Among the latter was a smart, military-looking man of not more than thirty-three, tall, dark, and slim, with a merry face a trifle bronzed, and a pair of dark eyes beaming with good humour. As he alighted from a first-class carriage he held up his hand and secured a hansom standing by, then handed out his companion, a well-dressed girl of about twenty-two, whose black eyes and hair, rather aquiline features and sun-browned skin, were sufficient evidence that she was a native of the South. Her dress, of some dark blue material, bore the stamp of the first-class costumier; attached to her belt was the small satchel affected by foreign ladies when travelling; her neat toque became her well; and her black hair, although a trifle awry after the tedious, uncomfortable journey, still presented an appearance far neater than that of other bedraggled women around her.
Welcome to London! he exclaimed in good Italian.
For a moment she paused, gazing wonderingly about her at the great vaulted station, dazed by its noise, bustle, and turmoil.
And this is actually London! she exclaimed. Ah! what a journey! How thankful I am that its all over, and I am here, in England at last!
So am I, he said, with a sigh of relief as he removed his grey felt hat to ease his head. They had only hand-baggage, and this having been quickly transferred to the cab, he handed her in. As he placed his foot upon the step to enter the vehicle after her, a voice behind him suddenly exclaimed
Hullo, Tristram! Back in London again?
He turned quickly, and recognised in the elderly, grey-haired, well-groomed man in frock-coat and silk hat his old friend Major Gordon Maitland, and shook him heartily by the hand.
Yes, he answered. London once again. But you know how I spend my life on steamboats or in sleeping-cars. To-morrow I may start again for Constantinople. Im the modern Wandering Jew.
Except, that youre not a Jew eh? the other laughed. Well, travelling is your profession; and not a bad one either.
Try it in winter, my dear fellow, when the thermometer is below zero, answered Captain Frank Tristram, smiling. Youd prefer the fireside corner at the club.
Urgent business? inquired the Major, in a lower tone, and with a meaning look.
The other nodded.
Whos your pretty companion? Maitland asked in a low voice, with a quick glance at the girl in the cab.
She was placed under my care at Leghorn, and weve travelled through together. Shes charming. Let me introduce you.
Then, approaching the conveyance, he exclaimed in Italian: Allow me, signorina, to present my friend Major Gordon Maitland, the Signorina Vittorina Rinaldo.
Your first visit to our country, I presume? exclaimed the Major, in rather shaky Italian, noticing how eminently handsome she was.
Yes, she answered, smiling. I have heard so much of your great city, and am all anxiety to see it.
I hope your sojourn among us will be pleasant. You have lots to see. How long shall you remain?
Ah! I do not know, she answered. A week a month a year if need be.
The two men exchanged glances. The last words she uttered were spoken hoarsely, with strange intonation. They had not failed to notice a curious look in her eyes, a look of fierce determination.
Terribly hot in Leghorn, observed Tristram, turning the conversation after an awkward pause of a few moments. Vittorina held her breath. She saw how nearly she had betrayed herself.
It has been infernally hot here in London these past few days. I think I shall go abroad to-morrow. I feel like the last man in town.
Go to Wiesbaden, Tristram said. I was at the Rose ten days ago, and the season is in full swing. Not too hot, good casino, excellent cooking, and plenty of amusement. Try it.
No, I think Ill take a run through the Dolomites, he said. But why have you been down to Leghorn? Surely its off your usual track.
Yes, a little. The Ambassador is staying a few weeks for the sea-bathing at Ardenza, close to Leghorn, and I had important despatches.
Shes exceedingly good-looking, the Major said in English, with a smiling glance at the cab. I envy you your travelling companion. You must have had quite an enjoyable time.
Forty hours in a sleeping-car is scarcely to be envied this weather, he answered, as a porter, recognising him in passing, wished him a polite Good journey, I hope, sir?
Continuing, Tristram said, But we must be off. Im going to see her safe through to her friends before going to the office, and Im already nearly three hours late in London. So good-bye.
Good-bye, the other said. Shall I see you at the club to-night?
Perhaps. Im a bit done up by the heat, but I want my letters, so probably Ill look in.
Buona sera, signorina, Maitland exclaimed, bending towards the cab, shaking her hand and raising his hat politely.
She smiled, returning his salute in her own sweet, musical Tuscan, and then her companion, shouting an address in Hammersmith, sprang in beside her, and they drove off.
You must be very tired, he said, turning to her as they emerged from the station-yard into the busy Strand.
