The Red Room

“What about her maid Morgan?”

“She is ignorant of the truth,” he said, with a grim smile. “Well, this evening, it appears, the dead man’s daughter returns in secret, enters with her latch-key the house where her father is lying, removes her hat carefully, and then – ”

“Yes,” I said. “And then? What do you believe occurred?”

He was silent, his deep-set eyes downcast in thought.

“Well, I – I hardly know what to think,” he declared. “It almost seems as though she shared the same fate as her father. That horrible disfiguration is most remarkable.”

“Her entry here in secret and the strange fate that has overtaken her increases the mystery tenfold!” I declared. “Why didn’t she call Antonio?”

“Perhaps that was her intention, but she was prevented,” suggested my friend. And I saw that his glance was fixed upon me curiously, as though he were deliberately gauging my character and intelligence.

“But to me it appears as though her intention might have been to reach the laboratory unobserved,” I said. “She may, indeed, have been up here for aught we know to the contrary.”

“I hardly think so. She was far too horrified at sight of the body of her father, to whom she was so devoted. The scene when she saw him dead was very painful.”

“But might she not have been induced to return by morbid curiosity?” I suggested.

“You’ve already told me that she was beside herself with grief.”

“Well,” he replied, with a sigh and a final glance across to where the dark object was huddled in the opposite corner, “no purpose, I think, can be served by remaining here longer to-night. We must return in the morning. I only brought you here in order that you might fully understand the exact problem now before us. Come along.”

“But I don’t see, Mr Kirk, how it is possible for me to help you. I’m quite a novice in this kind of thing,” I said.

“You are not a detective. If you were, I should not seek your aid,” he snapped, as he led the way to the door and switched off the lights. “I know you think it rather strange that I have not called a doctor and the police, and had a post-mortem, and allowed the newspaper reporters to ‘work up’ a big sensation; but, as I’ve already told you, our success depends upon absolute secrecy. The affair is a startling one to you, no doubt; but if you were aware of what the tragedy really means you would be dumbfounded. Why, the newspapers could make a worldwide sensation of it if only they got at the true facts; but they never will, I assure you – never.”

“Then even I may not know the true facts?” I asked, as I stood with him again in the boudoir.

“As far as the tragedy is concerned, you already know them. They are just as I have told you. But there are other facts – facts concerning myself and also the Professor – which I am not permitted to divulge. They must,” he added, “remain a secret.”

“Well – if you are not perfectly frank with me, Mr Kirk,” I protested, “I cannot see how I can regard you as a sincere friend. This is a serious and complicated problem, in which you require my assistance in an endeavour to seek a solution. How can I form any conclusions or help you if you deliberately hold back from me some of the circumstances?”

“I have held back none,” was his hasty response – “at least, none which have any bearing whatever upon the tragedy. It is of myself and my own connection with Greer that I am speaking. I was the first person called, before there was even a suspicion of anything wrong. The fact is, the dead man trusted me implicitly.”

“And, according to your showing, certain enemies of yours suspected the truth – that your friendship for the Professor was only feigned.”

My companion looked me straight in the face with his narrow-set eyes, and replied:

“My dear Mr Holford, what my enemies say was, I admit, perfectly correct. I have sought to conceal nothing. Greer believed that I was his friend, but I hated him. I had good cause to do so!”

The man’s crafty eyes again met mine, and I saw in them an expression which I had never noticed before. Was it possible that he was the unknown assassin, and was only misleading me by clever and cunning devices?

I recollected that he had told me that the Professor had stolen from him some valuable secret. Well, if he did not fear the crime of retaliation being brought home to him, why did he not go openly and lay the facts before the police? His evasive replies and thin excuses appeared to be utterly ridiculous. In my foolish ignorance I still believed Kershaw Kirk to be an ordinary individual, much like myself. The remarkable truth had not then been revealed to me – as it was later.

We descended to the dining-room, where Antonio and his brother Pietro were still watching beside the couch whereon lay the poor girl who had met with such a strange and inexplicable fate.

Kirk again knelt beside her, and for a long time searched for any wound she might bear. But he found none.

