The Red Room

A newspaper lay at hand, and I took it up. In my profession I have but little leisure to read anything save the motor-journals; therefore, except a glance at the evening paper, I, like hundreds of other busy men, seldom troubled myself with the news of the day.

I was smoking and scanning the columns of that morning’s journal when my eyes fell upon a heading which caused me to start in surprise. The words read, “Steel Discovery: New High-Speed Metal with Seven Times Cutting Power of Old.”

The short article read as follows:

“Few prophecies have been more quickly justified than that of Professor Greer at the Royal Institution on December 16th last. He then said:

”‘As to Mr Carnegie’s prophecy on the decadence of British steel metallurgy, this exists only in the imagination of that gentleman. So far as quality is concerned, Britain is still first in the race for supremacy.

”‘I am strongly of opinion that in a very short time the best high-speed steel will be a back number. It is probable that a year hence there will be on the market British steel with a quadruple cutting power of any now known to metallurgy.’

“The prophecy has come true. Professor Greer, lecturing again at the Birmingham Town Hall last night, stated that the firm of Edwards and Sutton, of the Meersbrook Works, Sheffield, of which Sir Mark Edwards is the head, have, after his lengthened experiments, placed on the market a steel with from three to seven times the cutting power of existing high-speed steel, and which, in contradistinction to present material, can be hardened in water, oil, or blast.

“The new steel, whose cutting power is almost incredible, said the Professor, will not call for any alteration in present machinery.”

The impostor had actually had the audacity to lecture before a Birmingham audience! His bold duplicity was incredible.

I re-read that remarkable statement, and judged that this new process of his must have been purchased by the great firm of Edwards and Sutton, whose steel was of world repute. His was, I presumed, an improvement upon the Bessemer process.

That a man could have the impudence to pass himself off as Greer was beyond my comprehension. As Waynflete Professor at Oxford he would, I saw, be well known, even if he did not go much into society. And yet he had stood upon the platform in the Town Hall of Birmingham and boldly announced a discovery made by the man whose identity he had so audaciously assumed.

This action of the impostor, who had no doubt sold the Professor’s secret at a high figure to a well-known firm, absolutely staggered belief.

I called Drake, mounted upon the ugly chassis again, and together we sped post-haste back to London. At ten that night I was in the Grand Hotel at Birmingham, and half an hour later I called at the house of a certain Alderman named Pooley, who was a member of the society before which the bogus Professor had lectured on the previous evening.

I had some little difficulty in inducing him to see me at that late hour. He was a busy solicitor, and his servant referred me to his office in Bull Street, where, she said, he would see me in the morning. But, being pushful, Mr Pooley at last consented to see me.

“Yes,” he said, as I sat with him in his dining-room, “it is quite true that Professor Greer lectured before us last night, and made a most interesting announcement – one which seems to have caused a good deal of stir in the world of metallurgy. The papers were full of it to-day.”

“I understood the Professor was abroad,” I remarked rather lamely.

“So he was. He came home specially to fulfil a long-standing engagement. He promised us to lecture, and gave us the date as far back as November last.”

“Do you know where he arrived from?” I inquired.

“Yes. He dined with us here before the lecture, and stayed with us the night. He told us at dinner that he had just returned from Roumania.”

“Then he did not leave Birmingham until this morning!” I cried. “Ah, how I wish I had known! Have you any idea where he has gone?”

“I went with him to the station this morning, and he took a ticket to Sheffield – to visit Sir Mark Edwards, I believe. He met at the station a friend who had been to the lecture and who had stayed at the Grand that night. He was introduced to me as Mr Kirk. Do you know him?”

“Kirk?” I gasped. “Yes; a tall, thin, grey-haired man – Mr Kershaw Kirk.”

“Yes. They travelled together,” said the Alderman. “It seemed as though Kirk came from London to meet the Professor, who had returned by the Hook of Holland to Harwich, and came on by the through carriage to Birmingham.”

“And you believe that Kirk has gone with the Professor to visit Sir Mark Edwards?” I exclaimed eagerly.

“I think so. If you sent a letter to the Professor at Sir Mark’s address, it’s quite probable that he would get it.”

“Had you ever met the Professor before?” I inquired.

