LITMIR.BIZ

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pulling forward a chair:

      “Won’t you be seated?”

      The lady looked at him. She saw a man of fine physique and undoubted good breeding. She hesitated. There was no reason to be rude to him, so she sat down.

      Claude drew a chair to the other side of the hearthrug, and commenced:

      “I have ventured to seek this interview for the purpose of making some inquiries.”

      “I thought so. Are you a policeman?” The words were blurted out impetuously, a trifle complainingly, but Bruce gave no sign of the interest they had for him.

      “Good gracious, no,” he cried. “Why should you think that?”

      “Because two detectives have been bothering me, and every other person in these mansions, about some mysterious lady who called here two months ago. They don’t know where she called, nor will they state her name; as if any one could possibly know anything about it. So I naturally thought you were on the same errand.”

      “Confound that rascal White,” growled he to himself.

      But Mrs. Hillmer went on: “If that is not your business, would you mind telling me what it is?”

      Now Bruce’s alert brain had been actively engaged during the last few seconds. This woman was not the clever, specious adventuress he had half expected to meet. It seemed more than ever unlikely that she could have any knowledge of Lady Dyke or the causes that led to her disappearance. He was tempted to frame some excuse and take his departure. But the certainty that his missing friend had visited Raleigh Mansions, and the necessity there was for exploiting every line of inquiry, impelled him to adopt this last resource.

      “It is not concerning a missing lady, but concerning a missing gentleman that I have come to see you.”

      The shot went home.

      Why, for the life of him, he could not tell, but his companion was manifestly disturbed at his words.

      “Oh,” she said.

      Then, after a little pause: “May I ask his name?”

      “Certainly. He is known as Mr. Sydney H. Corbett.”

      She gave a slight gasp.

      “Why do you put it in that way? Is not that his right name?”

      “I have reason to believe it is not.”

      Mrs. Hillmer was so obviously distressed that Bruce inwardly reviled himself for causing her so much unnecessary suffering. In all probability, the source of her emotion had not the remotest bearing upon his quest.

      Then came the pertinent query, after a glance at his card, which she still held in her hand:

      “Who are you, Mr.—Mr. Claude Bruce?”

      “I am a member of the Bar, of the Inner Temple. My chambers are No. 7 Paper Buildings, and my private residence is given there.”

      “And why are you interested in Mr. Sydney Corbett?”

      “Ah, in that respect I am at this moment unable to enlighten you.”

      “Unable, or unwilling?”

      He indulged in a quiet piece of fencing:

      “Really, Mrs. Hillmer,” he said, “I am not here as in any sense hostile to you. I merely want some detailed information with regard to this gentleman, information which you may be able to give me. That is all.”

      All this time he knew that the woman was scrutinizing him narrowly—trying to weigh him up as it were, not because she feared him, but rather to discover the true motive of his presence.

      Personally, he had never faced a more difficult task than this make-believe investigation. He could have laughed at the apparent want of connection between Lady Dyke’s ill-fated visit to Raleigh Mansions and this worrying of a beautiful, pleasant-mannered woman, who was surely neither a principal nor an accomplice in a ghastly crime.

      “Well, I suppose I may consider myself in the hands of counsel. Tell me what it is you want to know!” Mrs. Hillmer pouted, with the air of a child about to undergo a scolding.

      “Are you acquainted with Mr. Corbett’s present address?” he said.

      “No. I have neither seen him nor heard from him since early in November.”

      “Can you be more precise about the period?”

      “Yes, perhaps.” She arose, took from a drawer in the sideboard a packet of bills—receipted, he observed—searched through them and found the document she sought. “I purchased a few articles about that time,” she explained, “and the account for them is dated November 15. I had not seen my—” She blushed, became confused, laughed a little, and went on. “I had not seen Mr. Corbett for at least a week before that date—say November 8th or 9th.”

      Lady Dyke disappeared on the evening of the 6th!

      Bruce swallowed his astonishment at the odd coincidence of dates, for he said, with an encouraging laugh, “Out with it, Mrs. Hillmer. You were about to describe Mr. Corbett correctly when you recollected yourself.”

      Mrs. Hillmer, still coloring and becoming saucily cheerful, cried, “Why should I trouble myself when you, of course, know all that I can tell you, and probably more? He is my brother, and a pretty tiresome sort of relation, too.”

      “I am obliged for your confidence. In return, I am free to state that your brother is now in the South of France.”

      “As you are here, Mr. Bruce,” she said, “I may as well get some advice gratis. Can people writ him in the South of France? Can they ask me to pay his debts?”

      “Under ordinary circumstances they can do neither. Certainly not the latter.”

      “I hope not. But they sometimes come very near to it, as I know to my cost.”

      “Indeed! How?”

      Mrs. Hillmer hesitated. Her smile was a trifle scornful, and her color rose again as she answered: “People are not averse to taking advantage of circumstances. I have had some experience of this trait in debt-collectors already. But they must be careful. You, as a legal man, must know that demands urged on account of personal reasons may come very near to levying blackmail.”

      “Surely, Mrs. Hillmer, you do not suspect me of being a dun. Perish the thought! You could never be in debt to me.”

      “Very nice of you. Don’t you represent those people on Leadenhall Street, then?”

      “What people?”

      “Messrs. Dodge & Co.”

      “No; why do you ask?”

      “Because my brother entered into what he called a ‘deal’ with them. He underwrote some shares in a South African mine, as a nominal affair, he told me, and now they want him to pay for them because the company is not supported by the public.”

      “No, I do not represent Dodge & Co.”

      “Is there something else then? Whom do you represent?”

      “To be as precise as permissible, I may say that my inquiries in no sense affect financial matters.”

      “What then?”

      “Well, there is a woman in the case.”

      Mrs. Hillmer was evidently both relieved and interested.

      “No, you don’t say,” she said. “Tell me all about it. I never knew Bertie to be much taken up with the fair sex. I am all curiosity. Who is she?”

      He did not take advantage of the mention of a name which in no way stood for Sydney. Besides, perhaps the initial stood for Herbert. He resolved to try another tack.

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