A Mysterious Disappearance

“What of him?”

“Your remark, sir, hexactly hexpresses my hopinion of ’im.”

Smith was not a badly educated man, but the least excitement produced an appalling derangement of the letter “h” in his vocabulary.

“Mr. White is a sharp fellow in his own way, Smith.”

“Maybe, but why should ’e come pokin’ round ’ere pryin’ into your little affairs-deecur?”

“My what?”

“Sorry, sir, but that’s what a French maid I once knew called ’em. Flirtations, sir. Mashes.”

“Smith, have you been drinking?”

“Me, sir?”

“Well, explain yourself. I never flirted with a woman in my life.”

“That’s what I told ’im, sir. ‘My master’s a regular saint,’ says I, ‘a sort of middle-aged ankyrite.’ But Mr. White ’e wouldn’t ’ave it at no price. ‘Come now, Smith,’ says ’e, ‘your guv’nor’s pretty deep. ’E’s a toff, ’e is, an’ knows lots of lydies – titled lydies.’ ‘Very like,’ says I, ‘but ’e doesn’t mash ’em.’ ‘Then what price that lydy who called for ’im in a keb afore ’e went away? An’ who’s ’e gone to Monte Carlo with?’ This was durin’ your absence, sir.”

“Go on, Smith. Anything else?”

“Well, sir, that rather flung me out of my stride, as the sayin’ is, as I ’ad seen the lydy in question. An’ Mr. White ’as a nasty way of putting you on your oath, so to speak. But I never owned up.”

Claude laughed.

“Excellent. Mr. White has a keen nose for false scents. I have already told him to let my affairs alone. He means no harm.”

But the reference to a “lydy in a keb” had suggested an immediate plan of action to the barrister. He would call to see Mrs. Hillmer. He wrote a note asking her if he might come to tea that afternoon, and sent it by a boy messenger.

In return he received this answer.

“Mrs. Hillmer will be at home at four o’clock if Mr. Bruce cares to call then.”

“Whew!” he whistled. “What’s in the wind there? This is an uncommonly stiff invitation. That rascal White has upset her, I’ll be bound. I must choke him off somehow. Suppose he were to find that damaged bracket! He would have Mensmore under trial at the Old Bailey in double-quick time. After I leave Mrs. Hillmer I must visit No. 12 again, and carry off that pair of brackets before White discovers them, as he will haunt the place in future.”

Bruce had a set of skeleton keys in his possession.

They were in his pocket when he approached Raleigh Mansions at the appointed hour.

The same trim maid opened the door for him and ushered him into the drawing-room. On the occasion of his first visit he was taken to the dining-room. It was a small matter, but Bruce paid heed to such.

Mrs. Hillmer appeared, very stately and undemonstrative. She greeted him coldly, seated herself at a distance, and said, in a cold, well-controlled voice:

“I did not expect the honor of another visit from you, Mr. Bruce.”

“Why not?”

There was a fight brewing, and he would let the enemy open fire. The glitter in her eyes showed that the batteries were ready to be unmasked. He was not mistaken.

“Why not? Because I believed you to be a gentleman. Once you had stooped to sending your myrmidons to pester me I imagined that you would keep yourself in the background.”

There was an indignant ring in her words as she concluded. When a woman is angry her own speech acts as a trumpet-call and fires her blood. Mrs. Hillmer began, as she intended, in icy disdain. She ended in tremulous anger.

“You allude to Mr. White?” said the barrister, looking steadily at her.

“Yes, that is the man. Some hireling from Scotland Yard. How could you so meanly induce my confidence at our first meeting? I have never been so deceived in a man in my life, and I have had a surfeit of bitter experience already.”

“Brother and sister are alike. They have led queer lives,” mused Bruce. Aloud he said:

“Your experience, Mrs. Hillmer, should at least lead you not to condemn any one unheard. May I explain that which is to you incomprehensible at this moment? – justly so, I admit.”

“Explanations! I am a child in the hands of such as you. How can I hope to fathom your real intent? Presumably, if I accept your apologies now, it will be a prelude to further visits by impudent police officers.”

“I am not here to apologize, Mrs. Hillmer.”

“What then, pray?”

“To plead with you. For Heaven’s sake do not distrust me. It may ruin those whom you hold dear. Listen to me first, and try to believe me afterwards.”

He was so thoroughly in earnest, so impressive in manner, that she did not know what to make of him. In her despair, she adopted a woman’s chief resource – her eyes filled with tears.

But he anticipated her.

“Now, Mrs. Hillmer,” he cried, “let us act like sensible people. Compose yourself, order in some tea, and after an interlude I will tell you all about it. Candor is an indispensable element of confidence.”

Mrs. Hillmer rose, made an effort to choke back her agitation, went out, and called to the maid for tea. She returned in a few moments. When they were alone Bruce said, with a smile:

“A little poudre de ris is an excellent corrective for signs of grief.”

The lady blushed, and there was a perceptible return to her former pleasant manner.

“You are incorrigible, I fear,” she cried.

“Not a bit. Impressionable, rather. Now, I am going to startle you considerably, so be prepared. And do not jump at conclusions. Though startling, my news is not alarming. All may yet end well.”

Mrs. Hillmer was manifestly anxious, but she promised to try to understand him fully before she formed any judgment.

“Then,” said he, “I can clear the air a good deal by a simple statement. Mr. White is no agent of mine, and I have seen your brother, Albert Mensmore, at Monte Carlo.”

Mrs. Hillmer gave a little gasp of surprise. “You have seen Bertie?”

“Yes; your brother, is he not?”

“My half-brother, to be exact. My father was married twice. I – I am the elder of the two by four years.”

“Apart from the compliment, you do not look it. But what you say explains the total absence of likeness between you.”