Whatsoever a Man Soweth

“He gave no card?”

“No. He met the young lady here in the hall. My idea was that his presence was very unwelcome, as she seemed in great fear lest he should return before she could get away.”

“Has the man left Glasgow?”

“I think so. I saw him on the platform about nine, just before the Edinburgh express left. He’s probably gone on there. He seemed quite a gentleman.”

“They appeared to be friendly?”

“Perfectly. Only she evidently did not expect to meet him. She asked the name of a hotel at Fort William, and I told her to go to the Station.”

“Then she’s there!” I exclaimed quickly.

“Probably. She arrived there this morning.”

I tipped the man, and after idling in Glasgow some hours, left for Fort William, determined to disobey Sybil’s order to go back to Newcastle.

It was a long but picturesque journey. When I arrived I went at once to the hotel to inquire if Mrs Morton were there.

The manageress shook her head, saying, —

“There was a Mrs Morton, a young woman like a lady’s-maid, who arrived here yesterday morning, and left here last evening. A lady was awaiting her – her mistress, I think.”

“What was her name?”

“Mrs Rumbold,” was the answer, after referring to the visitors’ book.

“Rumbold!” The name of the secret lover.

“Was she old or young?”

“Elderly, with grey hair. A rather stiff, formal kind of person.”

“Where have they gone?”

“I heard Mrs Rumbold say that she wanted to go to Oban. So perhaps they’ve gone there.”

There was a boat down to Oban in three hours’ time, therefore I took it, passed down the beautiful Loch and by the island of Lismore, places too well known to the traveller in Scotland to need any description, and that same evening found myself in Oban, the Charing Cross of the Highlands. I had been there several times before, and always stayed at the Great Western. Therefore I took the hotel omnibus, and on alighting asked if a Mrs Rumbold was staying there.

The reply was a negative one, therefore I went round to several other hotels, finding at last that she and “her maid” had taken a room at the Alexandra that morning, but had suddenly changed their plans, and had left at two o’clock by train for the south, but whether for Glasgow or Edinburgh was not known.

I therefore lost track of them. Sybil had apparently successfully escaped from her male visitor at Glasgow, while at the same time Mrs Rumbold – probably the mother of the man she loved in secret – had awaited her up at Fort William.

For what reason? Why was she now masquerading as maid of the mother of her lover?

Again, if her visitor in Glasgow was really Parham, he must have very quickly obtained knowledge of her whereabouts, for only a few days before I had watched him arrange that ingenious plot against her in Dean’s Yard – a plot which would have no doubt been carried into execution if Sybil had been present.

I hesitated how to act.

If they had gone south, it was useless for me to remain in Oban. Her appointment with me was in Newcastle, and it seemed certain that she would sooner or later seek me there. But at that moment my curiosity was aroused regarding this Mrs Rumbold, as to who and what she was, and further, as to the identity of Arthur, about whom the dead man had known so much.

I left Oban and went back to Glasgow. My friend, the hall-porter at the Central Station, was talkative, but had not seen the lady again. It struck me that as the bald-headed man had met her in Glasgow, and as she had left a message for him that she had gone to Edinburgh, she would naturally avoid both places, or at any rate not halt there.

Had she gone on to Dumfries? She had left a message for me that she was there. Would she now go there in order to see if I were awaiting her instead of at Newcastle?

Dumfries, the town of Burns, was on my way down to Carlisle, therefore I resolved to make a halt there for an hour or two to inquire.

I remained the night in Glasgow, for I was fagged out by so much travelling, and next day, just before twelve, I alighted at Dumfries. I had never been there before, but outside the station I saw the Railway Hotel, and entering, asked whether Mrs Rumbold was staying there.

Yes, she was. Did I wish to see her? asked the lady clerk in the bureau.

I replied in the affirmative, and sent her my name, “Mr Morton,” written on a slip of paper.

The waiter returned with a curious look upon his face. I saw in an instant that something had occurred and was not surprised when he said, —

“Mrs Rumbold has a bad headache, sir, and would be glad if you’d call again about five or six. The chambermaid says she’s lying down.”

“Is there another person with her?” I inquired. “Her own maid, I mean.”

“No, sir. She’s alone.”

“Are you quite sure of that?”

“Quite. I took her name when she arrived in the hotel. She has no maid.”

“And no lady friend?”

“No. She’s entirely alone.”

That surprised me. Had Sybil parted from her and gone straight on to Newcastle in order to find me? There was nothing to be done but to wait till half-past five, and call again on Mrs Rumbold. I therefore took a room at the hotel, and lunched in the coffee-room.

The woman’s excuse made me suspicious that she wished to avoid meeting me, and that when I returned at six I should find her gone.

So I passed the time in writing letters, and remained in patience until half-past five, when I sent up again to know if she would receive me. The answer came back that she was still too unwell, and I sent word to her that I could wait, as I wished to see her upon a very important matter.

My determination showed her that I did not intend that she should escape; therefore, just before the dinner gong rang the waiter came to me and said that the lady was in the small drawing-room upstairs and would see me.

I ascended the stairs wondering what would be the outcome of my interview. I wanted to ascertain who the woman was and the nature of the relations between her and Sybil.

When I entered the room a rather elderly lady with whitish hair severely brushed back and attired in deep black rose to meet me, bowing stiffly and saying —

“I have not the honour of your acquaintance, Mr Morton, and am rather curious to know what you want with me.”

“Well, madam,” I replied, “the fact is I want to ask you a question. The Honourable Sybil Burnet has been travelling with you dressed as a lady’s-maid, and I am here to learn where she has now gone.”

The woman started in surprise, and glared at me. She probably, from my disguise as a working-man, put me down as a detective.

“And my reply to you, sir, is that Miss Sybil’s destination is her own affair. We parted, and she has gone south. That is all I know.”