Later on I learned further particulars from Dorcas.
When the body was exhumed by the Home Secretary's order, poor old Mrs. Edwards recognised her daughter by certain birth-marks. There was no doubt that Dorcas's theory was correct, and that the scoundrel had murdered his wife's double in order to obtain his wife's insurance money.
John Coombes made good his escape. It is probable that, getting abroad, he was there joined by his wife, who may still be in ignorance of her husband's motive in disappearing for a time and travelling about under a false name. Or she may have been a party to the crime.
Dorcas was congratulated by the chiefs of Scotland Yard on the marvellous skill with which she had elucidated a mystery which at one time looked like baffling even her exceptional abilities.
It would probably have been a mystery still but for the fortunate discovery of that Piece of Brown Paper with the torn label of Messrs. Shoolbred and Co. upon it, in which Mrs. Coombes had wrapped up her boots.
I was busy writing in my study one evening about ten o'clock when there came a loud ring at the bell.
I am suspicious of loud rings after the last postal delivery. They generally mean a long colloquy at the front door between my servant and the bell-ringer, and as long as that colloquy lasts I am nervous and excited. I live in a constant terror of being interrupted in my evening's work. I set the night apart for the exercise of the vocation by which I earn my daily bread, and any interruption is fatal.
In times gone by I occasionally yielded to urgent messages and plausible tales, and gave the caller the five minutes demanded, but I invariably found that I had been victimised by a bore with an axe to grind, or a professional beggar who hoped that I should part with a sovereign or some loose silver in order to get rid of the interruption.
Only those who have had actual experience of the dodges by which unwelcome visitors obtain access to a busy man whose name may happen to be before the public will understand the terror with which an author who is working against time hears a ring at his front door bell at ten o'clock at night. I have known men who have suffered such systematic persecution in this direction that they have, in sheer nervous terror, left London and buried themselves in out-of-the-way places, and even then they have not secured the privacy which was their heart's desire.
"But that," as Rudyard Kipling has it, "is another story." On the present occasion I had just made up my mind to walk out into the hall and tell the intruder in strong language to go away, and never to touch my bell again at that hour of the night, if he valued his life, when my servant entered.
"I'm very sorry, sir," she said, "but it is an old gentleman, and he says he must see you; and he seems very upset, sir, and I thought I'd better bring his card."
I snatched the extended card with an angry exclamation and looked at it. Then, with a sigh of resignation, I pushed my work away from me and said, "Show the gentleman in."
The name on the card was "Sir Joshua Broome," and Sir Joshua Broome was a City magnate, a gentleman who had on more than one occasion done me friendly service, and I could hardly drive him from my door on the plea that I was engaged now that my servant had admitted that I was at home.
Directly Sir Joshua entered my study I saw that he was prey to the most violent agitation. He apologised in a trembling voice for his intrusion at that hour—he knew that my evenings were sacred to my work—but the matter on which he had come to see me was of the most vital importance to himself.
He had heard me speak of my friend Dorcas Dene, the lady detective. Would I give him her address?
I wondered what on earth Sir Joshua Broome could want with a private detective, but I wrote down the number in Oak Tree Road and handed it to him.
He thanked me, and rose to go. I saw at once that he was ill, and having a great liking for the fine old fellow, I offered to accompany him to Oak Tree Road and introduce him to Dorcas personally.
He was evidently relieved by my offer. "It would be a great kindness to me if you would," he said, "but I mustn't take you from your writing!"
"I shan't do any more to-night," I said, and I spoke the truth. The thread was broken, and I might as well go and see Dorcas as sit staring at the ceiling till midnight in the vain hope of recapturing my lost ideas.
Seeing that he was really eager for me to accompany him, I put on my hat, lit a cigar, and went out into the street with him.
Sir Joshua's brougham was at the door.
I gave the coachman the address, and in ten minutes we were ringing the bell of the garden gate in Oak Tree Road. My companion was still agitated. When we got out of the carriage he leant on my arm for support.
He had only spoken once during the journey.
When I said to him, "I trust it is not serious, Sir Joshua?" he replied, "I don't know what to think, but if you care to hear my story stay while I tell it to Mrs. Dene—I owe you every confidence after your goodness in bringing me to her."
"Now, Sir Joshua," said Dorcas, as soon as I had made the introduction and explained that my friend was not only willing but anxious that I should assist at the conference, "let me understand in what way you think I can be of service to you."
"I will explain as briefly as I can," replied Sir Joshua. "You are possibly acquainted with my history, because it has lately been in the papers, and I am, I suppose, a well-known public man. Commencing in a very small way of business, I became in time a leading City merchant, and I have lately received the honour of knighthood in connection with the services I have been able to render my political party.
"At the last Drawing Room my wife, Lady Broome, was presented to her Majesty. That is a week ago. This evening, on returning from the City to my home at Wimbledon, I found a number of letters awaiting me. Among them was this."
He drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to Dorcas.
"Read that," he said, "and you will understand why I have ventured to intrude upon you at such an hour as this."
Dorcas opened the letter and read it out aloud. It was written in a disguised female hand:
"Sir Joshua Broome,—I see your wife's name on the list of ladies presented to the Queen.
