Part 13

“I don’t remember anything about it,” she went on, “my earliest recollections was the long dormitory where about forty little girls used to sleep, a very fat matron, and two iron-faced nurses, and the why and wherefore of my being at Parkingtons Institute only came to me late in life. One of the little girls had heard the matron tell the nurse, and I had to piece together the fact that I was an orphan by the act of my father and that after his trial and execution I had been sent to this home to be brought up and educated for the profession which all good little girls follow, and which had, as its supreme reward, an appointment as undercook. I was not so fortunate. I am afraid my cooking was rather vile, for when I came out of the Institute, it was to take a place as under-housemaid and general help in the kitchen of a great society leader, who spent thousands of pounds upon charity, but weighed the very bread that her servants ate. I had only been in this place for three months when Mr. Trasmere made his appearance. It was on a cold windy afternoon, I remember it as distinctly as though it were yesterday, when one of the parlour-maids came and said I was to go up into the drawing-room. I found Mr. Trasmere alone and I was rather frightened at the sight of him, for he did not speak, but sat with a little scowl on his face, taking me in from head to foot.

“I was between twelve and thirteen then, a sensitive child, to whom life, as it came to me, was a veritable hell. He asked me what my age was, and whether I was happy and I told him the truth. Apparently he had seen the authorities at the Institute, for I was allowed to go away with him, and he took me to a poor apartment house and placed me under the care of a woman who either owned or rented the house, and sub-let the rooms furnished to the queerest lot of people I have ever seen congregated under one roof. Knowing him now much better, I am inclined to think that Mr. Trasmere owned the house himself and that the woman was his nominee. I did not see him again for nearly two months. I had a room to myself and he sent me school books to read and study and it was whilst I was here that I first met Yeh Ling, who, as I have told you, was a poor waiter at a Chinese restaurant.

“At the end of the two months, Mr. Trasmere came for me, and his coming was heralded by the arrival of a huge box of clothes, the like of which I had never seen, let alone worn. He left a message that I was to be dressed and ready to go with him, and that afternoon he called and took me down into the country, to a preparatory school which, after the Institute, was a heaven upon earth. On the way down, he told me he had heard about me from some friends of his, and he wanted to give me an education which would fit me to take the position which he had for me, and I was so overcome by his kindness that I cried all the way to our destination.

“The three years that I spent at St. Helen’s seem, even now, like a beautiful dream. I was happy, I made many friends, and my whole outlook on life changed. The year I left, Mr. Trasmere came down to our Commemoration and saw me acting in a play which the school dramatic society had produced, and from what he saw, was evolved this extraordinary arrangement. Knowing what I do, I know he was not wholly disinterested. It was his practice to take up projects and finance likely people. Once he told me that he had intended settling in this country and living the life of a gentleman--to use his own words--but that he was so unutterably bored, that to give himself an interest, he took up the most extraordinary of schemes.

“Do you know at one time he financed twelve tea-rooms and collected his share of the takings every day? Do you know that he was behind three doctors and took his profits from each? He was Yeh Ling’s backer, and in time he came to be mine. I was with him six months, acting as his secretary in a tiny office he hired for the purpose, and to which he never came until five o’clock in the afternoon.

“Then it was, that he suggested that I should go on to the stage and sent me away with a touring company. Of course, he was financially interested in it and it was my duty to send him a daily return showing the amount of money we took every night. On Saturdays I paid the salaries and expenses and remitted the remainder to him. When the tour was finished I came back to town to find that he had already made arrangements in his furtive, secretive way, to start a season with me as the principal attraction. My salary! You would laugh if I told you. It was hardly enough to keep body and soul together, only, as an excuse for his parsimony, he agreed that he would pay me one half of the profits over a certain amount.

“To my astonishment, as well as to his, I became not only a respectable success, but a great financial success. The profits on my seasons were enormous, they exceeded to an incredible extent the amount he had fixed. And, of course, he paid. Jesse Trasmere’s word was more than his bond. It was his oath.

