The House Opposite: A Mystery

“All right, then; let’s go to him at once.”

As soon as I was dressed we got into a cab and drove rapidly to Mr. Merritt’s. We met the detective just going out, but he at once turned back with us, and we were soon sitting in his little office. Atkins was so overcome by the situation that I found it necessary to explain our errand. The detective, on hearing of Mrs. Atkins’s flight gave a slight start.

“I wish I knew at what time she left home,” he said.

“I think I can help you there,”—and I told him of the person I had seen stealing from the building, and who I now believed to have been no other than Mrs. Atkins.

“Half-past two,” he murmured; “I wonder she left as early as that. Where could she have gone to at that hour! It looks as if she had arranged her flight beforehand and prepared some place of refuge. Do you know of any friend in the city she would be likely to appeal to in such an emergency?” he inquired, turning towards Atkins.

“No,” he replied; “whatever friends she has here have all been previously friends of mine, and as she has only known them since our marriage they have not had time to become very intimate yet.”

After asking a few more pertinent questions, Mr. Merritt rose.

“I think I have all the necessary facts now and will at once order the search started. I hope soon to have good news for you.”

We all three left the detective’s house together, but separated immediately afterwards. Atkins, haggard and wild-eyed, went off to look for his wife himself. I had to go to the hospital, and Merritt offered to accompany me there.

“Well, what do you think of this latest development?” I asked.

“I am not surprised.”

“Not surprised!” I exclaimed; “what do you mean?”

“Just this: I have been expecting Mrs. Atkins to make an attempt to escape, and have tried to prevent her doing so.”

“How?” I inquired.

“One of my men has been watching her night and day. He is stationed in your house, and I am extremely annoyed that he has allowed her to slip through his fingers, although I must say he has some excuse, for she certainly managed things very neatly.”

“But Mr. Merritt,” I exclaimed, “do you now think Mrs. Atkins guilty?”

He smiled enigmatically, but said nothing.

“This is a very serious matter for me,” I continued. “After what you repeatedly said to me, I thought you scouted the probability of her being in any way implicated in this murder. It was on the strength of this assurance that I induced Atkins to confide in you. Had I known that you were having her shadowed I shouldn’t, of course, have advised him to put his case in your hands. I feel dreadfully about this. It is exactly as if I had betrayed the poor fellow. I must warn him at once.”

I stopped.

“Don’t do anything rash,” he urged, laying a detaining hand on my arm.

“But–”

“I quite understand your feelings,” he continued, looking at me with his kindly blue eyes. “When I first heard the nature of your errand I felt a good deal embarrassed. But it was then too late. What I knew, I knew. I assure you, Doctor, that what I have heard this morning, far from assisting me to solve the Rosemere mystery, will prove a positive hindrance to my doing so. I shall no longer feel at liberty to employ ruse or strategy in my dealings with the lady, and if I find her shall have to treat her with the utmost consideration.”

“Do you think she murdered the man? Is she the woman whose name you promised to reveal next Tuesday?”

“I must decline to answer that question.”

I glanced at him for a minute in silence.

“If I am not mistaken, this flight will precipitate matters,” he went on, reflectively. “If the right party hears of it, I expect an explosion will follow.”

“Don’t talk in enigmas, Mr. Merritt; either say what you mean or—” I paused.

“Hold your tongue,” he concluded, with a smile. “You are quite right. And as I can’t say any more at present, I will say nothing. By the way, I hear Mrs. and Miss Derwent and Mr. Norman are in town.”

“Yes,” I curtly assented. “Well, Mr. Merritt,” I went on, abruptly changing the subject, “I must leave you now. I am very much upset by your attitude towards Mrs. Atkins. I am not yet sure that I shall not tell her husband. Together, we may perhaps prevent her falling into your hands.”