"It will be a nice disgrace to you and her and all your family when you see in the Court Circular that the presentation of Lady Broome has been cancelled by the Queen's command.
"Well, that is what will happen if my information gets to the Lord Chamberlain's ears. I know something about Lady B. before you married her.
"The Queen does not have people of her sort presented at Court. Lady B., before you married her, had been in prison, and I can prove it.
"But I'll hold my tongue for a thousand pounds. If you'll pay that for the sake of your reputation in the City and your wife's in society, put a line in the agony column of the Daily Telegraph—'To One Who Knows.—Agree terms.'—and I'll arrange where the bank-notes are to be sent.
"But don't try Scotland Yard or anything of that sort, because if I am arrested I'll speak what I know, and it will be in every newspaper in England.
"This is genuine, and had better be attended to quickly.—Yours, ONE WHO KNOWS."
"It is an infamous attempt to blackmail!" exclaimed Sir Joshua, as Dorcas finished the letter. "There is not a word of truth in it. But it is a terrible thing to have said even in an anonymous letter. I want you to take the matter up, Mrs. Dene, and try and find out who the scoundrel is."
"Yes," said Dorcas, looking keenly at the knight, "I can quite understand that you are anxious to know; but, as there is not a word of truth in it, why not put it in the hands of the police?"
"But my wife's name—the allegation is so serious—the scandal would be so terrible!"
"What scandal?" said Dorcas, quietly. "You say that the story is an infamous fabrication—that there is absolutely no truth in it. Neither you nor Lady Broome can be injured by attempting to bring the author of such a letter as this to justice."
"I don't see it that way. It's horrible—I wouldn't have such a thing as this get about for worlds. The police would go to the Lord Chamberlain with it."
"Well?"
"And he would have to take some notice of it."
"If there is no word of truth in it, you and your wife would have only his sincere sympathy."
"I can't do it!" exclaimed Sir Joshua, rising and pacing the room. "I come to you to conduct the investigation for me privately. I want to know who wrote the letter—that, it seems to me, is the first thing to be done. Will you undertake the task of finding the writer?"
"Certainly—if you wish it—that is my business. But I must be placed in possession of the facts. Nothing must be kept back from me. If the allegation were true it would be comparatively easy to trace the author of it. We should then be able to work among those who were likely to know. As you say it is false, the field is very largely extended. Anyone can trump up a charge that is false—only those who know the facts can put forward a charge that is true."
"You must take it from me that this thing is a lie," exclaimed the knight somewhat testily. "I will answer for my wife's good name with my life."
"Very well," said Dorcas. "Then what I have to find is either someone who believes that you are weak enough to part with £1,000 in order to prevent a lying communication, which you can easily disprove, being sent to the Lord Chamberlain, or someone who has a grudge against your wife, and thinks that this letter will cause you to be suspicious of her.
"Now you must excuse me asking you certain questions, but it is important I should have facts to go upon.
"Who was Lady Broome when you married her?—who were her people, and how long had you known her before you made her your wife?"
Sir Joshua did not tell his story well—he was too excited to be concise. But briefly the facts as he gave them to Dorcas Dene were these.
Some ten years previously, being a widower with two sons and a young daughter, he engaged a governess for his little girl, who was then fourteen.
The governess came to him with excellent references. She had no relatives, and apparently no friends, for she had no correspondence. She was a Miss Grey. Her Christian name was Margaret. She was a very handsome girl, and Mr. Broome—he was not Sir Joshua then—fell in love with her. After she had been in his service six months he proposed to her.
She asked time to consider his proposal and went away. A few days later he received a letter from her declining his offer, and saying that under the circumstances of course she could not return to his house. She had obtained a situation elsewhere. She presumed that he would give her a reference to a lady.
The lady eventually wrote to him, and he replied that she was everything that she could wish—he could do no less, and he was only speaking the truth. Miss Grey had won the regard of everyone in the house.
For two years after that he neither saw nor heard of Margaret Grey. Then one day he accidentally met her in Kensington Gardens. She was out of a situation and living in lodgings. He proposed to her again and this time was accepted.
Two months later the marriage took place, and he had never had the slightest reason to regret it.
His children were devoted to her and she to them, and she was greatly admired wherever she went. There was not a more graceful or more beautiful woman at the Drawing Room, and he had every reason to be proud of her.
"I have no doubt of it," said Dorcas, "but you must excuse me for saying that all this is no proof that your wife has not at some point in her career been in one of her Majesty's prisons. Have you shown her this letter?"
"Yes."
"What does she say?"
"She is naturally terribly upset at such a monstrous charge—she is quite prostrated by it."
"And of course she indignantly denies it?"
"Of course. Good heavens, madam! you don't suppose that I have really married an ex-convict and presented her to the Queen! I tell you this is a vile conspiracy to frighten me out of £1,000."
"Yes, of course that is so under any circumstances," said Dorcas. "Now, if you please, you must furnish me with the date of Miss Grey's first coming to you, the names and addresses of the people to whom she referred you, and the date of your marriage to her."
"I can do that from memory. Miss Grey came to me in the spring of '87, and left me in the autumn. We met again early in '90, and were married in the spring of that year."
