Missing or Murdered (8 page)

He pondered over the incident, looking at it in many lights. There might be a romance, some romance of Bygrave's early life, of which he knew nothing. It might be one of the most prosaic of occurrences. But why had Lord Bygrave been agitated? There was no explanation forthcoming at the moment. It might disclose itself later. In any case it was not to be disregarded without some explanation. Again there was Farnish's strange behaviour—according to Walter's account. Walter, perhaps an imaginative man in his own way, might be unduly suspicious. His kind, when they became suspicious, were nearly always recklessly so. They put the most damning constructions on the most innocent of occurrences. Then again, Heather's discovery of the drawer of Bygrave's bureau having been forced seemed to lend some vestige of importance to Walter's story of Farnish's visit to the study. Vereker felt that there was no reason to suspect the existence of a feud between the two men. Walter had spoken without any show of rancour or sense of injury at the hands of the butler.

He smoked quietly for the space of a few moments and then rose and went up to Lord Bygrave's study.

It was a sparsely but beautifully furnished room. The thick, luxurious carpet deadened the sound of his footsteps; the dark oak wainscoting and one or two old portraits of the Bygraves, sombre with age, lent a gravity and severity to the general aspect of the study, which seemed remarkably in keeping with its owner's serious and gentle turn of mind. The whole colouring of the furnishing was rich and low, for Lord Bygrave had often remarked to Vereker that nothing distracted him more roguishly from his studies than the sight of forceful or cheerful colour.

“Just sit down in a rose-and-white drawing-room and try to understand some of the problems that Bergson or Einstein has offered for our mental digestion,” he had once said to his friend. “It's impossible—you'd dismiss philosophy and mathematics and wind up by whistling airs from light opera.”

“You're wrong, Henry,” Vereker had replied. “I should commence right away with the light opera. Bergson and Co. I should reserve for a scarlet room, where I could indulge in really loud laughter. I still think his essay on Laughter one of the humorous masterpieces of literature. Professor Sully's was dull in comparison.”

Vereker's entrance into his friend's study had vividly recalled the moment of that conversation. Little had he dreamed that it would ever be recalled under the shadow of a tragedy or even a mystery. He glanced round the room; its sombre tones seemed suddenly to affect him—every aspect was an expression of the temperament and individuality of his friend. A disconcerting sense of helplessness all at once overcame him. So far, in his investigations, all sorts of diverse facts had thrust themselves forward in a wildly unintelligible sequence. At times, one feature of the case had seemed most important. No sooner had he decided this, and determined to follow up a line of inquiry based on that salient feature, than something new thrust itself irrepressibly forward and disjointed all his carefully-pieced construction. Facts and clues had the disturbing mobility of fragments of glass in a kaleidoscope. Up till now he had felt some confidence in himself, but Walter's story of the woman and the possibility that Farnish might have broken open Lord Bygrave's bureau came as devastating shocks to all his confirmed estimates of Lord Bygrave and of Farnish. He had always prided himself on his perspicacity with regard to human nature: the numbing thought assailed him now that human nature after all was too complex and elastic for such confidence in his own powers of vision and appraisement. Circumstances were very often more potent than principle, even though principle had armoured the soul through long habit. A human being never could be a fixed quantity. Chance might have at one stroke completely shattered that soul-stuff which went to the making of the individualities, Bygrave and Farnish, as he had known them up till now, and constructed and moulded it into two quite unrecognizable shapes.

Vereker crossed over to the bureau and opened the various drawers one after the other. A glance revealed the contents of each. He saw nothing of importance in any until he came to the drawer that had been broken open with the aid of a screwdriver. Here were various bundles of letters and papers all tied with white cord. He carefully examined the knots that bound the bundles. Heather was right—they were all reef-knots except the last, which was a granny. What could be deduced from this fact? Either that Lord Bygrave, who, Vereker knew, had once been a very keen yachtsman, had been in a great hurry when retying that particular bundle with the granny, or that the drawer had been broken open and that bundle opened and retied by some one else. Vereker took out all the bundles from the drawer, placed them on the writing-table and untied them all. He would glance through their contents rapidly and see if anything could be gleaned from the perusal. The task proved fruitless. He could find nothing in their contents that bore in any way upon the Bygrave case.