“Remember, Antonio, no person must enter this house under any pretext whatever,” my companion ordered. “You are responsible.”

“No one shall know anything, signore,” replied the man. “Morgan and the maids are all in ignorance – for you, signore, kept it so cleverly from them.”

“A woman never can keep a secret,” Kirk answered sharply, “and if we are to fathom the mystery of your master’s death not a word must leak out. You know what I have told you.”

“I recollect, signore,” the man replied. And, using the Italian oath, he said, “I have promised you, upon the tomb of my sainted mother.”

“Then close this room, and with your brother keep a watchful vigil until to-morrow.”

And we both went out, and were soon running in the car back towards Bedford Park.

Arrived at his house, he insisted that I should enter for a “night-cap,” it being then just past three o’clock. Therefore, reluctantly, I accompanied him within.

In his study a tantalus-stand and glasses were upon the table. He had thrown off his overcoat, and was about to pour me out some whisky, when the telephone bell suddenly rang. He put down the glass, and, walking to the instrument, answered the summons.

“Hulloa? Yes?” he said.

Then, as he listened intently, his face blanched. He spoke some quick words in German, which, unfortunately, I could not follow. They seemed like instructions.

Again he listened, but suddenly whatever he heard so appalled him that the receiver dropped from his thin, nerveless fingers, and with a low, hoarse cry he staggered across to his big grandfather chair, near which I was standing, and sank into it, rigid, staring, open-mouthed.

If ever guilt were written upon a man’s face, it assuredly was written upon that of Kershaw Kirk at that moment.

Chapter Five

Certain Suspicions Strengthened

To Mabel, my wife, I said nothing. In the circumstances, I deemed silence golden.

Kirk’s attitude at the telephone had filled me with suspicion.

During the hours I spent in bed before the dawn I lay thinking. The problem was utterly inexplicable, the more so now that the dead man’s daughter was also dead.

I was convinced, as I lay there in the darkness, that there was something very suspicious in the fact that Kirk, who seemed to rule the household, would not allow the police to have any knowledge of what had occurred. Indeed, my own position was somewhat unenviable, for, being aware that a murder had been committed, was I not legally bound to give information? Was I not liable to prosecution if I failed to do so?

The mystery surrounding Kershaw Kirk had increased rather than diminished in that final quarter of an hour I had spent with him as he had sat staring straight into the fire, uttering scarce a word.

What had been told him over the telephone had caused an entire change in his manner. Previously he had been dictatorial and defiant. He was now cringing, crushed, terror-stricken.

The grim scenes I had witnessed surged through my brain. The mystery of it all had gripped my senses. Carefully I analysed each event, trying to discern some light as to its cause and motive. But I was not a professional detective. This was the first time I had found myself mixed up in a crime by which human life had been lost.

That the death of Professor Greer was no ordinary crime of violence I had quickly recognised. There was some subtle motive both in the crime itself and in the supposed presence of the Professor in Edinburgh, whereas in reality he was already lying dead in his own laboratory.

Those instructions to his daughter, which seemed to have been written after his departure from King’s Cross, also formed an enigma in themselves. The dead man had actually sought the assistance of his worst enemy!

Yet, when I weighed the circumstances as a whole calmly and coolly, I saw that if the unknown person to whom the Professor had signalled on that fateful night could be found a very great point would be gained towards the solution of the problem.

The pulling up and down of the drawing-room blind was, no doubt, in order to inform some person waiting without of his journey north. Was that person who received the signal afterwards the assassin?

Yet the fact that the crime was committed behind locked doors, that both the victim and the assassin had to pass within a few feet of where Miss Ethelwynn was seated, and that into the unfortunate Professor’s face some terribly corrosive fluid had been dashed, formed a problem which held me mystified.

There was something uncanny in the whole inexplicable affair. I now realised for the first time how complete was the mystery of the Professor’s death, even apart from the other facts of his signals and his journey north.

Kirk, this dealer in secrets, admittedly posed as a friend of the family. Greer trusted him. To him Ethelwynn had fled for assistance at the first suspicion of anything being wrong. Therefore would it not have been easier for him than for anyone else to enter the house in secret and kill the man who had stolen from him that mysterious secret?

Yet, try how I would, I was unable to rid myself of the grave conviction that my new acquaintance was cognisant of more than he had told me. He was naturally a reserved man, it was true; yet there was an air of cosmopolitanism about him which spoke mutely of the adventurer.

His refusal to allow a doctor to see the Professor’s daughter was nothing short of culpable. Had Antonio, that sly, crafty Italian, to whom I had taken such instinctive dislike, summoned a doctor at once, it was quite possible that the poor girl’s life might have been saved.

But why had she returned to the house in a manner so secret? Why had she crept into the dining-room and removed her hat? It would almost seem as though she had returned for good, for if she had intended to go back to her aunt’s she would not have taken off her hat and laid it aside.

And why had she done so in the dining-room, of all places? Why had she not ascended to her own room? And why, most of all, had she not summoned Antonio?

Was it because of fear of him?

Kirk and Antonio were friends. That I had detected from the very first. The Italian was polite, urbane, servile, yet I saw that the bow was only a shallow make-believe. Alone together, the pair would, no doubt, stand upon an equal footing.

The reason she had returned home was mysterious enough, yet the greater problem was the reason why she also had been struck down and the same corrosive liquid flung into her fair countenance.

I could not think that Kirk was responsible for this second assassination, for, unless Antonio had lied, it had been committed at the very hour when I had been seated with my mysterious neighbour only a few doors away from my own house.

So, as you may readily imagine, I was still sorely troubled when at last the maid brought me my hot water and I rose to dress.

I quite saw now that the reason why Kirk had called to inspect the new Eckhardt tyre was merely in order to make my acquaintance. Yet it was certainly curious that he should have predicted the visits of the two other men for the same purpose. After breakfast I went, as usual, to the garage, but my mind was still full of the events of the previous night.

Kirk had arranged to call for me at eleven and return to Sussex Place, where he intended to search for any finger-marks left by the assassin. Eleven o’clock struck, but he did not arrive. In patience I waited until one, and then returned home to luncheon, as was my habit.

His non-arrival confirmed my suspicions. What, I wondered, could have been the purport of that mysterious message in German that he had listened to on the telephone just before we had parted?

At two o’clock I called at his house and rang the door-bell. There was no response. Both Kirk and his sister were out.

So I returned to the garage, and with Dick Drake, my stout, round-faced, dare-devil driver, who held two records at Brooklands, and was everlastingly being fined for exceeding the speed limit, I worked hard upon the refractory engine of a car which had been sent to me for repair.

All day it was misty, but towards evening the fog increased, until it became thick even in Chiswick, therefore I knew that it must be a regular “London particular” in the West End. One driver, indeed, who had come in from Romford, said he had taken four hours to cross London. Hence I resolved to possess my soul in patience and spend a quiet evening at home with my wife and her young sister, who lived with us.

Curiously enough, however, I found myself, towards six o’clock, again seized by a sudden and uncontrollable desire to return to Sussex Place in search of my mysterious neighbour. I felt within me a keen, irrepressible anxiety to fathom the curious problem which that shabby man, who declared himself immune from trial in a criminal court, had placed before me. Who could he be, that, like the King himself, he could not be brought before a judge?

At times I found myself laughing at his absurd statements, and regarding them as those of a lunatic; but at others I was bound to admit that his seriousness showed him to be in deadly earnest.

Well, to cut a long story short, at eight o’clock I took Dick Drake and managed to creep over in the fog to Regent’s Park on one of the small cars.

The door was opened, as before, by Antonio, who perceptibly started when he recognised me.

Yes, Mr Kirk was there, he admitted, and a few seconds later he came to me in the hall.

He was a changed man. His face was thinner, sallower, more haggard, and the lines about his mouth deeper and more marked; yet he greeted me affably, with many apologies for not keeping his appointment.

“I was here, very busy,” he explained. “I rang you up twice on the ’phone, but each time you were engaged.”

“Well,” I asked, going straight to the point, “what have you discovered?”

“Very little,” he said. “I’ve searched all day for finger-prints, but up to the present have found none, save those of Antonio, Ethelwynn, and members of the household.”

“You do not suspect any of the servants?” I whispered, full of suspicion of the crafty-looking Italian.

“Of course not, my dear sir. What motive could they have in killing such an excellent, easygoing master as the Professor?”

“Revenge for some fancied grievance,” I suggested.

But he only laughed my theory to scorn.

I followed him upstairs, through the red boudoir to the laboratory, to which the fog had penetrated, and there watched him making his test for recent finger-prints. His examination was both careful and methodical. He drew a pair of old grey suède gloves over his hands, and, taking up one after another of the bottles and glass apparatus, he lightly coated them with some finely powdered chalk of a grey-green colour, afterwards dusting it off.

On one or two of the bottles prints of fingers were revealed, and each of these he very carefully examined beneath the light, rejecting them one after the other.

To me, unacquainted as I was with the various lines of the finger-tips, all looked alike. But this shabby, mysterious neighbour of mine apparently read them with the utmost ease, as he would a book.

In its corner, in the same position in which we had left it on the previous night, lay the hideous body of the Professor, crouching just as he had expired. But Kershaw Kirk worked on, heedless of its presence.

I remarked to him that he was a careful and painstaking detective, whereupon he straightened his back, and, looking me in the face, said:

“Please don’t run away with the idea that I’m a detective, Mr Holford. I am not. I have no connection whatever with the police, whom, I may tell you, I hold in contempt. There’s far too much red-tape at Scotland Yard, which binds the men hand and foot and prevents them doing any real good work. Look at the serious crimes committed in London during the past three years to the perpetrators of which the police have no clue! The whole police system in London is wrong. There’s too much observation upon the speed of motor-cars and too little latitude allowed the police for inquiry into criminal cases.”

“Then you are not a police officer?” I asked, for within the last few hours I had become suspicious that such was the fact.

“No, I am not. The reason I am inquiring into the death of Professor Greer is because, for the sake of my own reputation, and in order to clear myself of any stigma upon me, I must ascertain the truth.”

“And only for that reason?” I queried.

He hesitated.

“Well – and for another – another which must remain a confidential matter with myself,” he replied at length. “The Professor was in possession of a certain secret, and my belief is that this secret was stolen from him and his mouth afterwards closed by the thief.”

“Why?”

“Because, had the unfortunate man spoken, certain complications, very serious complications, involving huge losses, would have accrued. So there was only one way – to kill poor Greer! But the manner in which this was accomplished is still an absolute enigma.”

“Has it not struck you that the telegram sent from Edinburgh may have been despatched by the assassin?” I asked.

But he was uncertain. He had as yet, he said, formed no theory as to that portion of the problem.

“Where is the unfortunate girl?” I asked, for I had noticed that she was not in the dining-room.

He looked at me quickly, with a strange expression in his peculiar eyes.

“She’s still here, of course,” he declared. “That second phase of the mystery is as complicated as the first – perhaps even more so. Come with me a moment.”

I followed him through the boudoir and into the study, where, opening a long cupboard in the wall, a small iron safe was revealed, the door of which opened at his touch.

“Here,” he explained, “the Professor kept the valuable notes upon the results of his experiments. The safe was closed when I first called, but this morning I found it open, and the contents gone!”

“Then the person who killed Professor Greer was not the thief!” I remarked.

“Unless he returned here afterwards,” was Kirk’s reply, with his eyes fixed upon mine.

Then he glanced at his watch, and without a word turned upon his heel and passed out of the room.

Chapter Six

A Further Mystery

I stood awaiting his return for a few moments, and then followed him out upon the landing, where my feet fell noiselessly upon the thick Turkey carpet. Almost opposite, across the open staircase, I could see into the large drawing-room, and there, to my amazement, I saw Kirk raising and lowering one of the blinds.

He was making the same signal to someone outside in the park as that made by the Professor before his death!

I slipped back to the study, much puzzled, but in a few moments he returned, smiling and affable.

