The Stretton Street Affair

“I wonder why?” I asked.

The Spaniard raised his shoulders.

The address conveyed nothing to me. But the message was proof that De Gex intended to leave Spain, and further, it was a source of satisfaction to know his destination in case he slipped away suddenly.

After Pardo had gone I sat and pondered. It struck me as very curious that Suzor should have gone to a distant telegraph office in order to send the message. It seemed that he feared to be recognized by the counter-clerk at the chief telegraph office. For over an hour I smoked reflectively. I confess that a curious ill-defined suspicion had arisen in my mind, a suspicion that became so strong that just about eleven o’clock I entered the Jefatura Superior de Policia in the Calle de la Princesa, and again inquired for Señor Andrade.

Fortunately he had been detained in his office, and I was shown into his presence.

He seemed surprised to see me, but at once he became interested when I said:

“I have a distinct suspicion that I know the whereabouts of Despujol.”

“Have you?” he exclaimed quickly. “What causes you to suspect?”

“A man whom I believe to be an acquaintance of his has to-day sent an urgent telegram to Charles Rabel, Rue de Lalande, 163, in Montauban, in France, making an appointment to meet him at the Hôtel Luxembourg at Nîmes next Monday at noon.”

“Who is his friend?” he asked eagerly.

“I regret, Señor Andrade, that I am not in a position to answer that question. The whole matter is only one of suspicion – very strong suspicion.”

The Chief of Police looked very straight at me.

“Ah! Then you are in possession of certain secret knowledge concerning the man who made such a dastardly attempt upon your life!” he remarked. “And you suspect this Charles Rabel at Montauban to be the fugitive – eh?”

“Exactly,” I replied.

He asked me to repeat the address, which he scribbled down, and then looking up, said:

“Personally, Señor Garfield, I think your suspicions are unfounded. Despujol, if he is ever found, will be discovered in hiding somewhere in the mountains of the north.”

“But why not in Montauban?” I asked. “He is apparently a well-educated man, judging from his conversation with me. He speaks French well, and perhaps passes as a French subject.”

“He could pass for a Spaniard, an Italian, a Greek, or a Frenchman,” Andrade remarked. “And as forged passports are so cheap nowadays, and almost impossible to detect, the means of escape of such a daring criminal are both numerous and easy. But,” he added, “I am interested in this person whom you believe to be a friend of the fugitive. Cannot you tell me who he is?”

I shook my head, and smiling replied:

“I have only come here to tell you of a very distinct suspicion I entertain that Despujol is at Montauban.”

“Then his friend is your enemy – eh?” he suggested, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed upon mine. “You know the motive of that trap which Despujol set for you, and yet you will not reveal it to me!”

Again I shook my head and smiled.

“It would make my task much easier,” he remarked.

“I am aware of that. But at present mine is only a suspicion. I have no actual knowledge that Charles Rabel is the man you are so desirous of arresting.”

“And you really refuse to tell me who sent this message?” he asked in a tone of disappointment.

“It was sent in secret,” I answered. “Indeed, it was that fact which caused me to suspect. You can, of course, obtain the original of the telegram by applying for it from the authorities. But it is only signed by an initial.”

“How did you obtain knowledge of it?”

“Again I have no intention of disclosing the source of my information, Señor Andrade,” I replied as politely as I could, “I am, as a matter of fact, here in Madrid attempting to solve a very remarkable mystery which occurred in London a few months ago.”

“This is most interesting! You never told me that before!” he exclaimed. “I confess I wondered with what motive you and your friend Señor Hambledon, living at separate hotels, had in remaining here. It was regarded as suspicious by the detective force that being such intimate friends you lived at separate hotels, and met only in secret. Reports have reached me of your movements, and of your meetings,” he laughed. “More than once you have been regarded as suspected persons,” he added.

“Well, I hope you do not regard me as a suspected person any longer, Señor Andrade!” I exclaimed with a smile.

“No, no,” he laughed. “But I confess you are something of a mystery. Why should the notorious Despujol dare to put his foot into Madrid and lay that deadly plot to kill you? You know the motive, and yet you will not disclose it to me.”

“Not at present,” I said. “If it is found that Charles Rabel is really Despujol, then I will come forward and state all that I know.”

“You promise that?”

“I do.”

“Very well – then I will give orders to have your suspicions investigated,” replied the patient, urbane official. “A detective shall leave by the next train for Montauban with a request to the Prefect of Police of the Department of Tarn-et-Garonne for the arrest of the individual in question, if he should be identified.”

“Then I will accompany him,” I said.

“Excellent,” he exclaimed. “It would be well if Señor Rivero, the head of the Detective Department, whom you have met, went in person to France. I will ring him up at his house.”

He took up the telephone and a few minutes later spoke rapidly in Spanish to the chief detective of Spain.

Presently after a rapid conversation he put down the receiver, and said:

“Señor Rivero will meet you at the Delicias Station at two o’clock to-morrow morning. The express for Barcelona leaves at two-fifteen. From Barcelona you can get direct to Nîmes, and on to Montauban. And,” he added, “I only hope you will be successful in arresting the notorious Despujol.”

I thanked him, and suggested that if we should be fortunate enough to identify him, we should watch for the keeping of the appointment at the Hôtel Luxembourg at Nîmes on the following Monday.

“With whom is he keeping the appointment?” asked Señor Andrade.

“That I will disclose later,” was my reply. “I know that the appointment has been fixed, and if we watch, we shall, I feel assured, gain some knowledge of considerable interest.”

“As you wish,” replied the Chief of Police, who now seemed convinced by my manner that I was in possession of certain actual facts. “You will meet Señor Rivero – eh?”

“Certainly,” I said.

“Then I wish the pair of you the good fortune of arresting the assassin Despujol,” he said as we shook hands and parted.

I drove at once to Hambledon’s hotel, where I found that he had just retired to bed. As he stood in his pyjamas, surprised at my unexpected visit at that hour, I told him what I had arranged.

“Then I will remain here and watch De Gex’s departure,” he said.

“Yes. But be very careful of yourself,” I urged. “Keep your revolver handy, for you never know when an attack may be made upon you. These fellows, though great men in the eyes of the world, employ desperate characters to do their dirty work.”

“I’m quite alive to that fact, Hugh,” replied my friend. “But we won’t give up till we punish those responsible for poor Miss Tennison’s state – will we?”