“No, never. Of course I knew him well by repute.”

“Did he mention that Edwards and Sutton were old friends of his?”

“I gathered that they were not. He had simply concluded an arrangement with them for working his process as a matter of business. Indeed, he mentioned that Sir Mark Edwards had invited him for a few days.”

“Then they are not friends of long standing?” I asked.

“Probably not. But – well, why do you ask such curious questions as these, Mr – Holford? What, indeed, is the motive of all this inquiry? The Professor is a well-known man, and you could easily approach him yourself,” the keen solicitor remarked.

“Yes, probably so. But my inquiry is in the Professor’s own interest,” I said, because I had to make my story good. “As a matter of fact, I have learnt of an attempt to steal the secret of his process, and I’m acting for his protection. When my inquiries are complete, I shall go to him and place the whole matter before him.”

“Your profession is not that of a detective?” he suggested, with a laugh.

“No; I’m a motor engineer,” I explained bluntly. “I know nothing, and care less, about detectives and their ways.”

Then I apologised for disturbing him at that hour and made my way back in the cab that had brought me to the centre of the city.

I left New Street Station at two o’clock in the morning – cold, wet, and cheerless – and at half-past four was in the Midland Hotel at Sheffield, sleepy and fagged.

The night-porter knew nothing of Sir Mark Edwards’ address; therefore I had to wait until eight o’clock, when some more intelligent member of the hotel staff came on duty.

Everyone of whom I inquired, however, seemed ignorant; hence I took a cab and drove to the great works of the firm – a huge, grimy place, with smoky chimneys and heaps of slag, an establishment employing several thousand hands, and one of the largest, if not the largest, in Hallamshire. Here I was informed that Sir Mark resided thirty miles distant, at Alverton Hall, close to the edge of Bulwell Common, famed for its golf links.

Therefore at ten o’clock I took train there, and, finding a fly at the station, drove direct to the Hall to face and denounce the man who was an accomplice of assassins, if not the assassin himself, and a bold, defiant impostor.

The fly, after traversing a country road for a mile or so, suddenly entered the lodge-gates and proceeded up a splendid avenue of high bare elms, until we drew up at the entrance to a fine old Elizabethan mansion, the door of which was thrown open by a liveried manservant.

I held my breath for a second. My chase had been a long and stern one.

Then I inquired for the honoured and distinguished guest – who I had already ascertained at the works in Sheffield was supposed to be staying there – and was ushered with great ceremony into the wide, old-fashioned hall.

At last the impostor was near his unmasking. At last I would be able to prove to the world who killed Professor Greer!

Chapter Twenty Seven

Several Revelations

Alverton Hall, a noble old mansion, had been purchased by the Sheffield steel magnate Sir Mark Edwards some ten years before. In addition, I heard that he owned a beautiful place in Glamorganshire and rented a great deer-forest in Scotland. He was one of England’s manufacturing princes, whose generosity to charitable institutes and to the city of Sheffield was well known, and whose daughter had, only a year ago, married into the peerage.

A short, bluff, bald-headed old fellow, he spoke quickly, almost snappishly, when I was ushered into his presence in a small, cosily-furnished room that looked out upon a fine old-world terrace, with a Jacobean garden beyond.

“It is true that I’m expecting Professor Greer on a visit here,” he said, with a broad Hallamshire accent, in reply to my question. “Who, may I ask, are you?”

I explained that I was an intimate friend who desired to see him immediately upon very important business, and that I had come down from London for that purpose.

“Well,” replied the short, active little man, “I expected him yesterday, and cannot think why he has not arrived.”

“You have had some important business dealings with him, Sir Mark, I see from yesterday’s paper?”

“Yes, very important. He made a statement in Birmingham explaining his discovery.”

“I suppose it is a most important one?”

“Most important. It opens up a new era in the British steel trade and places us in the foremost rank. At this moment no other steel in the world can compete with that from our Meersbrook Works, thanks to the Professor.”

“You’ve known him a long time, I presume?”

“I’ve not known him personally very long,” was Sir Mark’s reply. “He is a man who has kept himself very much to himself. But, of course, as you know, his reputation is worldwide. He is bringing with him his agent, Mr Kirk.”

“His agent!” I echoed, astounded. “You know him?”