The detective smiled indulgently as we parted. I saw now all the harm I had done. Poor Mrs. Atkins had feared from the first that she might be suspected, and having discovered that she was being watched, had naturally been unwilling to leave the protection of her own home. When Argot was arrested she thought all danger was over, till I stupidly blurted out that the detective was stalking a woman, not a man. Then she fled. And she chose the middle of the night, reasoning, no doubt, that at that hour the sleuth would most likely be off his guard. Since I had known her and her husband better, I could no longer suspect her, and I now tried to remember all the arguments Merritt had formerly used to prove her innocence. Foolish she might have been, but criminal, never,—I concluded. And it was I who had put her enemies on her track!

CHAPTER XVI

THAT TACTLESS DETECTIVE

HER visit to town had certainly done May no harm. On the day of their arrival, she and her mother dined with me at the newest thing in restaurants, and we went afterwards to a roof garden. I had provided a man of an age suitable to Mrs. Derwent to make up the party, and so the evening passed pleasantly for all—delightfully for me. For, to my great relief, May seemed really better. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, she flitted gaily from one topic to another, and only occasionally did she give one of her nervous starts. Her good spirits kept up nearly to the end, when she suddenly sank back into the state of apathy, which, alas! I knew so well.

Mrs. Derwent had taken care to inform me that Norman had called late that afternoon to inquire how they had borne the journey, and had been surprised to hear that they were dining out. Was this a hint that I should have invited him also? If so, it was one that I did not mean to take. Having at last succeeded in parting him from May, I was determined not to be the one to bring them together again.

I had decided, in deference to May’s morbid horror of seeing a doctor, that it would be better that her first interview with the nerve specialist should take place under circumstances which would lead her to suppose that their meeting was purely accidental. Thinking herself unnoticed, she would put no restraint on herself, and he would thus be able to judge much more easily of the full extent of her peculiarities. Mrs. Derwent and I had therefore arranged that we should all lunch together on the day following their arrival in town. Atkins’s affairs, however, detained me so long that I was almost late for my appointment, and when I at last got to the Waldorf, I found the doctor already waiting for me.

Luckily, the ladies were also late, so that I had ample time before they turned up to describe May’s symptoms, and to give him a hurried account of what we knew of her experiences at the Rosemere. When she at last appeared, very pale, but looking lovelier than ever, in a trailing blue gown, I saw that he was much impressed by her. Her manner was languid rather than nervous, and she greeted us both with quiet dignity. Notwithstanding the object of the lunch, it passed off very pleasantly, and I am sure no one could have guessed from our behaviour that it was not a purely social occasion. Doctor Storrs especially was wonderful, and was soon chatting and laughing with May as if he had known her all her life. After lunch, Mrs. Derwent and I retired to a distant corner. The Doctor led the young lady to a window seat, and I was glad to see that they were soon talking earnestly to each other. I didn’t dare to watch them, for fear she might suspect that we had arranged this interview. Doctor Storrs kept her there almost an hour, and when they at last joined us she looked quite ghastly, and her mouth quivered pathetically.

As we stood in the hall, waiting for the ladies’ sunshades to be brought, I was astonished and annoyed to see Merritt coming towards us. He caught Miss Derwent’s eye and bowed. She smiled and bowed in return, which encouraged him to join us.

“How do you do? I trust you are well,” he stammered. He seemed quite painfully embarrassed, which surprised me, as I should never have thought him capable of shyness.

“Quite well, thank you,” she answered, graciously, evidently pitying his confusion.

“That was a dreadful affair at the Rosemere,” he bungled on, twisting his hat nervously round and round.

She drew herself up.

“I suppose the Doctor has told you the latest development of that affair?” he plunged on, regardless of her stiffness.

I stared at him in surprise; what was the matter with the man?

“No,” she answered, looking anxiously at me.

“Well, he’s discreet; you see we don’t want it to get into the papers—” he paused, as if waiting to be questioned.

“What has happened?” struggled through her ashen lips.

“I don’t know if you know Mrs. Atkins,” he went on, more glibly; “she’s a young bride, who has an apartment at the Rosemere.”

She shook her head impatiently.

“Well, this lady has disappeared,” he went on, lowering his voice; “and we very much fear that she has fled because she knew more about that murder than she should have done.”

Miss Derwent tottered, and steadied herself against a table, but Mr. Merritt, with surprising denseness, failed to notice her agitation, and continued: