In a few seconds the amazing truth became apparent, for when he entered the dining-room, to the left of the hall, he started, and an involuntary exclamation of surprise escaped him. The place was empty, devoid of every stick of furniture!
From room to room he dashed, only to find that everything had been mysteriously removed. In the few brief hours or his absence Doctor Petrovitch had apparently fled, taking with him all his household effects.
He stood in the hall utterly dumbfounded.
Why had Rolfe been there? What had he been doing in the empty house?
The swift manner in which the removal had been effected increased the mystery, for he had not left the Doctor till five oclock. Besides, he had no doubt dined with his daughter Maud and with Marion, and they would not leave until about eight oclock.
Again, a removal of that magnitude, requiring at least two vans, after dark could not possibly be effected without attracting the notice of the constable on duty!
Perhaps the police really did know who carried out the sudden change of residence. Anyhow, the whole affair was a complete enigma which amazed and stupefied him.
Presently, when he had somewhat recovered from his surprise, he ascended the stairs, his footsteps now echoing strangely through the empty place, and there found that the drawing-room, and, in fact, all the other rooms, had been completely and quickly cleared. The carpets had in some cases been left, but in the hasty removal curtains had been torn down from the rings, leaving cornices and poles, and the grand piano remained, it being apparently too large and heavy for rapid transit.
He ascended, even to the servants rooms on the top floor, but found scarcely a vestige of furniture left.
In one back room, a small half-garret with a slightly eloping roof, he noticed a cupboard which curiosity led him to open, as he had opened other cupboards. As he did so, he saw a bundle upon the floor, as though it had been hastily thrown there.
As he pulled it forth it unrolled, and he then saw that it was a womans light grey tweed skirt and coat.
The latter felt damp to his touch, and as he held it up to examine it he saw that the breast and sleeve were both saturated with blood!
It dropped from his nerveless fingers. Some secret crime had been committed in that house, so suddenly and mysteriously divested of its furniture.
But what?
Max Barclay, pale as death, stood gazing around him, staggered, bewildered, horrified, scarce daring to breathe.
Why had Charles Rolfe fled so hurriedly and secretly from the place?
Chapter Five.
What a Constable Saw
Slowly Max Barclay regained possession of his senses. The discovery had so staggered him that, for a few moments, he had stood there in that room, staring at the womans tweed coat, transfixed in horror.
There was some great and terrible mystery there, and with it Charlie Rolfe, the man whom he had so implicitly trusted, his most intimate friend, and brother of the woman who was all the world to him, was closely associated.
He glanced around the bare garret in apprehension. All was so weird and unexpected that a queer, uncanny feeling had crept over him. What could have occurred to have caused this revolution in the Doctors house?
Here in that house, only a few hours ago, he had smoked calmly with Petrovitch, the studious Servian patriot, the man whom the Servians worshipped, and who was the right hand of his sovereign the King. When they had chatted of Mauds flirtation there had been no suggestion of departure. Indeed, the Doctor had invited him to return after dinner, as he so often did. Max was an easy, gay, careless man of the world, yet he was fond of study, and fond of the society of clever men like Petrovitch. The latter was well-known in literary circles on the Continent by reason of having written a most exhaustive history of the Ottoman Empire. That night Marion, his well-beloved, had no doubt dined at that house, prior to going to the concert with Maud. At least she would be aware of something that might give a clue to this extraordinary and hurried flight, if not to the ugly stain upon the womans dress lying upon the floor at his feet.
He was undecided how next to act. Should he go to the police-station and inquire of the inspector whether removing vans had been noticed by the constable on the beat, or should he take a cab to Queens Hall to try and find Marion and Maud?
He glanced at his watch, and saw that by the time he got to the concert they would in all probability have left. Marion was compelled to be in by eleven oclock, therefore Maud would no doubt come out with her. Indeed, in a quarter of an hour his friends daughter would be due to return there.
This decided him, and, without more ado, he left the house. Was it worth while at present, he reflected, saying anything to the police regarding the blood-stained garment? Charlie might give the explanation. He would see him before the night was out.
Therefore, finding a constable at the corner of Earls Court Road, he inquired of him if he had noticed any removing vans before the house in question. The man replied that he had only come on duty at ten, therefore, it would be best if he went to the police-station, to which he directed him.
