A Mysterious Disappearance

“We four-wheelers are surprised at nothink, sir. You don’t know all wot goes on in kebs. Why, once crossin’ Waterloo Bridge – ”

“Never mind Waterloo Bridge, Foxey,” put in the detective. “Keep your wits fixed on as much as you can remember of November 6.”

“Where did he tell you to drive to?” went on Bruce.

“Just Putney. I was to drive my’ardest. I recollect wantin’ to pull up at the Three Bells, but ’e put ’is ’ead out an’ said, ‘Go on, driver. I am awfully late already.’ So on I went.”

“Where did you stop?”

“I don’t know no more than the child unborn. By that time the drink was yeastin’ up in me. The fare kept me on the road ’e wanted by shoutin’. When we pulled up, ’e carries ’er into a lane. There was a big ’ouse there. I know that all right. After a bit ’e comes back and tips me a fiver. With that I whips up the old ’oss and gets back to the Three Bells. You know the rest, as the girl said when she axed the Bench to – ”

“Yes, we know the rest,” interrupted Bruce, “but I fear you are not able to help us much.”

“This isn’t a five-pun’ job, eh, guv’nor?” said Foxey anxiously.

“Hardly at present. We shall see. Can you say exactly where you drew up your cab when the lady was carried into it?”

“Sure as death,” replied the cabman, in the hope that his information might yet be valuable. “It was outside Raleigh Mansions, Sloane Square.”

“We know that – ”

“It seems to me, sir, as ye know as much about the business as I do,” broke in Marsh.

“Were you in the Square or in Sloane Street?”

“In Sloane Street, of course. Right away from the Square.”

“Not so very far away, surely.”

Foxey was doubtful. His memory was hazy, and he feared lest he should be mistaken. “No, no,” he said quickly, “not far, but still well in the street.”

“Were there many people about?”

“You could ’ardly tell, sir; it was that foggy and nasty. If the lydy ’ad bin dead nobody would ’ave noticed ’er that night.”

“Did any one besides yourself see the gentleman carrying the lady into the cab?”

“I think not. I don’t remember anybody passin’ at the time.”

“Did the gentleman keep your cab waiting long at the kerb before he brought the lady out?”

“It might ’a’ bin a minute or two?”

“No longer?”

“Well, sir, it’s ’ard for me to say, especially after bein’ away for a change of ’ealth, so to speak.”

“Did not the lady speak or move in any manner?”

“Not so far as I know, sir.”

“And do you mean to tell me that, although you had been drinking, you were not astonished at the whole business?”

“I never axes my fares any questions ’cept when they says ‘By the hour.’ Then I wants to know a bit.”

“Yes; but this carrying of a lady out of a house in such fashion – did not this strike you as strange?”

“Strange, bless your ’eart, sir. You ought to see me cartin’ ’em off from the Daffodil Club after a big night – three and four in one keb, all blind, paralytic.”

“No doubt; but this was not the Daffodil Club at daybreak. It was a respectable neighborhood at seven o’clock, or thereabouts, on a winter’s evening.”

“It ain’t my fault,” said Foxey doggedly. “Wot was wrong with the lydy? Was it a habduction?”

“The lady was dead – murdered, we believe.”

The cabman’s face grew livid with anxiety.

“Oh, crikey, Mr. White,” he cried, addressing the detective, “I knew nothink about it.”

“No one says you did, Foxey,” was the reply. “Don’t be frightened. We just want you to help us as far as you can, and not to get skeered and lose your wits.”

Thus reassured, Marsh mopped his head and said solemnly:

“I will do wot lies in my power, gentlemen both, but I wish I ’adn’t bin so blamed drunk that night.”

“You say you would not recognize your fare if you saw him,” continued Bruce. “Could you tell us, if you were shown a certain person, that he was not the man? You might not be sure of the right man, but you might be sure regarding the wrong one.”

“Yes, sir. It wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Mr. White, and it wasn’t a lot of other people I know. I think if I saw the man who really got into my keb, I would be able to swear that ’e was like him, at any rate.”

“All right. That will do for the present. Leave us your address, so that we may find you again if necessary. Here is a sovereign for you.”

When Marsh had gone, Bruce turned to the detective.

“Well,” he said, “if Mensmore were here now, I suppose you would want to lock him up.”

“No,” admitted White sadly; “the more I learn about this affair the more mixed it becomes. Still, I don’t deny but I shall be glad to have Mensmore’s explanation of his movements at that time. And so will you, Mr. Bruce.”

CHAPTER XXII

A WILFUL MURDER

Bruce sent a telegram to Mrs. Hillmer at Paris. “Matters satisfactorily arranged pending your arrival,” he wired, and early on Monday morning he received a reply:

“Due Charing Cross 7.30 P.M. Will drive straight to your chambers with my brother.

    “Gwendoline Hillmer.”

He forwarded the message with a note to the detective, asking him to be present.