"Oh!" cried the girl, "how you startled me! I thought you were ill or that you had seen something frightful."…
"I HAVE… seen something… frightful," declared Denise Ryland. She glared across at the haggard Leroux. "Harry… Leroux," she continued, "it is very fortunate… that I came to London… very fortunate."
"I am sincerely glad that you did," answered the novelist, with one of his kindly, weary smiles.
"My dear," said Denise Ryland, turning again to Helen Cumberly, "you say you met that… cross-eyed… being… Gianapolis, again?"
"Good Heavens!" cried Helen; "I thought I should never get rid of him; a most loathsome man!"
"My dear… child"—Denise squeezed her tightly by the arm, and peered into her face, intently—"cul-tivate… DELIBERATELY cul-tivate that man's acquaintance!"
Helen stared at her friend as though she suspected the latter's sanity.
"I am afraid I do not understand at all," she said, breathlessly.
"I am positive that I do not," declared Leroux, who was as much surprised as Helen. "In the first place I am not acquainted with this cross-eyed being."
"You are… out of this!" cried Denise Ryland with a sweeping movement of the left hand; "entirely… out of it! This is no MAN'S… business."…
"But my dear Denise!" exclaimed Helen… .
"I beseech you; I entreat you;… I ORDER… you to cultivate… that… execrable… being."
"Perhaps," said Helen, with eyes widely opened, "you will condescend to give me some slight reason why I should do anything so extraordinary and undesirable?"
"Undesirable!" cried Denise. "On the contrary;… it is MOST … desirable! It is essential. The wretched… cross-eyed … creature has presumed to fall in love… with you."…
"Oh!" cried Helen, flushing, and glancing rapidly at Leroux, who now was thoroughly interested, "please do not talk nonsense!"
"It is no… nonsense. It is the finger… of Providence. Do you know where you can find… him?"
"Not exactly; but I have a shrewd suspicion," again she glanced in an embarrassed way at Leroux, "that he will know where to find ME."
"Who is this presumptuous person?" inquired the novelist, leaning forward, his dark blue eyes aglow with interest.
"Never mind," replied Denise Ryland, "you will know… soon enough. In the meantime… as I am simply… starving, suppose we see about… lunch?"
Moved by some unaccountable impulse, Helen extended her hand to Leroux, who took it quietly in his own and held it, looking down at the slim fingers as though he derived strength and healing from their touch.
"Poor boy," she said softly.
Chapter 34 M. MAX REPORTS PROGRESS
Detective-Sergeant Sowerby was seated in Dunbar's room at New Scotland Yard. Some days had elapsed since that critical moment when, all unaware of the fact, they had stood within three yards of the much-wanted Soames, in the fauteuils of the east-end music-hall. Every clue thus far investigated had proved a cul-de-sac. Dunbar, who had literally been working night and day, now began to show evidence of his giant toils. The tawny eyes were as keen as ever, and the whole man as forceful as of old, but in the intervals of conversation, his lids would droop wearily; he would only arouse himself by a perceptible effort.
Sowerby, whose bowler hat lay upon Dunbar's table, was clad in the familiar raincoat, and his ruddy cheerfulness had abated not one whit.
"Have you ever read 'The Adventures of Martin Zeda'?" he asked suddenly, breaking a silence of some minutes' duration.
Dunbar looked up with a start, as…
"Never!" he replied; "I'm not wasting my time with magazine trash."
"It's not trash," said Sowerby, assuming that unnatural air of reflection which sat upon him so ill. "I've looked up the volumes of the Ludgate Magazine in our local library, and I've read all the series with much interest."
Dunbar leaned forward, watching him frowningly.
"I should have thought," he replied, "that you had enough to do without wasting your time in that way!"
"IS it a waste of time?" inquired Sowerby, raising his eyebrows in a manner which lent him a marked resemblance to a famous comedian. "I tell you that the man who can work out plots like those might be a second Jack-the-Ripper and not a soul the wiser!"…
"Ah!"
