The Mystery of the Clasped Hands: A Novel

"Ah, my friend, I remember now," he said. "That was the gentleman who was married at the Church of Funfhaus in the Gurtel Strasse. Now I can recall the pair perfectly."

"The Church of Funfhaus in the Gurtel Strasse, you said, I think," said Burrell, making a note of the name in his pocket-book for future reference. "Pray how long did the happy couple remain with you?"

"For upward of a fortnight," the manager replied, consulting a book. "But they were not happy all the time!"

"What do you mean by that? Why were they not happy?"

"For a very simple reason," the manager replied. "I mean that toward the end of their stay it was becoming plain to most of us that the gentleman was a little neglectful of his bride. Yet she was a beautiful girl! Ah! a beautiful girl!"

"It was the waning of the honeymoon," said Burrell cynically. "Poor girl, it didn't last long." He paused for a while to pursue his own thoughts, then he continued aloud, "Have you any idea where they went after they left here?"

The manager reflected for a moment.

"To Munich, I believe. But of that I am not quite certain. We will ask Adolphe."

The head waiter was once more consulted, and corroborated his superior. The couple had left for Munich with the intention of proceeding later to Paris. He was sure of this for the reason that he had heard the gentleman talking to the lady on the subject on the morning of their departure.

The next day was spent by Burrell in collecting further evidence. He interviewed the worthy clergyman who had married them, obtained certain necessary documents from him, discovered the jeweller who had sold them the wedding ring, and when he had learned all he wanted to know, took the train and started for Munich.

In Munich he discovered the hotel at which they had stayed and sundry other particulars which might, or might not, prove useful later on. Thence he continued his journey to Paris, where more discoveries awaited him. At last, and none too soon, he boarded the steamer which was to carry him to England. Even this short voyage was not devoid of interest, and by the time he reached London once more, he felt that there was not very much standing between him and the end. But what remained was in all probability more important than the beginning. There was a blank to be filled in, and filled in it must be, somehow or another, before the trial commenced.

His first act on reaching home was to write out a true and complete record of his doings since he had left London. This done he consulted the memoranda he had received from the representative of Messrs. Kosman, Constantinopolous & Co., in Paris, and then set off by train to the little town of Staines. From Staines to the charming little village of Laleham is a comparatively short and a most charming walk. It was almost mid-day by the time he reached the village and began to look about him for Laburnum Cottage. When he discovered it it proved to be a pretty little thatched building standing in a garden which in summer would be bright with hollyhocks, nasturtiums and other homely flowers. A card in the window proclaimed the fact that apartments could be had within, but at that particular season of the year this announcement would be little likely to attract attention. Pushing open the gate, Burrell made his way up the garden path to the neat little porch where he gave a smart rat-tat with his stick upon the door. The sound had scarcely died away before it was opened to him by a stout, matronly person, dressed in black, and wearing a cap and a neat white apron.

"Mrs. Raikes?" asked Burrell, to make sure she was the person he desired to see.

"That is my name, sir," said the woman. "Perhaps you will tell me what I can do for you."

"I want you to give me some information," Burrell answered. "I have come down from London on purpose to see you."

"From London, sir," she exclaimed, as if that were rather a remarkable circumstance. "Will you be pleased to step inside?" So saying, she held the door open for him to enter. He did so to find himself in a neat little sitting room, unostentatiously yet comfortably furnished. Three cases of stuffed birds decorated the walls, together with some pictures on religious subjects, a bookcase, the latter scantily furnished, and last, but not least, a Chippendale sofa, and two or three chairs that would not have disgraced a ducal drawing-room.

"Kindly take a seat, sir," said Mrs. Raikes, dusting one of the aforementioned chairs with her apron as she spoke. "If it's apartments you want I am quite sure I can satisfy you. Of course it's a bad season of the year, but at the end of the month we shall begin to fill up. There's some splendid boating on the river, as perhaps you know, and at night, when the houseboats are all lit up, well, it's quite lively."

Her desire to impress him with the gaieties of the place was almost pathetic, and Burrell felt that he was acting meanly in permitting her to go on, without acquainting her with the real object of his visit.

"I am sorry to say that I am not in search of lodgings," he said. "My business is of an altogether different nature. In the first place, I think I ought to tell you that I am a detective."

"A detective?" she cried in horror. "Lor', I do hope, sir, there's nothing wrong?"

"Not so far as you are concerned, you may be sure," he answered. "I have come down here to make some inquiries regarding a gentleman who was known to be staying in your house some time back. His name was Fensden."

The woman shook her head.

"I haven't had a gentleman in my house of that name," she answered. "In fact, the only gentleman I have had since the beginning of the year was a Mr. Onslow. The name of Fensden I don't remember at all."

Burrell consulted his pocket-book before he went further.

"And yet the information I received was most complete," he continued. "Victor Fensden, Esq., %George Onslow, Laburnum Cottage, Laleham-on-Thames. There couldn't be anything plainer than that, could there?"

"It seems all right, sir," said the woman. "There is only one Laburnum Cottage, and Mr. Onslow was certainly staying with us. He had his wife with him, a sweet young thing, which was more than could be said of the gentleman, I can assure you."

It was plain from this that she and Mr. Onslow had not been on the best of terms. Burrell took from his pocket the photograph of Fensden, and handed it to her. He was beginning to have an inkling of the truth.

"Is that the likeness of Fensden or of Mr. Onslow?" he inquired.