What signal had he made – and to whom? It was foggy outside, therefore the watcher must have been in the close vicinity.

Antonio appeared at the door, whereupon Kirk gave the manservant certain instructions regarding the payment and discharge of the servants. Apparently one of them had returned and asked for her wages in lieu of notice.

“Be liberal with them,” urged my companion. “We don’t want any grumbling. There is no suspicion as yet, and liberality will disarm it.”

“Very well, signore,” replied the man, “I will pay them all and get rid of them as soon as possible.”

“Yes, at once,” Kirk snapped, and the man went down the stairs.

“Well,” I asked, after he was out of hearing, “what do you intend doing now?”

“I never set out any line of action. In such a case as this any such method is folly,” he replied.

“But at least you will do something with the bodies of the victims? They must be buried,” I exclaimed, for the gruesomeness of it all was now preying upon me. This was the first time that I had ever been implicated in a murder mystery —and such a mystery!

“The disposal of the bodies is my own affair, Mr Holford,” he said quietly. “Leave that to me. As far as the world knows, Professor Greer and his daughter are away visiting.”

“But Lady Mellor! Is she not anxious regarding her niece’s whereabouts?”

“Lady Mellor is on the Riviera. Her house in Upper Brook Street is in charge of servants, therefore she is unaware that anything extraordinary has transpired.”

“Your only confidant is Antonio?”

“And your own self,” he added. “But have I not already impressed upon you, my dear friend, the absolute necessity of secrecy in this affair?”

“You have given me no actual reason,” I demurred.

“Because certain circumstances bind me to secrecy,” was his reply. “From what I have already told you I dare say you have gathered that I am no ordinary individual. I am vested by a high authority with a power which other men do not possess, and in this case I am compelled to exercise it.”

He saw the look of disbelief upon my countenance.

“Ah,” he laughed, “I see you doubt me! Well, I am not surprised; I should do so were I in your place. But, believe me or not, Mr Holford, you will lose nothing, by assisting me in this affair and performing a secret service for the high authority who must be nameless, but whose trusted agent I am – even though the onus of this strange tragedy may be cast upon me.”

“The whole affair is a mystery,” I remarked – “an inscrutable mystery.”

“Yes,” he sighed, “one that has been rendered a hundredfold more inscrutable by a discovery made to-day – the discovery which prevented me calling upon you at eleven o’clock. But remain patient, trust in me, assist me when I desire assistance, and it will, I promise, be well worth your while.”

For a moment I was silent. Then, a trifle annoyed, I answered:

“My legitimate profession of motor engineer pays me quite well, and I think I prefer, with your permission, to retire from this affair altogether.”

“What!” he exclaimed. “After giving me your promise – your word as a gentleman! Can’t you see, my friend, that you can assist in furthering the ends of justice – in fastening the guilt upon the assassin?”

“That, I maintain, should be left to the police.”

“Bah! The police in this case would be powerless. The problem is for us, you and I, to solve, and by the exercise of patience and watchfulness we shall, I hope, be able to elucidate the mystery.

“The inquiries may carry us far afield; I have a keen presentiment that they will. Therefore if I am suddenly absent do not trouble on my account. My silence will mean that I am watchful and active. When I am abroad I make a point of receiving no letters, therefore do not write. I always communicate with my friends through the advertisement columns of the Times. To you I shall be ‘Silence.’

“Take the paper daily and watch for any message I may send you. You have a car outside, I suppose? I wonder whether you would take me to Tottenham Court Road?” he asked.

Thereupon we went below, and after a whispered conversation with Antonio, who was waiting in one of the back rooms, he mounted into the car, and Dick drove us very slowly through the fog half-way down Tottenham Court Road, where Kirk alighted.

“Shall I wait for you?” I asked.

“No,” he replied; “I really don’t know how long I shall be. Besides, I shall not return to Bedford Park to-night. It’s very kind of you, but I won’t trouble you further. Good night, Mr Holford! Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow. If not, then recollect to keep an eye upon the Times for a message from ‘Silence.’”