A Mysterious Disappearance

“No.”

His visitor was so utterly disconsolate that Bruce was at a loss to know how to deal with him. He felt that if Mensmore would but speak regarding Mrs. Hillmer’s strange delusion, and the cause of it, all these difficulties and disasters would disappear. He resolved to try a direct attack.

“Have you ever heard of a Colonel Montgomery?” he said suddenly, bending his searching gaze on the other’s downcast face.

The effect was electrical. Mensmore was so taken back that he was spellbound. He looked at Claude, the picture of astonishment, before he stammered:

“I – you – who told you about him?”

“He was your sister’s friend, adviser, and confidant,” was the stern reply. “He it is who, in some mysterious way, is bound up with Lady Dyke’s disappearance.”

Mensmore rose excitedly.

“I cannot discuss the matter with you,” he cried. “I have given my sacred promise, and no matter what the cost may be I will not break my word.”

“I do not press you. But may I see Mrs. Hillmer again? When she is calmer I might reason with her.”

The other placed his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and his voice was very impressive, though shaken by strong emotion:

“Believe me,” he said, “it is better that you should not see her. It will be useless. She is leaving London, not to avoid consequences, but to get away from painful memories. Her departure will be quite open, and her place of residence known to any one who cares to inquire. One thing she is immovable in. She will never reveal to a living soul what she knows of Lady Dyke’s death. She would rather suffer any punishment at the hands of the law.”

“Don’t you understand that this man, Montgomery, is now known to the police. Sooner or later he will be found and asked to explain any connection he may have had with the crime. Why not accomplish quietly that which will perforce be done through the uncompromising channels of Scotland Yard?”

“Your reasoning appears to be good, but – ”

“But folly must prevail?”

“Put it that way if you like.”

“So this wretched imbroglio may cost you the love of a charming and devoted girl?”

“Heaven help me, it may – probably will.”

“I swear to you,” cried the barrister, who was unusually excited, “that I will tear the heart out of this mystery before the week expires.”

Mensmore bowed silently and would have left the room, but Smith entered. In their distraction they had not heard the bell ring. Smith handed a card to his master. Instantly Bruce controlled himself. His admiration for the dramatic sequence of events overcame his eagerness as an actor. It was with an appreciative smile that he said, without the slightest reference to Mensmore:

“Show the lady in.”

Mensmore was passing out, but the sight of the visitor drove him back as though he had been struck. It was Phyllis Browne.

Her recognition of him was a bright smile. She advanced to Bruce, saying pleasantly:

“I am glad to meet you, though the manner of my call is somewhat unconventional. I heard much of you from Bertie in the Riviera, and more since my return to town.”

He suitably expressed his delight at this apparition. Mensmore, not knowing what to do, stood awkwardly at the other end of the room.

Neither of the others paid the least heed to him.

“Of course I had a definite object in coming to see you, Mr. Bruce,” went on the young lady. “I have been coolly told that, because somebody killed somebody else some months ago, a young gentlemen who asked me to be his wife, is not only not going to marry me but intends to spend the rest of his life in Central Africa or China – anywhere in fact but where I may be.”

“A most unwise resolve,” said the barrister.

“So I thought. You appear to hold the key to the situation; and, as it is an easy matter to trace you through the Directory, here I am. My people think I am skating at St. James’s.”

“Well, Miss Browne,” said Claude, “I am neither judge nor jury nor counsel for the prosecution, but there is the culprit. I hand him over to you.”

“Yes; but that goose didn’t kill anybody, did he?”

“No.”

“And I am sure his sister did not; from what little I saw of her she would not hurt a fly.”

“Quite true.”

“Then why don’t you find the man who caused all the mischief – and – and – lock him up at least, so that he cannot go on injuring people?”

Miss Phyllis was very brave and self-confident at the outset. Now she was on the verge of tears, for Mensmore’s saddened face and depressed manner unnerved her more than his passionate words at their last interview.

“You ask me a straight question,” replied Bruce, though his eyes were fixed on Mensmore, “and I will give you a straight answer. I will find the man who killed Lady Dyke. As you say, it is time his capacity for doing injury to others should be limited. Before many days have passed Mr. Mensmore will come to you and beg your pardon for his hasty and quite unwarranted resolve.”

“Do you hear that, Bertie?” cried the girl. “Didn’t I tell you so?”

Mensmore came forward to her side of the table.

“I need not wait, Phil, dear,” he said simply. “I ask your pardon now. This business is in the hands of Providence. I was foolish to think that anything I could do would stave off the inevitable.”

“And if you have – to go – to China – you w-will take me with you?”

Bruce looked out of the window, whistled, and said loudly, addressing a beautiful lady in short skirts who figured in a poster across the way:

“Let me ring for some tea. All this talk makes one dry.”

CHAPTER XXVI

LADY HELEN MONTGOMERY’S SON

When the young people had gone – Mensmore ill at ease, though tremuously happy that Phyllis had so demonstrated her trust in him, Phyllis herself radiantly confident in the barrister’s powers to set everything right – Bruce devoted himself to the task of determining a new line for his energies.

The first step was self-evident. He must ascertain if the Dykes knew a Colonel Montgomery.

He drove to the Club frequented by Sir Charles, but the baronet was not there, so he went to Wensley House.

Sir Charles was at home, in his accustomed nook by the library fire. He looked ill and low-spirited. The temporary animation he had displayed during the past few weeks was gone. If anything, he was more listless than at any time since his wife’s death.

“Well, Claude,” he said wearily, “anything to report?”

“Yes, a good deal.”