“His code was the code of the Chinese business man. When you know what that means, Tab, you will realise how very punctilious he was in such matters. He made exactly the same arrangements with Yeh Ling. There was the curious bond which bound us together, Yeh Ling and I--our shares were enormously in excess of his estimate. But he paid loyally. Between him and me there was never an agreement of any kind. In the case of Yeh Ling there was an agreement, as you know. But the most bizarre aspect of my success was that I was compelled to continue as his secretary. Every night when the theatre was closed, I motored to his house, dealt with his correspondence and answered his letters. Sometimes I was so weary after a heavy evening, that I could scarcely drag myself up the steps of Mayfield. But Jesse was inexorable. He never let up on any bargain he made, any more than he evaded the terms of any agreement which proved adverse to him.

“When I began to get talked about, he insisted upon my making a ‘show’ as he called it and brought a lot of jewels which he told me should be mine at his death. Whether he bought them--they did not look new to me--or whether he acquired them in one of those deals of his which nobody knew anything about, I am unable to say with certainty. They were beautiful--but they were not mine until his death. Every night I dined with him at Yeh Ling’s, and he handed to me the jewel-case which he had taken from his bag, and every night I carried those jewels back to the house and gave them into his care.”

“Did the old man ever tell you how he came to seek you out?”

She nodded and a faint smile came and went.

“Jesse Trasmere was very frank. That was one of his charms. He told me he knew my deplorable history and he wanted somebody about whom he knew a few discreditable facts! He said that in almost those identical words: ‘You’ll have to go along as I want you,’ he said, ‘and the higher you get, and the more successful you become, the less you will want the news published that your father was a murderer.’ And yet, curiously enough, he never objected to my taking my own name, for Ardfern is my name, for professional purposes. I don’t suppose anybody at that dingy Institute associates me with the skinny little girl who used to scrub and peel and toil at uninteresting lessons from morning until night.”

“What was your father?” asked Tab with an effort, for he expected that any reference to her parents must still wound her.

To his surprise she answered readily.

“He was an actor,” she said, “and I think he was a clever actor until he took to drink. It was in drink that he murdered my mother. That much I learnt at the home--I have not troubled to enquire since. What are you thinking about, Tab?”

His forehead was knit.

“I am trying to recall the execution of any person named Ardfern in the last twenty years, I know them all by name,” he said slowly. “Have you a telephone?”

She nodded.

In three minutes Tab was talking to the news editor of the “Megaphone.”

“Jacques,” he said, “I want some information. Do you remember any person named Ardfern being executed for murder in the last--” he looked round at the girl--“seventeen or eighteen years?”

“No,” was the instant reply. “There was a man named Ardfern against whom a coroner’s verdict of manslaughter was returned but he skipped the country.”

“What was his first name?” asked Tab eagerly.

“I am not sure that it was Francis or Robert. No, it was Willard--Willard Ardfern. I remember there were two ‘ards’ in it,” said the information bureau.

“In what town was this crime committed?”

Jacques answered without hesitation, giving the name of a small country town that Tab knew well.

He hung up the receiver and turned to the girl.

“What was your father’s name?” he asked.

“Willard,” she replied without hesitation.

“Phew!” whistled Tab, and wiped his streaming forehead. “Your father was not hanged.”

He saw her go red and white.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Perfectly sure. Old Jacques never makes a mistake. Besides which, he had the name pat when I asked him. Willard Ardfern. He was indicted for manslaughter. I fear that your unhappy mother died of his violence but Willard Ardfern himself left the country and was never arrested or tried.”

His arm went round her in support, she had gone suddenly white and ill-looking.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “That seemed--worse--than killing my poor mother. Oh Tab, it has been such a nightmare to me! Such a dreadful, dreadful weight. You can’t know how I felt about it.”

“Was it that?--” he hesitated, “something I had said that made you feel bad when we talked of Mr. Trasmere’s will?”

She looked at him steadily but did not give an answer.

