CHAPTER VIII.

A MYSTERIOUS PARCEL.

Before Fanks finally dismissed the matter of that futile chase he asked a question of his friend the constable. "Did you notice," said he, "if that young lady had a friend with her?"

"No, Mr. Fanks," said the other, promptly, "she was all alone."

"Humph! I thought so," meditated Fanks, as he ascended the stairs, "the accusing friend was a myth. Well, I guess there's a vacancy for a fool, and I'm elected. I've lost her once; but she won't escape me a second time. Taxton-on-Thames isn't London."

The links of the chain which brought forth this remark were as follows:--The postal mark on the envelope was Taxton-on-Thames; the handwriting thereon was the same as that on the back of the photograph--to all appearance that of the missing woman--therefore Fanks thought that he might gain some information about her in the village. The link of the writings connected her with the riverside town; and by following such a clue he hoped to arrive at some knowledge of her identity.

With this resolution, he entered the chambers and found Robert restored to sensibility, sitting on the sofa, with Garth and Maxwell in attendance. The latter looked up eagerly as the detective entered. But Fanks had no idea of letting an inferior into his methods of working, and he dismissed him forthwith.

"Maxwell, you can leave the room," he said sharply; and when the policeman had taken his departure he turned to Garth, and continued, "I lost her after all, my friend; she gave me the slip with singular dexterity. That going down to bring up a witness was all bosh; she told that story as a blind to get out of the room without suspicion."

"But who is she?" asked Garth, at this tale of failure.

Fanks smiled grimly, and looked at the valet. "No doubt Robert can tell us that, he said, significantly.

"I think she is Lady Fellenger--Emma Calvert," said Robert, faintly.

"That is all nonsense. You told us distinctly that Emma Calvert was dead; the inscription on the portrait affirms your statement. How then can this living woman be the lady in question?"

"It might have been her ghost."

"Rubbish! Ghosts don't appear in the daytime; and drive off in cabs; moreover there are no such things as ghosts. Your explanation is weak, Robert; try another story."

"It is the best that I can give, sir; if she isn't Emma Calvert; who is she?"

"That is what we wish to find out," said Garth. "You say that Lady Fellenger--whom you will persist in calling Emma Calvert--is dead?"

"I saw her lying at the Morgue, sir," declared Robert, passionately. "I saw her placed in her coffin; I saw her buried, and the earth heaped over her. She is dead; I swear that she is dead."

"Where is she buried?"

"In Pere la Chaise, in Paris."

Fanks began twisting his ring. "You say that she destroyed herself," he said; "had you anything to do with her death?"

The man broke down, and burst out weeping, exculpating himself between his sobs. "I had nothing to do with her death," he declared, "she was always a good mistress to me, but my master treated her shamefully. When he married her and first came to Paris they were quite happy. But Sir Gregory grew tired of her; he grew tired of everyone; and he began to neglect her for others. She was very proud, and she put up with it for a time. At last she got angry at him, and insisted that he should take her back to London and introduce her to his friends. This he refused to do, and he taunted her with having been in a shop. He called her Emma Calvert even before me."

"You are sure that she was his wife?" interrupted Fanks.

"I was present at the marriage myself, sir. It took place in a registry office. She was his wife and Lady Fellenger sure enough, but after some months he would not call her by that name. He knew that she was proud," added Robert, in a lower tone, "and I think he wished to drive her to her death."

"I always said that he was a bad lot," interposed Garth, in disgust.

"He was not a good man, sir, but he was a good master to me. But the end of it all was that one evening they had a terrible quarrel, and in a fit of rage she ran out of the house. I would have followed her, but my master would not let me go. When next I saw her, she was lying dead in the Morgue."

"You think that she flung herself into the river?"

"I am sure of it, sir. Her body was taken out of the Seine. My master seemed to feel her death terribly, but all the same I think he was relieved that his marriage was at an end. He got it put about in some way that the death was an accident, and the body was buried in Pere la Chaise. After that he made me promise not to tell anyone that he had been married, and we returned to England. That is all I know, except that she has come back to haunt me."

Fanks stood biting his fingers. The servant was evidently in earnest, and according to his story the ill-fated wife of the late Sir Gregory was dead and buried; yet, going by the likeness of the portrait to the woman who had vanished, she was alive. Fanks had been engaged in several very difficult cases, but they were all child's play compared to the intricacy of this problem. He was at his wits end, startled, mystified.

While the valet wept and Fanks thought, Garth broke the silence. "We are off the track," he said roughly; "we are seeking to solve the mystery of my cousin's death, not to trouble about that of his unhappy wife."

"It is all of a piece," replied Fanks, "the one death is connected with the other; how, I am unable to say at present. In the face of it, I can hardly bring myself to believe that Emma Calvert is dead."

"Robert swears that she is," said Garth, with a shrug.

"I do, I do, I swear it," wailed the man. "I saw her buried."