"Mr. Onslow, sir, to be sure," she replied, "and a very good one of him it is too. I hope he's not a friend of yours, because I couldn't abear him. The way he treated his poor foreign wife of his was enough to make an honest woman's blood boil."

"So he had a foreign wife, had he?" said Burrell. "That's interesting. Tell me all you can about him."

"There's not much to be told, sir, except about his bullying and nagging that poor young thing. She was a foreigner, as I have just said, but as nice a young lady as ever stepped in at my door. When they first came she told me that Mr. Onslow was an artist, and that they wanted to be quiet and away from London. They didn't mind putting up with the roughness of things, she said, so long as they could be quiet. Well, sir, they had this room and the bedroom above, and for the first few days everything went as smooth and as nice as could be. Then I noticed that she took to crying, and that he went away day after day and once for two days. At last he disappeared altogether, leaving her without a halfpenny in the world. Oh! I'd have liked to have seen the brute and have given him a bit of my mind. It would have done him good, I'll promise him that. I shall never forget that poor young thing in her trouble. She waited and waited for him to come back, but at last when there was no sign of him, she came to me in my kitchen there to know what she should do. 'I know you have not had your money, Mrs. Raikes,' she said in a kind of piteous foreign way, that went to my heart. 'I can not stay here any longer, and so, if you'll trust me, I'll go away to London and try to find my husband. Even if I do not, you shall not lose by us.' I told her I didn't want the money, and that I was as sorry for her as a woman could be. Poor dear, I could see that her heart was nearly broken."

"And what happened then?"

"Nothing, sir, except that she went away, and she hadn't been gone a week before the money that was owing to me was sent in a Post Office Order. From that day to this I've heard nothing of either of them and that's the truth. Whether she found her husband I can not say, but if she'd take my advice she'd never try to."

"You are quite sure that you'd know the man again?"

"I am certain I should," the woman replied. "I hope, sir, in telling you all this, I've been doing no harm?"

"You have been doing a great deal of good," Burrell replied. "Shortly after she left you, poor Mrs. Onslow, as you call her, was most brutally murdered, and I have been commissioned by the friends of the man who is wrongfully accused of the crime to endeavour to discover the real criminal."

"Murdered, sir? you surely don't mean that?"

"I do! A more abominable crime has not been committed this century."

The good woman was honestly overcome by the news and during the remainder of the interview scarcely recovered her composure. Before he left, Burrell cautioned her most strongly against saying anything about the case to her neighbours, and this injunction she promised faithfully to observe.

"By the way," said the detective, before he left, "do you remember whether this man Onslow received any letters while he was staying with you?"

"Only one, sir, so far as I know," the woman replied.

"You're quite sure of that?"

"Quite sure, sir, and why I happen to be so certain is that it caused a bit of unpleasantness between them. I was brushing the stairs just out there, when the letter arrived. It was Mrs. Onslow that took it in, and when she saw the post-mark she asked him who it was that he knew at Richmond. He snatched the letter from her and told her to mind her own business. That afternoon he went out and never came back. It's my belief it was some woman at Richmond as enticed him away."

"Have you any other reason for supposing that except the post-mark on the envelope?"

"Well, sir," returned the woman, "to be candid with you, I have, though perhaps it's a tale I shouldn't tell. I was so sorry for that poor young thing that I couldn't get her trouble out of my head, and nothing would serve but that I must watch him. I saw him sitting down at the head of the table where you are now, sir, about half-an-hour after he had spoken so cross to his wife, and she, poor dear, was upstairs crying, and I noticed that he was writing a telegram. Presently he calls to me. 'Mrs. Raikes,' said he, 'want to send a telegram at once, who can take it for me?' 'There's Mrs. Hawkins's little boy next door, sir,' says I, 'he's taken messages for gentlemen I've had in the house before now, and always done it very well. I saw him playing in the field at the back of the house only this minute.' 'Call him in to me, then,' says he, 'and he shall have sixpence for his trouble.' I called the lad in, and Mr. Onslow gave him the message, and then off he went with it, but not so fast but that I was able to run across to the corner of the field at the back there, and catch him on the road. 'Tommy,' I said, 'let me have a look at that telegram.' He was a good little boy, and handed it over to me without a word. It was addressed to 'Montgomery, 13 Bridgeworth Road, Richmond.' There was no other name to it, and the only other word was 'yes.' It didn't seem to me that there was anything out of the common about it, and so I thought no more of it, until you spoke of his having letters just now."

"I think I'll make a note of the address in case it should be useful," said Burrell. "And now I'll be off, thanking you again, Mrs. Raikes, for the information you have given me."

On leaving the cottage he walked back to Staines, caught a train to London, and hastened to his house. Later on he made his way to Euston Station. Another twenty hours elapsed before he was able to acquire the information he wanted there – but he had the satisfaction of knowing, when he had obtained it, that there remained now only one link to be forged, and then the chain of evidence would be complete. That link was forged at Richmond, and next day he handed in his report to the astonished Codey.

"Good heavens, Burrell," said that astute gentleman, "this is as marvellous as it is horrible. What do you think?"

"I think, sir, that we shall be able to prove that Mr. Henderson is innocent."

At last, after all the weary waiting, the great day arrived. The Sessions had commenced at the Old Bailey. For two or three days prior to this, Godfrey had been busy with his solicitor and his counsel. It was not, however, until the afternoon before the commencement that he could elicit from Codey any information as to Burrell's discoveries. Immediately he was ushered into the room where Codey was awaiting him, Godfrey saw from the expression upon the other's face, that there was something to tell.