“I used to hate this nightly borrowing of jewels,” she went back to her relations with Jesse Trasmere. “I had enough money to buy my own, though I have no particular leaning toward jewelry, but old Trasmere would not hear of it. Any movement towards my independence he checked ruthlessly,” she stopped suddenly and her mouth made a little “O” of surprise. “I wonder if he heard--in China?” she asked. “Yes, that is it! He must have met my father. That is how he came to know about me! I am sure Yeh Ling knows, because Mr. Trasmere had a habit of making elaborate notes--I wonder,” she said speaking to herself. Impulsively she threw out her hands and caught his. “Tab, the night you came into my dressing-room I felt instinctively that you were a factor in my life. I could never have dreamt how big a part you were going to be.”

For once in his life Tab could not think of an appropriate rejoinder.

XXVIII

There came to police headquarters a tall, ruddy-skinned man of middle age. He wore a suit which was evidently not made for him, and he seemed a little depressed by his surroundings.

“I have an appointment with Inspector Carver,” he said and passed a letter across the desk to the police clerk, who read it and nodded.

“Inspector Carver is expecting you,” he said and called a messenger.

Carver looked round as the door opened and viewed his caller with a speculative eye. Then he jumped up.

“Of course!” he said. “Sit down please.”

“I hope--” began the man, “there isn’t going to be any trouble.”

“Not for you,” said Carver, “but I rather fancy there is trouble coming for somebody.”

The messenger closed the door and left them together.

Half an hour later Inspector Carver telephoned for the office stenographer, and when the harassed man with the fresh face and ill-fitting clothes left the police office after a three-hour examination, Inspector Carver had material for much cogitation.

Tab called in the ordinary way of duty and they discussed the latest tragedy, but never once did Inspector Carver make reference to his visitor of the morning. That was his secret and too precious a one, in the circumstances, to breathe to a soul.

He drove that afternoon to the detention prison where Walters was awaiting trial and had a long talk with him. Yeh Ling was in his parlour, half-way through his long weekly letter to his son, when Inspector Carver was announced. He put down his brush and gazed impassively upon the servant who had brought in the inspector’s card.

“Is this man alone?” he asked.

“Yes, Yeh Ling. There is no man with him.”

Yeh Ling tapped his white teeth with his well-manicured nails.

“Come,” he said laconically and there was something in Carver’s face which told Yeh Ling all that he wanted to know. But there was a fight to be made yet and he was not without hope that this matter of the Trasmere murder and the tragedy that had followed, would be settled in a manner more consonant with his keen sense of obligation.

The inspector did not come to the point at once. He accepted a cigar that the Chinaman offered to him, spoke jocularly of Yeh Ling’s letter writing, asked a question or two about Ursula Ardfern, and at last hinted at the object of his visit.

“Yeh Ling,” he said, “I think the Trasmere case is coming to a solution.”

Yeh Ling’s eyelids did not so much as flicker.

“In fact,” said the inspector, carefully examining the ash of his cigar, “I have found the murderer.”

Yeh Ling said nothing.

“I need very little confirmatory evidence to put the man who killed Jesse Trasmere on the trap,” Carver went on.

“And you have come to me to furnish that evidence,” said Yeh Ling with a touch of irony.

Carver shook his head and smiled.

“I don’t know--I didn’t think you would,” he said, and then almost sharply: “Where are the documents you took from the Trasmere house the night you went there with Miss Ardfern?”

The Chinaman got up without hesitation, unlocked a small safe in the corner of the room and brought out a thick packet of papers.

“They are all there?” asked Carver, shooting a suspicious glance at the other.

“All except two,” was the cool reply, “one of which has reference to my interest in the Golden Roof and that is with my lawyer--”

“And the other?” asked the detective.

“That deals with matters of a sacred nature,” said Yeh Ling in that precise English that sounded almost affected.

Carver bit his lip.

“You know that this is the document I particularly want?” he asked.

“I guessed that,” was the reply. “Nevertheless, Mr. Carver, I cannot give it to you, and if you know so much,” for a second a ghost of a smile lit his brown eyes, “then you will know why it is not forthcoming.”

“Does Miss Ardfern know?”

Yeh Ling shook his head.

“She is the one person who must not know,” he said emphatically. “If it were not for her--” he shrugged his shoulders, “you might see it.”

Carver knew that he was opposed by a will greater than his own and that neither threats nor promises would move this impassive man from the attitude he had taken up.