If the man on duty saw any removing vans in the evening, he would certainly report it, the constable added politely, and Barclay then went in the direction he indicated.
A quarter of an hour later he stood in the police-office, while the inspector turned over the leaves of the big book in which reports of every untoward or suspicious occurrence are entered for reference, in case of civil actions or other eventualities.
At first he could find nothing, but at last he exclaimed:
Theres something here. I suppose this is it. Listen: P.C. Baldwin, when he came off duty, reported to the station-sergeant that two large pantechnicon vans and a small covered van of Harmers Stores, Knightsbridge, drove up at 8:10 to Number 127a, Cromwell Road, close to Queens Gate Gardens, and with seven men and a foreman removed the whole of the furniture. The constable spoke to the foreman, and learned that it was a sudden order given by the householder, a Dr Petrovitch, a foreigner, for his goods to be removed before half-past ten that night, and stored at the firms depository at Chiswick.
But they must have done it with marvellous alacrity! Max remarked, at the same time pleased to have so quickly discovered the destination of the Doctors household goods.
Bless you, sir, answered the inspector, Harmers can do anything. Theyd have sent twenty vans and cleared out the place in a quarter of an hour if theyd contracted to do so. You know they can do anything, and supply anything from a tin-tack to a live monkey.
Then theyve been stored at Chiswick, eh?
No doubt, sir. The constable would make all inquiry. You know Harmers place at Chiswick, not far from Turnham Green railway station? At the office in Knightsbridge theyd tell you all about it. This foreign doctor was a friend of yours, I suppose?
Yes, a great friend, replied Barclay. The fact is, Im much puzzled over the affair. Only late this afternoon I was in his study, smoking and talking, but he told me nothing about his sudden removal.
Ah, foreigners are generally pretty shifty customers, sir, was the officers remark. If youd seen as much as I have of em, when I was down at Leman Street, youd think twice before you trusted one. Of course, no reflection intended on your friend, sir.
But there are foreigners who are gentlemen, Max ventured to suggest.
But there are foreigners who are gentlemen, Max ventured to suggest.
Yes, there may be. I havent met many, and we have to deal with all classes, you know. But tell me the circumstances, added the inspector, scenting mystery in this sudden flight. Petrovitch might be some City speculator who had suddenly been ruined, or a bankrupt who had absconded.
Max Barclay was, however, not very communicative. Perhaps it was because of Charlies inexplicable presence in that deserted house, or perhaps on account of the inspectors British antipathy towards foreigners; nevertheless, he said nothing regarding that womans coat with the tell-tale mark of blood.
Besides, the Doctor and Maud must be somewhere in the vicinity. No doubt he would come round to Dover Street in the morning and explain his unusual removal. The discovery of Rolfes presence there was nevertheless inexplicable. The more he reflected upon it, the more suspicious it seemed. The inspectors curiosity had been aroused by Maxs demeanour. The latter had briefly related how he had called, to find the house empty, and both occupier, his daughter, and the servants gone.
Did you see any servant when you were there this evening?
Yes; the man-servant Costa.
Ah, a foreigner! Old or young?
Middle-aged.
A devoted retainer of his master, of course.
I believe so.
Then he may have been in his masters secret most probably was. When a master suddenly flies he generally confides in his man. Ive known that in many instances. What nationality was this Petrovitch?
Servian.
Oh, we dont get many of those people in London. They come from the East somewhere, dont they a half-civilised lot?
Doctor Petrovitch is perfectly civilised, and a highly-cultured man, Max responded. He is a statesman and diplomat.
What! Is he the Minister of Servia?
He was in Berlin, Constantinople, and other places.
Then there may be something political behind it, the officer suggested, beaming as though some great flash of wisdom had come to him. If so, it dont concern us. Englands a free country to all the scum of Europe. This doctor may be flying from some enemy. Russian refugees often do. Ive heard some queer tales about them, more strange than what them writers put in sixpenny books.
Yes, remarked Barclay, I expect youve had a pretty big experience of foreigners down in Whitechapel.
And at Vine Street, too, sir, was the mans reply, as he leaned against the edge of his high desk, over which the flaring gas jets hissed. Nineteen years in the London police gives one an intimate acquaintance with the undesirable alien. Your story to-night is a queer one. Would you like me to send a man round to the house with you in order to give it a look over?