No, not so fatigued as I was when we arrived in Paris this morning, she answered, gazing wonderingly at the long line of omnibuses and cabs slowly filing down the brightly lit thoroughfare. But what confusion! I thought the Via Calzaiuoli in Florence noisy, but this ! and she waved her small hand with a gesture far more expressive than any words.
Frank Tristram, remarking that she would find London very different to Florence, raised his hand to his throat to loosen his collar, and in doing so displayed something which had until that moment remained concealed. A narrow ribbon was hidden beneath his large French cravat of black silk tied in a bow. The colour was royal blue, and from it was suspended the British royal arms, surmounted by the crown, with a silver greyhound pendant, the badge known on every railway from Calais to Ekaterinbourg, and from Stockholm to Reggio, as that of a Kings Foreign Service Messenger. Captain Frank Tristram was one of the dozen wanderers on the face of the earth whose swift journeys and promptness in delivering despatches have earned for them the title of The Greyhounds of Europe.
So engrossed was the dark-haired girl in contemplating her strange surroundings that she scarcely uttered a word as the cab sped on swiftly through the deepening twilight across Trafalgar Square, along Pall Mall, and up the Haymarket. Suddenly, however, the blaze of electricity outside the Criterion brought to Frank Tristrams mind cherished recollections of whisky and soda, and, being thirsty after the journey, he shouted to the man to pull up there.
You, too, must be thirsty, he said, turning to her. At this café, I think, they keep some of your Italian drinks vermouth, menthe, or muscato.
Thank you no, she replied, smiling sweetly. The cup of English tea I had at Dover did me good, and Im really not thirsty. You go and get something. Ill remain here.
Very well, he said. I wont be more than a minute; and as the cab drew up close to the door of the bar, he sprang out and entered the long saloon.
His subsequent movements were, however, somewhat curious.
After walking to the further end of the bar, he ordered a drink, idled over it for some minutes, his eyes glancing furtively at the lights of the cab outside. Suddenly, when he had uttered a few words to a passing acquaintance, he saw the vehicle move slowly on, probably under orders from the police; and the instant he had satisfied himself that neither Vittorina nor the cabman could observe him, he drained his glass, threw down a shilling, and without waiting for the change turned and continued through the bar, making a rapid exit by the rear door leading into Jermyn Street.
Very well, he said. I wont be more than a minute; and as the cab drew up close to the door of the bar, he sprang out and entered the long saloon.
His subsequent movements were, however, somewhat curious.
After walking to the further end of the bar, he ordered a drink, idled over it for some minutes, his eyes glancing furtively at the lights of the cab outside. Suddenly, when he had uttered a few words to a passing acquaintance, he saw the vehicle move slowly on, probably under orders from the police; and the instant he had satisfied himself that neither Vittorina nor the cabman could observe him, he drained his glass, threw down a shilling, and without waiting for the change turned and continued through the bar, making a rapid exit by the rear door leading into Jermyn Street.
As he emerged, a hansom was passing, and, hailing it, he sprang in, shouted an address, and drove rapidly away.
Meanwhile the cabman who had driven him from Charing Cross sat upon his box patiently awaiting his return, now and then hailing the plethoric drivers of passing vehicles with sarcasm, as cab and bus drivers are wont to do, until fully twenty minutes had elapsed. Then, there being no sign of the reappearance of his fare, he opened the trap-door in the roof, exclaiming
Nice evenin miss.
There was no response. The man peered down eagerly for a moment in surprise then cried aloud
By Jove! Shes fainted!
Unloosing the strap which held him to his seat, he sprang down and entered the vehicle.
The young girl was lying back in the corner inert and helpless, her hat awry, her pointed chin upon her chest. He pressed his hand to her breast, but there was no movement of the heart. He touched her ungloved hand. It was chilly, and the fingers were already stiffening. Her large black eyes were still open, glaring wildly into space, but her face was blanched to the lips.
Good heavens! the cabman cried, stupefied, as in turning he saw a policeman standing on the kerb. Quick, constable! he shouted, beckoning the officer. Quick! Look here!
Well, whats the matter now? the other inquired, approaching leisurely, his thumbs hitched in his belt.
The matter! cried the cabman. Why, this lady I drove from Charin Cross is dead?
Chapter Three
One of a Crowd
Within half a minute a crowd had gathered around the cab.
The instant the cabman raised the alarm the constable was joined by the burly door-opener of the Criterion in gaoler-like uniform and the round-faced fireman, who, lounging together outside, were ever on the look-out for some diversion. But when the constable agreed with the cab-driver that the lady was dead, their ready chaff died from their lips.