“What does it matter whether you see this paper or not?” asked Yeh Ling. “You say you know the murderer, that you have sufficient evidence to put him on the trap--but have you?”

His look was a challenge.

“You cannot convict a man on supposition, Mr. Carver. You must prove beyond any doubt whatever that Jesse Trasmere was killed by somebody who had the means of getting in and out that locked vault, and leaving the key on the table. It is not enough to say: ‘I am certain that this prisoner killed his--benefactor.’ It is not sufficient that you can show motives. You must produce the means! Until you can say the murderer obtained admission to the vault by this or that door, in this or that way, or that he employed these or those means to restore the key to the table from the outside of a locked door through which no key could pass, you cannot secure a conviction. That is the law. I studied law at Harvard, and I have the rules of evidence at my fingertips,” he smiled faintly. “You see, Mr. Carver, that the confirmatory evidence you require cannot possibly be supplied by me.”

Carver knew that he was speaking no more than the truth; that he was against a dead wall unless some human eye had witnessed the murder, and the method by which the murderer escaped.

The logic of the Chinaman’s criticism was irresistible, and Carver, who had seen success within reach, experienced a sense of failure at the very moment when he thought that all his efforts were coming to fruition.

“Then tell me this,” he said. “I understand that on several occasions you have been followed by this Man in Black. Have you any idea who he is?”

“Yes,” said the other without hesitation, “but what is the value of my ideas? I could not swear to any facts, and facts are the meat and drink of juries, Mr. Carver.”

Carver got up and sighed heavily, and hearing him Yeh Ling broke into a fit of silent laughter.

“I am sorry,” he apologised, “but I am thinking of my favorite poem,” his eyes twinkled. “You remember the other gentleman who ’rose with a sigh, and he said, ‘Can this be? We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour....’”

“I shall certainly not ‘go the Heathen Chinee,’” said Carver good-humouredly, “not for the moment. What I like about you, Yeh Ling, is your refreshing sanity. I don’t know that I have ever dealt with a man--shall I say fought with a man?--who would have given me greater pleasure to fence.”

The Chinaman performed a deep kow-tow and his mock humility amused Carver long after he had left the shadow of the Golden Roof.

Yeh Ling, who seldom made any personal effort for the comfort of his guests, paid particular attention to the preparations which were being made in No. 6 that night. The Italian waiters, to whom the proprietor was almost unknown, were both nervous and annoyed, for nothing seemed to please Yeh Ling. He had the flowers changed half-a-dozen times. He had new cloths brought and at the last minute insisted upon the table being laid all over again. He brought the rarest of glass to adorn the board, unearthed unsuspected treasures in chinaware, and substituted them for the crockery of the restaurant. This done, he summoned to his room the maitre d’hotel and the wine chef, and chose the dinner with the most exquisite care.

“Yeh Ling has really done himself proud,” said Tab admiring the table.

The girl nodded. She had hoped that Yeh Ling would have chosen another room, but she had no real feeling of repugnance and besides she had been here since Trasmere’s death.

“It is very thrilling to be dining alone with a young man,” she said, handing her wrap to the waiter, “and I can only hope the scandal of it doesn’t get into the newspapers!”

“Shall we see Yeh Ling?” asked Tab, half-way through the dinner.

She shook her head.

“He never appears. He has only been in this room twice to my recollection.

“It is our first appearance together in public,” said Tab solemnly. “I can count on our boys, but if any of those ‘Herald’ thugs hear and catch a glimpse of your expensive ring, there are going to be scare lines in that deplorable rag--the ‘Herald’ has no reticence on decency.”

She laughed softly and looked at the “expensive ring” that glittered and sparkled in the light of the shaded lamp.

“I asked Carver if he would come along after dinner,” said Tab, “but he is busy. He sent the most flowery and poetical messages to you--really Carver is a surprising person; there is a whole world of romance hidden behind that somewhat unpleasing exterior, if you will pardon the journalese.”

But if Carver could not come, they had a visitor. There came a tap and the door opened slowly.

“Great Moses!” said Tab springing up. “How the dickens did you know that we were here, Rex?”

