The Bond of Black

“And the note?” asked the officer.

“Here it is,” answered Ash, placing his hand in his coat-pocket, and producing a letter.

The detective took it eagerly.

“It is not addressed,” he remarked in surprise. Then, tearing it open, he took out the single sheet of note-paper.

There was no writing upon it. The paper was perfectly blank.

“This complicates matters,” he said, turning to me. “The unknown lady who had made the appointment at King’s Cross evidently wished for an answer in the affirmative or negative. This was the latter. A blank sheet of paper, denoting that there was nothing to add.”

“Extraordinary!” I ejaculated. Then addressing Ash, I asked: “When you left your master what was he doing?”

“Sitting at the table, sir. He had his cheque-book open, for just before I went out he gave me a cheque for my month’s wages. They were overdue a week, and I was hard up; so I asked for them.”

“Did he hesitate to give you them, or did he make any remarks to lead you to think he was financially embarrassed?” I inquired.

“Not at all, sir. He had forgotten, and added an extra sovereign because he had kept me waiting. My master always had plenty of money, sir.”

“Do you remember him going to Monte Carlo?” I asked.

“No, sir. Once I heard him tell Captain Hamilton that he’d been there, but it isn’t since I’ve been employed by him.”

“How long is that?”

“Nine years next May, sir.”

“And have you had no holiday?”

“Of course I have, sir. Sometimes a week, sometimes a fortnight; and last year he gave me a month.”

“What time of the year was it?”

“In February. He went up to Aberdeen, and told me there was no need for me to go, and that I could shut up the chambers and have a holiday. I did, and went down to Norfolk to visit the friends of the girl I’m engaged to.”

“And he was gone a month?”

“Yes. A few days over a month.”

“You had letters from him, I suppose?” I suggested.

“Only one, about four or five days after he had left.”

“Then for aught you know he may have left Aberdeen and gone to Monte Carlo?” I said.

“Of course he may have done, sir. But he told me nothing about it.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about his manner when he came back to town?”

“He seemed nervous; especially when I’ve gone in to him to announce a lady visitor. He seemed to fear that some lady would call whom he didn’t want to see.”

“But he often took ladies to the Gallery down at the House,” I remarked, for Roddy was never so happy as when escorting two or three ladies over the House, or giving them tea on the long terrace beside the Thames. He was essentially a lady’s man.

“Yes, sir. But there was one he used to describe to me, and he told me often that if she ever came I was to tell her that he had left London.”

“What was she like?” asked the officer, pricking up his ears.

“Well,” replied Ash, after some reflection, “as far as I could make out, she was about twenty or so; very good-looking, and generally dressed in black. Of course, I never saw her, for she never called.”

The description he had given answered exactly to that of Aline. The mystery had become more complicated than I had anticipated. The next fact to ascertain was the cause of death.

“Why have you made these inquiries regarding Monte Carlo?” the detective asked me. “Did he go there?”

“I believe so,” I replied. “Of course, it is not proved, but I suspect that when he went to Aberdeen he afterwards went secretly to the Riviera.”

“Why secretly?”

“Ah! that I’m unable to tell,” I answered, resolved to keep the knowledge I possessed to myself. But pointing to the card in the frame of the mirror I explained that that was a gambling-card used only at Monte Carlo, and that the figures were in my friend’s handwriting.

The officer took it down interestedly, carefully scrutinised it, asked several questions regarding it, and then replaced it in the position it had occupied.

All three of us went to the writing-table, and the officer quickly discovered the cheque-book. Opening it he found by the counterfoil that what Ash had said about his cheque for wages was correct, but, further, that another cheque had been torn out after his, and that the counterfoil remained blank.

“This is suspicious,” the detective observed quickly. “It looks very much as if there’s been a robbery. We must stop the cheque at the bank,” and he scribbled down the number of the counterfoil.

“If a robbery has been committed, then my friend has been murdered,” I said.

“That’s more than likely,” replied the officer. “The story Ash tells us is certainly remarkable, and increases the mystery. If we can find this lady who made the appointment at King’s Cross, we should no doubt learn something which might throw some light on the affair. Personally, I am inclined to disbelieve the theory that death has been due to natural causes. In view of the facts before us, either suicide or murder seem much more feasible theories. Yet we must remember that a man who would deliberately send his man out before committing suicide would also fasten the door. You found it open.”

This circumstance had not before occurred to me. Yes, a man who intended to take his own life would not have left the door open.

Ash, hearing our argument, at once declared that he had closed the door when he had gone out. Therefore, it seemed proved that Roddy had received a visitor during the absence of his valet.

Chapter Eight

Within Grasp

Scarcely had we concluded our conversation when the police arrived, and removed the body to the mortuary, in order that the doctor might make his examination; then, there being nothing to detain me further in the dead man’s chambers, I left in company with the detective, the latter having given Ash orders not to disturb a single thing in the rooms. If it were proved that the member for South-West Sussex had actually been murdered, then another examination of the place would have to be made.

The more I reflected upon the puzzling circumstances, the more bewildering they became.

I called upon two men, close friends of Roddy’s, and told them of the sad circumstances of his death; how he had died quite suddenly during his man’s absence on a commission.

But I had no need to carry the distressing news, for as I passed the corner of the Haymarket the men selling the evening papers were holding the contents bills, whereon were displayed the words in big type, “Mysterious Death of an M.P.” Newspapers are ingenious enough not to give away their information by putting the name of the deceased, thereby compelling the public to pay their pennies in order to learn where the vacancy has been caused by the Avenger. Nowadays the breath is scarcely out of the body of a Parliamentary representative than the papers publish the figures of the previous elections and comment on the political prospects of the division.

I bought a paper, and there saw beneath the brief announcement of Roddy’s death quite a long account of the political position in his constituency, the name of the opposition candidate, and the majority by which my friend had been elected. Poor Roddy’s death did not appear so important to that journal as the necessity of wresting the seat from the Government.

Next afternoon the inquest was held at the St. James’s Vestry Hall, and was attended by more newspaper reporters than members of the public. I arrived early and had a chat with the detective Priestly, who had questioned Ash, but he told me that nothing further had been discovered.