He rose and examined the marks made by the screw-driver in breaking open the drawer; it had been a thoroughly inexpert job—the clumsiest piece of work imaginable.

At this moment he was conscious of the presence of somebody behind him—a light footfall on the thick carpet had been detected by his extraordinarily quick ear. He glanced swiftly at a dark steel engraving above the bureau and in its glass saw Farnish standing near the door. Without turning round, or exhibiting any surprise in his voice, Vereker calmly said:

“I've been looking through his lordship's papers, Farnish; but I've drawn blank. I shall be glad if you will tie up all these bundles for me again and leave them here on the table. I may have another run through them before turning in tonight.”

“Yes, sir. I've just come up to tell you that Mr. Grierson has arrived and would like to see you.”

“Show him into the library—I'll be with him as soon as I have washed my hands.”

Farnish departed as silently as he had arrived, and as Vereker was washing his hands, some moments later, he thought to himself:

“I'm afraid I was too quick for you, Farnish, that time. Even then, I failed to surprise
>you
—your face was simply petrified unconcern. You're a marvel, Farnish, a marvel!”

In the library, Mr. Grierson was awaiting Vereker's arrival with unmistakable anxiety.

“Have you heard or found out anything about my Chief?” he asked as Vereker shook hands with him.

“About Lord Bygrave we've heard not a word, Mr. Grierson. A number of suspicious facts have gradually disclosed themselves, but none of them gives direction to a fruitful line of inquiry. We can only go on in the hope that when we have secured more information certain parts of it will cohere and shape themselves into a definite theory in our minds.”

“What does Inspector Heather think of it all?”

“I don't know; he only discloses his discoveries to me very much as a lighthouse, with an intermittent flash, throws out a beam into the darkness for the passing ship. I have a vague idea where he is and I suppose he thinks that is quite sufficient for a mere amateur investigator to know.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that you've not made better progress. I expected to come down and find that the Scotland Yard people would be able to say that they might be able to discover Lord Bygrave at any moment.”

“They may for all I know,” replied Vereker. “I wish I could say the same of my own investigations.”

Mr. Grierson's face grew grave and he was silent for some moments.

“There is one aspect of the case which has troubled me considerably of late, Mr. Vereker, and it was the chief factor in deciding me to come down here to-day. The more I thought of it the more I was convinced that it was necessary I should come and give you my ideas about the business. Of course you may have considered this aspect yourself. In any case, I couldn't rest until I'd seen you.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Grierson. I'm hungry for ideas.”

Mr. Grierson smiled wanly.

“Have you considered the possibility that Lord Bygrave may have voluntarily disappeared?”

“I have; but dismissed it long since from my mind.”

“Well, well, you may be justified. I myself, not knowing as much as you, have been unable to disregard the contingency. Working on this basis, if you come to a point in your researches which might end in involving his lordship in a grave scandal, I trust you will be diplomatic—”

Vereker glanced sharply up at Mr. Grierson's face; but Mr. Grierson was gazing earnestly at the pattern of the carpet. His brow was deeply furrowed.

“Don't misunderstand me,” he continued. “I am not acting on any secret or private information. I am simply trying to obviate anything that would ruin Lord Bygrave's career or dishonour his name. For ten years now I've been his trusted right-hand man officially. I should never forgive myself if Lord Bygrave by any chance could say to me at some future date: ‘What the devil were you doing, Grierson? I was relying on you as a man of tact and initiative. In my absence you were my deputy. Why didn't you try and put a stop to this stupid public inquiry as to my whereabouts?' Can you see the position in which I am placed, Mr. Vereker?”

Mr. Grierson looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears. His voice was broken. He was trembling under the stress of a great emotion.

“Mr. Grierson,” replied Vereker, impressed by the old civil servant's loyalty to his Chief. “If at any point in my inquiries I discover that Lord Bygrave is alive and well, I shall promptly let the matter end there as far as I'm concerned. As for Heather—well, for him I cannot vouch. But I think you may safely leave it to me—I'll see Heather himself about the matter. If it was a private personal matter of Lord Bygrave's that he should choose to vanish from the world, I should not think that the police will concern themselves as long as it touches no public interest.”

“Then I'm heart and soul with you, Mr. Vereker, and I hope you'll prosecute your inquiry with the utmost vigour. Your assurance has taken a load off my mind.”

Mr. Grierson extended his hand and shook Vereker's warmly. Glancing at his watch, he found that he had just time to catch a train back to town and promptly took his leave.

He had hardly gone before Inspector Heather returned.

“Well,” he asked, “what was troubling old Grierson, Mr. Vereker?”

“I'll tell you all as soon as Farnish brings up that bottle of port. I have just rung for him. I know you won't object to a bottle of '81, Heather, after your day's exertions.”

“You know I don't like good port,” replied Heather, with a broad grin, as he settled himself opposite Vereker in a comfortable arm-chair.

“Before I tell you anything about Mr. Grierson's errand, Heather,” said Vereker later, as he carefully filled two glasses with what he called Falernum Opimianum, “please confide in me the nature of all your telegrams of to-day. You're up to some little game of your own behind my back.”

“Oh, nothing much,” smiled the inspector broadly. “I've only put another line of inquiry into motion. I ordered young Winslade to be carefully watched some days ago, and one of my men has just been keeping me acquainted with the result of his work and inquiries.”

“The devil you have! Well, that's an unfair start. I'm going down to Hartwood to-morrow to see Winslade. As for Grierson—well, he is anxious that we should go cautiously in case Lord Bygrave has disappeared voluntarily. Should we discover that this is the case, he wants us to avoid pursuing a course that would only result in the publication of a scandal that might be diplomatically hushed. You see he's a loyal servant to his Chief. He wants to put up a smoke barrage to hide his lordship from the high explosive shells of the idle mischief-maker.”

“H'm,” ejaculated Inspector Heather, raising his glass to the light, “is that all?”

“It looks very strange to me. There's Walter suggests a mysterious woman in the case; Farnish is as close as an oyster; Grierson wishes to avoid a scandal. A conspiracy, Heather, a conspiracy—can't you see they are all giving us the gentle hint to leave matters alone for the sake of their master? They are all loyal men—trusted servants—with blameless characters. What do you think?”

The inspector opened his eyes wide. “By Jove, Mr. Vereker, I believe you've scored an inner.”

“Merely a light-hearted suggestion, Heather, but it gives a substantial line of inquiry—it's my first generalization to-day. I don't know how many I have already made from the data I have in hand. I have an unbridled passion for generalizations.”

“By the way, who's the woman in the case that Walter suggests?” asked the inspector.

“Oh, he has a story of a visit by some veiled lady six months ago. I was quite pleased to hear that there was a veiled lady in the case—I felt all along that she was a
sine qua non. Well, she handed in a note for Lord Bygrave. Walter took in the note, which Lord Bygrave opened in his presence. Walter says that Bygrave started violently. An interview followed, and when the lady took her departure Lord Bygrave was in an extremely agitated state. Knowing how imperturbable my friend always was, this information strikes me as significant.”

“We must investigate this thoroughly,” remarked Inspector Heather, distinctly impressed.

“From the point of time, it's most important,” suggested Vereker.

“How?”

“Didn't you say that Lord Bygrave carried out some transaction with bearer bonds six months ago?”

The inspector brought his short, thick fist down on the table with a thud. “You knew all about this lady before I told you of the bearer bonds, Mr. Vereker?” he asked sharply.

“I did, and put two and two together at once. He gave the bearer bonds to the lady.”

“Well, I'm damned!” exclaimed the detective. “You're shaping uncommonly well, sir.”