"I've never met a more innocent LOOKING man, I'll allow; but if you'll read the 'Adventures of Martin Zeda,' you'll know that"…
"Tosh!" snapped Dunbar, irritably; "your ideas of psychology would make a Manx cat laugh! I suppose, on the same analogy, you think the leader-writers of the dailies could run the Government better than the Cabinet does it?"
"I think it very likely"…
"Tosh! Is there anybody in London knows more about the inside workings of crime than the Commissioner? You will admit there isn't; very good. Accordingly to your ideas, the Commissioner must be the biggest blackguard in the Metropolis! I have said it twice before, and I'll be saying it again, Sowerby: TOSH!"
"Well," said Sowerby with an offended air, "has anybody ever seen Mr. King?"
"What are you driving at?"
"I am driving at this: somebody known in certain circles as Mr. King is at the bottom of this mystery. It is highly probable that Mr. King himself murdered Mrs. Vernon. On the evidence of your own notes, nobody left Palace Mansions between the time of the crime and the arrival of witnesses. Therefore, ONE of your witnesses must be a liar; and the liar is Mr. King!"
Inspector Dunbar glared at his subordinate. But the latter continued undaunted:—
"You won't believe it's Leroux; therefore it must be either Mr. Exel, Dr. Cumberly, or Miss Cumberly."…
Inspector Dunbar stood up very suddenly, thrusting his chair from him with much violence.
"Do you recollect the matter of Soames leaving Palace Mansions?" he snapped.
Sowerby's air of serio-comic defiance began to leave him. He scratched his head reflectively.
"Soames got away like that because no one was expecting him to do it. In the same way, neither Leroux, Exel, nor Dr. Cumberly knew that there was any one else IN the flat at the very time when the murderer was making his escape. The cases are identical. They were not looking for a fugitive. He had gone before the search commenced. A clever man could have slipped out in a hundred different ways unobserved. Sowerby, you are… "
What Sowerby was, did not come to light at the moment; for, the door quietly opened and in walked M. Gaston Max arrayed in his inimitable traveling coat, and holding his hat of velour in his gloved hand. He bowed politely.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said.
"Good morning," said Dunbar and Sowerby together.
Sowerby hastened to place a chair for the distinguished visitor. M. Max, thanking him with a bow, took his seat, and from an inside pocket extracted a notebook.
"There are some little points," he said with a deprecating wave of the hand, "which I should like to confirm." He opened the book, sought the wanted page, and continued: "Do either of you know a person answering to the following description: Height, about four feet eight-and-a-half inches, medium build and carries himself with a nervous stoop. Has a habit of rubbing his palms together when addressing anyone. Has plump hands with rather tapering fingers, and a growth of reddish down upon the backs thereof, indicating that he has red or reddish hair. His chin recedes slightly and is pointed, with a slight cleft parallel with the mouth and situated equidistant from the base of the chin and the lower lip. A nervous mannerism of the latter periodically reveals the lower teeth, one of which, that immediately below the left canine, is much discolored. He is clean-shaven, but may at some time have worn whiskers. His eyes are small and ferret-like, set very closely together and of a ruddy brown color. His nose is wide at the bridge, but narrows to an unusual point at the end. In profile it is irregular, or may have been broken at some time. He has scanty eyebrows set very high, and a low forehead with two faint, vertical wrinkles starting from the inner points of the eyebrows. His natural complexion is probably sallow, and his hair (as hitherto mentioned) either red or of sandy color. His ears are set far back, and the lobes are thin and pointed. His hair is perfectly straight and sparse, and there is a depression of the cheeks where one would expect to find a prominence: that is—at the cheekbone. The cranial development is unusual. The skull slopes back from the crown at a remarkable angle, there being no protuberance at the back, but instead a straight slope to the spine, sometimes seen in the Teutonic races, and in this case much exaggerated. Viewed from the front the skull is narrow, the temples depressed, and the crown bulging over the ears, and receding to a ridge on top. In profile the forehead is almost apelike in size and contour… ."