Max reflected in an instant that if that were done the womans dress would be discovered.
Well no, he replied. At present I think it would be scarcely worth while. I think I know where I shall find the Doctor in the morning. Besides, a friend of mine is engaged to his daughter, so hell be certain to know their whereabouts.
Very well as you wish. But, he said, if you cant find where theyre all disappeared to, give us a call again, and well try to assist you to the best of our ability.
Max thanked him. A ragged pickpocket, held by two constables, was at that moment brought in and placed in the railed dock, making loud protests of Im quite innocent, guvnor. It warnt me at all. I was only a-lookin on!
So Barclay, seeing that the inspector would be occupied in taking the charge, thanked him and left.
Outside, he reflected whether he should go direct to Charlies chambers in Jermyn Street. His first impulse was to do so, but somehow he viewed Rolfe with suspicion. If his friend had not seen him and he believed he had not then for the present it was best that he should hold his secret.
Perhaps the Doctor had sent a telegram to his own chambers. He would surely never leave London without sending him word. Therefore Max hailed a passing cab and drove to Dover Street.
His chambers, on the first floor, were cosy and well-furnished, betraying a taste in antique of the Louis XIV period. Odd articles of furniture he had picked up in out-of-the-way places, while several of the pictures were family portraits brought from Kilmaronock Castle.
The red-carpeted sitting-room, with its big inlaid writing-table, bought from an old château on the Loire, its old French chairs and modern book-case, was lit only by the green-shaded reading lamp, beneath which were some letters where his man had placed them.
On a small table at the side was a decanter of whisky, a syphon, glasses, and cigars, and beside them his letters. Eagerly he turned them over for a telegram, but there was none. Neither was there a letter from the Doctor. On the writing-table stood the telephone instrument. It might have been rung while his man Gustave had been absent. That evening he had sent him on a message down to Croydon, and he had not yet returned.
He pushed his opera-hat to the back of his head, and stood puzzled as to how he should act. Green had told him that is master had left for the Continent, and yet had he not with his own eyes seen him fly from that house in Cromwell Road?
Yes; there was a mystery a deep, inexplicable mystery. There was not a doubt of it!
Chapter Six.
Mentions a Curious Confession
When about ten oclock next morning Mr Warner, buyer of the costumes at Cunningtons, noticed the tall, athletic figure of the young man in brown tweeds known as Mr Evans of Dover Street advance across the drab carpet with which the department was covered, he smiled within himself.
The young ladies of Cunningtons were not allowed any flirtations. It was the sack at a moments notice for any girl being found flirting either with one of the male assistants or with an outsider, though he be a good customer. Cunningtons hundred and one rules, with fines ranging from threepence to half-a-crown, were stringent ones. Mr Cunnington himself, a short, black-bearded man, of keen business instinct, was a kindly master; but in such a huge establishment with its hundreds of employees, rules must of necessity, be adhered to. Nevertheless, the buyers or headmen of the various departments each controlled their own assistants, and some being more lenient than others towards the girls, rules were very often broken.
Cunningtons was, therefore, known to be one of the most comfortable cribs in the trade. Assistants who came up to London in search of a billet always went to see Mr Cunnington, and happy he or she who obtained a personal introduction to him. He had earned his success by dint of hard work. Originally an assistant himself in a Birmingham shop, he had gone into business for himself in Oxford Street, in one small establishment, and had, by fair dealing and giving good value, prospered, until great rows of windows testified to the fortune he had amassed.
Unlike most employers in the drapery trade, he was generous to a degree, and he appreciated devoted service. In his great shops he had many old hands. Some, indeed, had been with him ever since his first beginning. Those were his trusted lieutenants, of whom Warner of the Costumes was one.
What Warner said was never queried, and, being a kindly man, the girls in his department did pretty much as they liked.
Max Barclay, or Mr Evans as he had several times given his name, had run the gauntlet of the shopwalkers of the outer shops, and penetrated anxiously to the costumes. At that hour there were no customers. Before eleven there is but little shopping in Oxford Street. Buyers then see travellers, who come in their broughams, and assistants re-arrange and display their stocks.