The Stretton Street Affair

“Good-bye, Mr. Garfield. So sorry you have to run away so early. Good-bye!”

CHAPTER THE NINTH

SOME PLAIN SPEAKING

Punctually at three o’clock next afternoon the buxom Italian maid in dainty apron, ushered me into Mrs. Cullerton’s charming salone. From the long windows a magnificent view spread away across the green valley of the Ema to the great monastery of the Certosa, a huge mediæval pile which resembled a mediæval fortress standing boldly against the background of the rolling Apennines.

Scarcely had I stood there a moment when my blue-eyed young hostess, in a becoming black-and-cherry frock, entered, and greeting me, closed the door.

“Well, Mr. Garfield? It’s really awfully good of you to trouble to come out to see me. I’m all excitement to know what you have to tell me about Mr. De Gex. He’s gone yachting – as you perhaps know. Do sit down.”

As I did so she passed me the cigarettes, and took one herself. Then, when I had held the match for her and had lit my own, I said:

“Well, Mrs. Cullerton, I really don’t know how to commence. Somehow, I felt it my duty to come here to see you. I must admit that I have been manœuvring for several days in order to get an introduction to you, and to obtain an opportunity of seeing you alone. And yet – ”

“Yes. I quite see that. I thought by your attitude in the Via Tornabuoni that you seemed very anxious to know me,” and her lips relaxed into a pretty smile.

“That is so. In order to – well, to warn you,” I said very seriously.

“Warn me! – of what, pray?”

I hesitated. To be perfectly frank with her was, I saw, quite impossible. She might hear all I said and then inform De Gex. She was his friend. Or perhaps she would dismiss me and my story as pure invention. Hence I resolved to preserve my own secret concerning the Stretton Street Affair.

Looking straight into her face, I said:

“I’m here to warn you of a very grave personal danger.”

“You are really most alarming, Mr. Garfield,” she said in suspicion. “In what danger am I?”

“You are either in possession of some ugly fact concerning Mr. De Gex which he desires suppressed, or else you bar his way to some ambitious achievement.”

Her face changed, and she held her breath. Though it was only for a second I saw that what I had suggested was the truth. Her slim white hand twitched nervously upon her lap.

“Some fact concerning Mr. De Gex!” she gasped in feigned surprise. “Who told you that!” she asked, her face blanching.

“I have not been told. But I know it, Mrs. Cullerton,” was my reply. “I know that, though De Gex is assisting your husband out of a financial difficulty and pretends to be your good friend, he views you as his bitter enemy – as a person whose lips must, at all hazards, be closed.”

“Really, Mr. Garfield, what you say is too extraordinary – too amazing! I don’t understand you!”

“I know it sounds most extraordinary,” I said. “But first tell me if you know a certain Doctor Moroni, who lives in the Via Cavezzo?”

“Certainly. The doctor attends Mr. De Gex and his family. I first met him in London, about a year ago. Mr. De Gex holds him in very high esteem.”

“Ah! Then you know the doctor.”

“Of course. When he was in London he several times came to our house in Fitzjohn’s Avenue.”

“And your husband knows him?” I asked, looking her straight in the face. “Please tell me the truth,” I urged.

“No. Jack has never met him – not to my knowledge.”

I was silent for a few seconds. I had established a fact which I had all along suspected.

“Then he called in the daytime, when your husband was in the City – eh?”

“Yes.”

“Now tell me, did you ever have any strange illness after Doctor Moroni had called?” I inquired very seriously.

“Illness? Why, no! Why do you ask such a curious question?”

“I have reasons for asking it, Mrs. Cullerton,” was my reply. “I have called here as your friend, remember.”

“But all this is most bewildering,” she exclaimed with a nervous little laugh. “Why should I be in any personal peril?”

“Because you know something to the detriment of that wealthy and somewhat eccentric man,” I replied. “Pardon me if I put another question to you. Are you acquainted with a girl named Gabrielle Engledue?”

“Gabrielle Engledue?” she repeated. “No, I have never heard the name. I know a Gabrielle – Gabrielle Tennison – an old schoolfellow of mine.”

“A tall, dark-haired girl?”

“Yes, she is rather tall, and dark-haired.”

“Isn’t her real name Engledue?” I asked quickly.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Is she not Mr. De Gex’s niece?”

“He has no niece, has he? – except, of course, Lady Shalford, whom I know quite well.”

“Where is Gabrielle Tennison?”

“In London – I believe.”

“Are you certain she is not here, in Florence?”

“Mr. De Gex told me that she came to Florence for a few days – ”

“To visit him – eh?”

“I suppose so. But she has returned to London.”

“Do you know her address in London,” I asked very anxiously. “I ask you this in our mutual interests, Mrs. Cullerton,” I added confidentially.

“Yes. She lives with her mother in a maisonette in Longridge Road, Earl’s Court, I forget the number, but you could easily find out.”

“And she is there now, I presume?”