“Of course. I’ve had several dealings with him. He was with us in Vienna a week or so ago.”

“And was Greer there also?”

“Of course,” replied the steel manufacturer. “The contract was arranged there.”

“And who else was with him?”

“No one to my knowledge – except an English lady who lived at the Continental in the Praterstrasse, while we were at the Grand. She seemed to be a friend of the Professor, for one evening he introduced me to her. By the way, her name was very similar to yours, I think – Holworth or Holford.”

“That was in Vienna?” I gasped.

“Yes. He introduced me in Leidinger’s restaurant, in the Karntnerstrasse.”

“And the lady – what was she like? Young or old?” I inquired breathlessly.

“Young,” was his answer.

And, proceeding, he gave me a perfect description of Mabel!

“What was her attitude towards the Professor?”

“She appeared to be most eager to protect him from any suspicion of fraud. She seemed to regard me with some misgivings – I know not why. Indeed, the reason of her being in Vienna and mixed up in the business struck me as altogether remarkable, for, truth to tell, I prefer not to deal with the fair sex in matters of pure business. I’m a plain man,” he added, with a strong burr in his voice, “and I believe always in straightforward dealing, whether it be in paying a workman a day’s wage or carrying out a Government contract.”

“This is all very interesting to me, Sir Mark,” I said, without, however, telling him that the lady in question was my lost wife. “You appear not to have approved of the lady’s connection with the sale of the patent?”

“I didn’t, I frankly tell you,” he said. “I told Kirk my mind quite plainly, but he assured me that the lady was a great friend of the Professor.”

I bit my lip savagely. How was it that Mabel, my dear, beloved wife, had allied herself with that pair of adventurers? What could have been the story told to her to induce her to become the catspaw of men of that stamp?

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell the great steel magnate that he had purchased a secret which did not belong to the seller, and that the “Professor Greer” he knew was not the real discoverer. But I hesitated. Before I spoke I would unmask this impostor and his “agent,” Kershaw Kirk.

A word from me to this shrewd, hard-headed man of business, and the two would, I felt assured, find themselves in the hands of the police.

Yes, I now held the trump card. At any moment the pair might drive up to pay their promised visit to Sir Mark. And when they did, what an awkward surprise would await them!

I laughed within myself when I realised how innocently they would fall into my vengeful hands.

So communicative and pleasant was the bald-headed man that I went one step further, daring to ask:

“I presume the price your firm paid for the secret of the new process was a substantial one?”

“A very large one,” he replied. “A big sum down, as well as a handsome royalty. This must be the second fortune which Greer has made. He has received a lot of money for his process of hardening armour-plates. The Admiralty use only plates hardened by the Greer process, for here, as in many other things, England is still ahead of Germany.”

“Have you ever been to the Professor’s house in London?” I asked.

“Never. He has, however, invited me to dine there next week.”

“Next week!” I cried. “Then, of course, you’ll go? You’ll probably find Kershaw Kirk there.”

“Yes,” he laughed; “most probably. He’s a strange man – isn’t he? – and most influential.”

“He’s certainly strange, but as regards his influence, I know nothing,” was my quick reply.

“Why, my dear sir, his influence is enormous! He can go direct to quarters where we are entirely debarred!” declared my companion, as I sat back in the chair listening to these revelations.

“How? I don’t follow you.”

“Well,” he declared, “to me, the reason of Kirk’s influence is a complete mystery, but it has been conclusively proved more than once that he has the entrée to the highest quarters, and the ear of the authorities.”

I laughed.

“I suppose he has misled you into the belief that he has, Sir Mark. He’s a boaster – like many other men of his stamp.”

“He’s a boaster and a trifle eccentric, I admit. Yet I have myself had experience of his undoubted influence. He’s in some position of great trust.”

“There, I fear, I must differ, Sir Mark. I happen to know him well, and I think one day ere long you’ll discover that his powers are merely imaginary.”

The short, bald-headed man shrugged his shoulders dubiously, whereat, in order not to go contrary to his opinion, I turned our conversation into a different channel. I had already learned much of interest, but much, too, that had caused me a twinge of despair.

We spoke of other things, and apparently impressed by the fact that I was eager to meet Greer, he invited me to wait until he and Kirk arrived.

