm going to Berkeley Square to tell the lady this scoundrel married that she is a free woman, and to offer her my sincere congratulations."

_X. THE HAVERSTOCK HILL MURDER_

The blinds had been down at the house in Oak Tree Road and the house shut for nearly six weeks. I had received a note from Dorcas saying that she was engaged on a case which would take her away for some little time, and that as Paul had not been very well lately she had arranged that he and her mother should accompany her. She would advise me as soon as they returned. I called once at Oak Tree Road and found it was in charge of the two servants and Toddlekins, the bulldog. The housemaid informed me that Mrs. Dene had not written, so that she did not know where she was or when she would be back, but that letters which arrived for her were forwarded by her instructions to Mr. Jackson, of Penton Street, King's Cross.

Mr. Jackson, I remembered, was the ex-police-sergeant who was generally employed by Dorcas when she wanted a house watched or certain inquiries made among tradespeople. I felt that it would be unfair to go to Jackson. Had Dorcas wanted me to know where she was she would have told me in her letter.

The departure had been a hurried one. I had gone to the North in connection with a business matter of my own on a Thursday evening, leaving Dorcas at Oak Tree Road, and when I returned on Monday afternoon I found Dorcas's letter at my chambers. It was written on the Saturday, and evidently on the eve of departure.

But something that Dorcas did not tell me I learned quite accidentally from my old friend Inspector Swanage, of Scotland Yard, whom I met one cold February afternoon at Kempton Park Steeplechases.

Inspector Swanage has a greater acquaintance with the fraternity known as "the boys" than any other officer. He has attended race meetings for years, and the "boys" always greet him respectfully, though they wish him further. Many a prettily-planned coup of theirs has he nipped in the bud, and many an unsuspecting greenhorn has he saved from pillage by a timely whisper that the well-dressed young gentlemen who are putting their fivers on so merrily and coming out of the enclosure with their pockets stuffed full of bank-notes are men who get their living by clever swindling, and are far more dangerous than the ordinary vulgar pickpocket.

On one occasion not many years ago I found a well-known publisher at a race meeting in earnest conversation with a beautifully-dressed, grey-haired sportsman. The publisher informed me that his new acquaintance was the owner of a horse which was certain to win the next race, and that it would start at ten to one. Only in order not to shorten the price nobody was to know the name of the horse, as the stable had three in the race. He had obligingly taken a fiver off the publisher to put on with his own money.

I told the publisher that he was the victim of a "tale-pitcher," and that he would never see his fiver again. At that moment Inspector Swanage came on the scene, and the owner of race horses disappeared as if by magic. Swanage recognised the man instantly, and having heard my publisher's story said, "If I have the man taken will you prosecute?" The publisher shook his head. He didn't want to send his authors mad with delight at the idea that somebody had eventually succeeded in getting a fiver the best of him. So Inspector Swanage strolled away. Half an hour later he came to us in the enclosure and said, "Your friend's horse doesn't run, so he's given me that fiver back again for you." And with a broad grin he handed my friend a bank-note.

It was Inspector Swanage's skill and kindness on this occasion that made me always eager to have a chat with him when I saw him at a race meeting, for his conversation was always interesting.

The February afternoon had been a cold one, and soon after the commencement of racing there were signs of fog. Now a foggy afternoon is dear to the hearts of the "boys." It conceals their operations, and helps to cover their retreat. As the fog came up the Inspector began to look anxious, and I went up to him.

"You don't like the look of things?" I said.

"No, if this gets worse the band will begin to play--there are some very warm members of it here this afternoon. It was a day just like this last year that they held up a bookmaker going to the station, and eased him of over £500. Hullo?"

As he uttered the exclamation the Inspector pulled out his race card and seemed to be anxiously studying it.