“I spotted you,” said Rex Lander reproachfully, “slinking in at the side door like two guilty souls! May I offer my congratulations, Miss Ardfern, and lay at your feet the fragments of a broken heart?”

She laughed nervously at his jest.

“No, I can’t stay,” said Rex, “I have a party and, moreover, I am entertaining a man with terrific ideas on architecture. Isn’t that queer! Now that I am no longer arc-ing, I have conceived a passion for that unhallowed profession! Even old Stott is becoming an admirable personage in my eyes. Have you forgiven me, Miss Ardfern?”

“Oh yes,” she said quietly, “I have forgiven you a very long time ago.”

Rex’s baby eyes were very kindly, his plump face was wrinkled in a smile of amiable reflection.

“‘When a young man’s fancy--’” he began and caught a reflection in the mirror.

From where Tab and the girl sat they could see nothing. Rex saw reflected the half-open door and a figure that stood motionless outside. He spun round with an exclamation.

XXIX

“Good Lord, Yeh Ling, you gave me a fright! What a creeping old devil you are.”

“I came to see whether the dinner was successful,” said Yeh Ling softly. His hands were covered in his wide sleeves, a little black skull cap was pushed on the back of his head, his shabby silk suit and white soled slippers seemed remarkably out of place in that very modern setting.

“It was a great success, Yeh Ling,” said Tab, “wasn’t it?”

He turned to the girl and she nodded and her eyes met Yeh Ling’s and for the fraction of a second, held them.

“I think I’ll go,” said Rex awkwardly and gripped the girl’s hand again. “Goodnight, old man, you are a lucky old thief.” He wrung Tab’s hand and was gone.

“Was the wine to your liking?” said Yeh Ling’s soft voice.

“Everything was beautiful,” said Ursula. There was a touch of colour in her cheeks that had not been there before. “Thank you, Yeh Ling, you gave us a wonderful feast. We shall be late for the theatre, Tab,” she said, getting up hurriedly.

She was very silent in the car that drove them to the Athenæum and Tab felt a little of the gloom which had suddenly come into their festivity.

“Yeh Ling is a creepy sort of fellow, isn’t he?” he said.

“Yes, I suppose he is,” was her reply and that was all she said.

Ten minutes later she was sitting in a box, intent upon a stage which she had once adorned and seemingly oblivious to everything except the play. Tab decided that she was a little temperamental and loved her for it.

Going out to smoke between the first two acts (she insisted upon his going) he saw Carver standing by a tape machine in the vestibule of the theatre. His attention was concentrated on a very prose account of a yacht race which was coming through, but he saw Tab out of the corner of his eye and signalled him.

“I am going home with you tonight,” he said surprisingly. “What time will you leave Miss Ardfern?”

“I am seeing her to her hotel immediately after the show.”

“You are not going to supper anywhere?” asked the other carelessly.

“No,” said Tab, “why do you ask?”

“Then I will be waiting at the Central Hotel for you. I wish to see you about a nephew of mine who wants to become a newspaper reporter. Perhaps you can give me a few hints.”

Tab glanced at him suspiciously.

“I have suspected you of many weaknesses, but never of nepotism!” he said. “You told me a few weeks back that you hadn’t a relation in the world.”

“I have acquired a nephew since then,” said Carver calmly, his eyes still upon the tape, “it is a poor kind of detective who can’t discover a nephew or two. I may fall down on a murderer, but when it comes to unearthing distant relations, I am at the top of my class. You will find me somewhere in the shadows of the Central,” he added.

Tab did not see the detective again until he had left the girl in the vestibule of her hotel. Coming out into the street, Carver, true to his word, appeared from the night and took his arm.

“We will walk home. You don’t take enough exercise,” he said. “Lack of exercise is bad for the old, but it is fatal for the young.”

“You are very chatty this evening,” said Tab. “Tell me something about your little nephew.”

“I haven’t a nephew,” said the detective shamelessly, “but I am feeling kind of lonely tonight. I have had a very disappointing day, Tab, and I want to pour my woes into a sympathetic ear.”

“Faugh!” said Tab.