“But they may not be coming, after all,” I said. “They may have changed their minds.”

“I think that hardly probable,” Sir Mark replied. “They have been delayed, though I’ve ascertained that they left Birmingham to come direct here.”

I told him nothing of my visit to Alderman Pooley, but my only fear was that, with the report of the bogus Professor’s speech appearing in the papers, the impostor had become alarmed and again made himself scarce. To me it appeared much as though he and his accomplices had never intended the announcement to get into the papers. Indeed, even Sir Mark had expressed himself surprised at reading the report, understanding that the meeting was a purely private one of the learned society which had invited him to lecture.

I smoked a cigar with the affable little man, and then he left me, being called to the telephone. When he re-entered the room, he said:

“I’ve been speaking to the Professor. It seems that he’s at home, at his house in London. He was recalled suddenly by telegram, and not having been home since his return from the Continent he was compelled to obey the summons. He promises to come here next Monday.”

My heart sank once more within me. The truth was just as I had feared! The report of his speech in the papers had alarmed him, and he was no doubt on his way abroad again, having netted a goodly sum from Messrs Edwards and Sutton for a secret filched from the unfortunate man who had been assassinated.

“Then I’ll go back to London at once,” I announced; and, without betraying my anxiety to my bald-headed friend, who had been so cleverly victimised, I bade him adieu, and an hour later left Bulwell for London.

In the grey March afternoon I alighted from a hansom before that well-remembered door of the Professor’s house in Sussex Place. I did not for one moment believe him to be there. He had, of course, escaped long ago. In Edinburgh and in Glasgow I had been close at his heels, as I had also been in Birmingham, yet he had always cleverly evaded me.

To my amazement my ring was answered by Antonio – sleek, smiling, yet as evil-faced as ever!

“Is your master at home?” I asked sharply, for I certainly had not expected to meet the man who had escaped to Italy, and who had afterwards threatened me.

“No, signore,” was his bland reply. “He is out at present.”

“Then he – he’s at home again?”

“Yes, signore. He returned unexpectedly yesterday.”

“And Miss Ethelwynn?”

“The signorina is still at Broadstairs; we expect her up to-morrow.”

“And my wife, Antonio – where is she?” I inquired, looking him straight in the face.

“Ah, how can I tell, Signor Holford? Have I not already told you that I am entirely ignorant of her whereabouts?” And he exhibited his bony palms.

“You have been with your master in Hungary or in Roumania, I hear?”

“Certainly! Why not?” he said, as we stood within the wide hall. “But the Signor Kirk is upstairs in the study. Perhaps you will care to see him? I believe he has been trying to telephone to you at Chiswick.”

I started in eager anticipation.

“Of course, I’ll see Mr Kirk,” I said.

And endeavouring to steady my nerves and control my temper, I mounted the thickly-carpeted stairs to the room I so well remembered.

The point which puzzled me was whether I should now boldly accuse Kirk of duplicity and fraud. If I did, I feared that, to the bogus Professor, he might give the alarm, and that he would again slip through my fingers.

On my way to the study I resolved upon a purely diplomatic course. I would not let Kirk know of my visits to Birmingham and Sheffield, or even that I had noticed the report of the Professor’s announcement.

For a second I held my breath. Then I turned the handle of the door and boldly entered.

“Why, my dear Holford,” cried Kirk, jumping up from the writing-chair and grasping my hand as though delighted at my visit, “I’ve been trying to get on to you at your garage three times this morning, but your people have been engaged. You must be pretty busy down there – eh?”

The thin-faced man was, indeed, a perfect actor.

“I called to see Antonio,” I said. “I heard he had returned.”

“Then it is fortunate – most fortunate,” he said. “I am awaiting the return of someone who is very desirous indeed of making your acquaintance. It was for that reason that I’ve been trying to ring you up.”

My lips parted in an incredulous smile. So the impostor was anxious to meet me – doubly anxious, no doubt, because he was aware that I knew the truth of poor Greer’s death.

Yes, I would meet and unmask him.

Chapter Twenty Eight

“No Trumps.”