What do you know of her? asked the officer of the cab-driver.
Nothing, beyond the fact that I drove er from Charin Cross with a gentleman. Shes a foreigner, but he was English.
Where is he? demanded the constable anxiously, at that moment being joined by two colleagues, to whom the fireman in a few breathless words explained the affair.
He went into the bar there arf an hour ago, but he aint come out.
Quick. Come with me, and lets find him, the officer said.
Leaving the other policemen in charge of the cab, they entered, and walked down, the long, garish bar, scrutinising each of the hundred or so men lounging there. The cabman, however, saw nothing of his fare.
He must have escaped by the back way, observed the officer disappointedly. Its a strange business, this.
Extremely, said the cab-driver. The fellow must have murdered her, and then entered the place in order to get away. Hes a pretty cute un.
It seems a clear case of murder, exclaimed the other in a sharp, precise, business-like tone. Well take her to the hospital first; then you must come with me to Vine Street at once.
When they emerged, they found that the crowd had already assumed enormous proportions. The news that a woman had been murdered spread instantly throughout the whole neighbourhood, and the surging crowd of idlers, all curiosity, pressed around the vehicle to obtain a glimpse of the dead womans face. Amid the crowd, elbowing his way fiercely and determinedly, was a man whose presence there was a somewhat curious coincidence, having regard to what had previously transpired that evening. He wore a silk hat, his frock-coat was tightly buttoned and he carried in his gloved hand a silver-mounted cane. After considerable difficulty, he obtained a footing in front of the crowd immediately behind the cordon the police had formed around the vehicle, and in a few moments, by craning his neck forward, obtained nil uninterrupted view of the ladys face.
His teeth were firmly set, but his calm countenance betrayed no sign of astonishment. For an instant he regarded the woman with a cold, impassive look, then quickly he turned away, glancing furtively right and left, and an instant later was lost in the surging, struggling multitude which a body of police were striving in vain to move on.
The man who had thus gazed into the dead womans face was the man to whom she had been introduced at the station. Major Gordon Maitland.
Almost at the same moment when the Major turned away, the constable sprang into the cab beside the woman, and the driver, at once mounting the box, drove rapidly to Charing Cross Hospital.
To the small, bare, whitewashed room to the left of the entrance hall, where casualties are received, the dark-haired girl was carried, and laid tenderly upon the father-covered divan.
The dresser, who attended to minor accidents, gave a quick glance at the face of the new patient, and at once sent for the house-surgeon. He saw it was a grave case.
Very soon the doctor, a thin, elderly man, entered briskly, asked a couple of questions of the constable outside in the corridor, unloosened her dress, cut the cord of her corsets, laid his hands upon her heart, felt her pulse, slowly moved her eyelids, and then shook his head.
Dead! he exclaimed. She must have died nearly an hour ago.
Then he forced open her mouth, and turning the hissing gas-jet to obtain a full light, gazed into it.
His grey, shaggy eyebrows contracted, and the dresser standing by knew that his chief had detected something which puzzled him. He felt the glands in her neck carefully, and pushing back the hair that had fallen over her brow, reopened her fast-glazing eyes, and peered into them long and earnestly.
He carefully examined the palm of her right hand, which was ungloved, then tried to remove the glove from the left, but in vain. He was obliged to rip it up with a pair of scissors. Afterwards he examined the hand minutely, giving vent to a grunt of dissatisfaction.
Is it murder, do you think, sir? the constable inquired as the doctor emerged again.
There are no outward signs of violence, answered the house-surgeon. You had better take the body to the mortuary, and tell your inspector that Ill make the post-mortem to-morrow morning.
Very well, sir.
But you said that the lady was accompanied from Charing Cross Station by a gentleman, who rode in the cab with her, the doctor continued. Where is he?
He alighted, entered the Criterion, and didnt come back, explained the cabman.
Suspicious of foul play very suspicious, the doctor observed. To-morrow we shall know the truth. Shes evidently a lady, and, by her dress, a foreigner.
She arrived by the Paris mail to-night, the cabman observed.
Well, it must be left to the police to unravel whatever mystery surrounds her. It is only for us to ascertain the cause of her death whether natural, or by foul means; and he went back to where the dead woman was lying still and cold, her dress disarranged, her dark hair fallen dishevelled, her sightless eyes closed in the sleep that knows no awakening until the Great Day.