The tones of the wretched creature were so heart-rending that both his listeners believed that he spoke the truth. The detective placed the portrait, the pasteboard star, and the envelope containing the slips of print in his pocket, and beckoned to Garth. "We can do no more good here," he said in a low tone. "I must think out the matter by myself; let us go away."

"But Robert?"

"I shall stay here, sir," said the servant, rising; "Mr. Vaud said that I was to stay here until Sir Louis Fellenger came to town."

"Who is Mr. Vaud?" demanded Fanks.

"Oh, he is Fellenger's lawyer," explained Garth, quickly, "of the firm of Vaud and Vaud, of Lincoln's Inn Fields. I was wondering why my cousin had not come up to take possession of the property; but it appears that he is ill."

"Was he not at the funeral?"

"Yes, and, mighty bad he looked; he must have taken to his bed since. I suppose that not finding himself able to come he sent for Mr. Vaud."

"Yes, sir," said the valet, "and Mr. Vaud came here to find the police in possession; so he told me to stay here."

"Quite right," said Fanks. "I shall see Mr. Vaud myself."

Before leaving the chambers Fanks told Maxwell to keep a sharp lookout on Robert, of whom he had some suspicion. Then with Garth he went down slowly, talking and thinking. Garth had asked him what was to be done next, and he did not know what to say. Ultimately he declared that he would interview Vaud.

"Why?" asked Garth, after a pause.

"Because if I do not see him, he will see me. I must explain why I wish the police to continue in possession of the dead man's chambers; and also I want a letter of introduction to the new baronet."

"I can give you that; but I do not understand why you should wish to see him. He can do no good."

"I am not so sure of that," responded Fanks, dryly, "and in any case I must tell him what I am doing. As the heir he must be anxious to clear up the mystery of his cousin's death."

"I don't think he'll trouble much," replied Garth, doubtfully. "Gregory and Louis hated, one another like poison. They had not met for ten years."

"Why did they hate one another?"

"I don't know. Louis is a better man than Gregory. He was a scoundrel, as you have heard. An out-and-out scamp."

"And something worse than a scamp," said Fanks; "but about this introduction? Are you on good terms with your cousin Louis?"

"I don't like him," answered Garth, after a pause, "he is a scientific prig. All the same there is no ill-will between us."

"Very good. You can give me that introduction as soon as you like."

"I'll write it to-day; and if you wish to see Vaud the elder you'll find him at Lincoln's Inn Fields, a pleasant old gentleman of the out-of-date school."

"You emphasise the elder Vaud. Is there a son?"

"Yes, a fellow of thirty or thereabouts, He is the partner, but he has been ill of late, and has only returned from a tour of the world. But, I say Hersham, you know."

"I shall call on him to-morrow," said Fanks, "and question him about the tattooed cross."

"When shall I see you again?"

"Call to-morrow night at my Duke Street chambers. I may have some news for you."

"About Emma Calvert?"

"About Dr. Renshaw."

"Do you still connect him with the crime?"

"I connect him with Dr. Binjoy, and I connect Dr. Binjoy with his negro servant; and further I connect a black man wearing a green coat with brass buttons with the murder."

"Then you suspect that the servant of Dr. Binjoy killed Fellenger, and that Binjoy in the disguise of Renshaw was at the Red Star to assure himself that his instructions had been carried out."

"That is exactly what I don't mean."

"Then what are you driving at?"

"Ask me the same question in five weeks, and I'll tell you."

"Will it take you all that time to find out the truth?"

Fanks laughed at the implied sneer. "I am no miracle-monger, my dear sir," he said; "I am groping in the dark; and a mighty hard task it is. I do not know in which direction to move at the present moment. If only some thing would turn up likely to point out a path. Renshaw, Mrs. Boazoph, and Robert are all sign-posts, but which to go by, I really cannot say. Five weeks, Garth, and then perhaps failure."

All this time they were still standing at the door at the foot of the stairs. Now Fanks made a movement, but before he could step on to the pavement he was aware that Maxwell was coming down the stairs quickly. In another moment he was at the elbow of his superior officer, holding out a small packet wrapped up in brown paper. Fanks took it gingerly, and examined it with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Well, Maxwell," he said, "what is this?"

"I don't know, sir," said the breathless Maxwell. "I guessed that you mightn't be far away, so I took the liberty to come after you."

"To give me this packet?"

"Yes, sir. I found it a few minutes ago in the letter-box on the door.

"Ah!" said Garth, in a startled tone, "was it there last time you looked?"

"No, sir; not an hour ago. It ain't got no postmark or stamp."

"And it is addressed to Sir Gregory Fellenger," said Fanks; "I'll open it," and without further remark Fanks did so. Therein was a morocco case. When this was opened they saw lying on a bed of purple velvet a long and slender needle of silver. Garth would have picked it out, but Fanks stopped him with a shudder. "Don't touch it," he said; "there is death here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Fanks, "that I hold in my hand the poisoned needle with which your cousin was murdered."