In the failing London light, as Kirk rose and stood near the window, his countenance was even more sinister and more mysterious than ever. About his lips played that enigmatical, sarcastic smile which so tantalised and irritated me. Here was a man who had actually deceived the hard-headed Sheffield magnate into a belief that he possessed power and influence, while, in reality, he was only a clever adventurer.

“Sit down, Holford,” he said, in a cheery voice, inviting me to a big leather arm-chair. “The time has come when it is very necessary for you and me to arrive at some clear and definite understanding.”

“Yes,” I cried, “I agree with you. Have I not asked you all along for a clear statement of facts? Have I not urged you to tell me where I can find my wife?”

“You have,” he said, leaning against the big, old-fashioned mahogany table piled with books and scientific periodicals. “But until the present I have been unable to satisfy you. Even now I am still in a great measure in the dark as to the – well, the unfortunate occurrence, shall we call it? – which took place in this house.”

“But you have, I understand, been acting in concert with the man who calls himself Greer?” I remarked. “You’ve been with him abroad!”

“I don’t deny that. Why should I?”

I shrugged my shoulders impatiently. His evasion was always cunning, always well-contrived.

“When you first brought me here,” I said, “it was to obtain my assistance to discover who killed Professor Greer, and – ”

“And you made a promise which you did not keep!” he interrupted. “Hence I have been unable to keep faith with you. Is not that quite feasible?”

“My wife’s disappearance is the point which most concerns me,” I said. “The other matter is, to me, of secondary importance. If you cared to divulge, you could tell me my wife’s whereabouts. I happen to know that she has been in Vienna, staying at the Hôtel Continental, and she has been seen in your company, Mr Kirk.”

“Now that’s really quite smart of you!” he laughed, with a patronising air, his grey face changing slightly, I thought. “I wonder how you came to know that?”

“The source of my information does not matter,” I said sharply. “Suffice it that it is a reliable one.”

“Well,” he laughed, “since that evening when you sat with me in Bedford Park I’ve been compelled to be active, and I’ve discovered quite a number of things which at that time I never dreamed – facts that have amazed me, as they will, before long, amaze you, Holford.”

“Nothing can amaze me in this crooked affair,” I declared. “You sought my aid in an endeavour to discover who killed Professor Greer, yet, having gained my confidence, you at once abused it!” I cried, with bitter reproach.

“That is your present opinion,” he said, with a keen, crafty look.

“An opinion based upon your actions towards me!” I exclaimed hotly.

“My dear Holford,” he said, “now let us speak quite frankly, as man to man.” And he bent towards me in an eager attitude. “I put it to you whether, in the circumstances – not overlooking the fact that Scotland Yard has refused you assistance – to forget what you saw that night upstairs in the laboratory, to place it aside as though you never witnessed it, is not the best plan?”

“Ah, you wish still to hush up the tragedy!” I cried. “The reason is, of course, quite obvious.”

“You misinterpret my words. I wish to avoid bringing scandal upon innocent folk,” Kirk replied quickly. “You once gave me a pledge of secrecy, and you broke it. Will you give me another?”

“And if I gave it,” I asked, not without some hesitation, “would these precious friends of yours give me back my wife?”

“I cannot answer for others. Personally, I will do all I can to assist you,” was his somewhat evasive reply.

“Why do you wish to extract this promise from me?” I demanded dubiously.

“Because – well, because you must give it. You must remain silent, Holford. It is imperative!”

“You really ask too much of me,” I laughed sarcastically. “I know the ghastly truth. You showed it to me of your own accord – you yourself drew me into this dark, mysterious affair, and now you coolly demand my silence, because you are, I suppose, interested in the money realised by the sale of Professor Greer’s secret.”

“Ethelwynn Greer makes the same demand as myself,” he said calmly. “Surely you don’t believe that the girl has participated in any shamefully obtained profits?”

“The girl saw her father dead, and now refuses to admit it,” I responded.

“How do you know that she did?” he asked. “What actual evidence have you upon that point, beyond my word – repeated from the story told to me by Antonio?”

“Ah! so Antonio is changing his tale in order to fit the new order of events – is he?”

“Well,” Kirk said, after a brief pause, “that there is a new order of events – as you put it – I admit. Yet, whatever they may be, your silence, Holford, as well as mine, is imperative. You hear that!” he added, looking straight into my face.