"And the references?"
"She came to me in answer to an advertisement I inserted in the Times. She referred me to the family with whom she had been living, an American gentleman, a Mr. Garrod and his wife, who were returning to America with the two children to whom Miss Grey had been governess. That was why she was leaving."
"Where did you see Mrs. Garrod?"
"It was Mr. Garrod I saw. He was staying at the Langham Hotel."
"Where had Miss Grey been governess to the Garrods?"
"They had been travelling about England. For some months previous to Margaret leaving them she and the children had been with Mr. Garrod on the Continent; Mrs. Garrod, who was Mr. Garrod's second wife, and not the mother of the children, had returned to America on account of a relative's illness."
"And when Miss Grey met you again two years after she had left your employment, did she tell you where she had been living?"
"With the lady who had referred to me. She lived with her as governess to her daughters until the lady, owing to a reverse of fortune, was compelled to dispense with her services. But if these particulars are absolutely necessary to enable you to trace the writer of this letter I will obtain every information of my wife—she can, of course, give them more accurately than I can."
"Naturally," said Dorcas, rising. "And now, Sir Joshua, if you will allow me, I will come to Wimbledon to-morrow morning, and see Lady Broome myself. It is quite possible she may be able to tell me something which will give me a clue. Good night."
"Good night," said Sir Joshua, rising. "I presume you will take this matter up and go into it thoroughly. I wish no expense spared."
"You may rely upon me," said Dorcas. "If Lady Broome will assist me I have no doubt we shall run the writer to earth in a very short time.
"But the first thing I shall do on your behalf will be to advertise in the Daily Telegraph: 'One who Knows.—Will agree terms if date and particulars sent.' We shall then at least be in communication with the writer."
Sir Joshua bowed, and Dorcas and I accompanied him to the door, and stood watching while the lights of his carriage disappeared as the brougham turned into the St. John's Wood Road.
"What do you think of it?" I said when we had returned to the drawing-room where Paul, who had heard the visitor depart, had already preceded us. "Do you think poor old Sir Joshua has really made a terrible mistake in presenting his wife?"
"I'll tell you after I've seen Lady Broome," said Dorcas. "To-day is Tuesday—come in on Thursday evening. Make it late—say eleven o'clock. I shall probably know a good deal more about the case by that time."
At eleven o'clock on Thursday evening when I arrived at Oak Tree Road Dorcas was out, but Paul informed me she had sent a wire to say she should be at home at midnight.
It was a quarter-past twelve when she came, and she was evidently tired with a long day's work.
"Well," I said, as we gathered round the supper table—late supper was a feature of the Dene ménage, and one necessitated by the exigencies of Dorcas's profession—"what news of the Broome case? Did you see Lady Broome?"
"Yes, I saw her the following morning, and found her all that her husband had described her—handsome, graceful, and charming. But of course I saw her at a great disadvantage. This anonymous threat was preying on her mind."
"Did she give you the particulars you wanted?"
"To a certain extent, but the writer of the letter has given them more fully.
"My advertisement appeared in the Daily Telegraph this morning. At twelve o'clock Sir Joshua received this telegram, handed in at the Central Office."
I took the telegram from Dorcas and read it.
"Old Bailey, November Sessions, 1886. Six months' imprisonment. See case. Send notes—Thomson, c/o Winter, 17, Wellborough Street, Borough, or must communicate Chamberlain."
"Good gracious!" I said, as I returned the telegram to Dorcas, "that's definite enough, and the sender evidently doesn't fear arrest, as he gives address."
"Yes, the charge is definite enough, and I've referred to the Old Bailey records.
"Margaret Grey, governess, aged twenty-five, was sentenced to six months' imprisonment for stealing some rings from a jeweller's tray while examining goods.
"The jeweller's suspicions being aroused by the hasty manner in which she turned to leave the shop after saying that the articles were too dear, he stopped her, and two valuable rings were found in the palm of her glove. At the police-station she at first refused to give her name, but ultimately admitted that it was Margaret Grey, and that she was a governess.
"She desired that her employer might be telegraphed for.
"Her employer, a Mr. John Garrod, attended at the police-court and said Miss Grey had been in his employ for some time and bore a most estimable character. He felt convinced she had no dishonest intention; at the most it was a case of kleptomania. He expressed his willingness if she were discharged to take her back immediately into his employ, but the magistrate committed her for trial.
"At the Central Criminal Court the judge, taking everything into consideration, sentenced Margaret Grey to six months' imprisonment."
"Garrod!" I exclaimed. "Why, that was the name of the gentleman Sir Joshua saw at the Langham Hotel—it was he who gave Miss Grey her reference."
"Exactly," replied Dorcas, "and the date—the spring of 1887—would tally with the date at which Margaret Grey would be liberated."
"But what does Lady Broome say to this?"
"She can say nothing. The excitement and worry of the last two days have had such an effect upon her that she has been taken seriously ill. The doctor fears brain fever unless she is kept absolutely quiet. She is at present in bed, and nothing must be said to her on the subject."
"And what does Sir Joshua propose to do?"
"He is beside himself with terror and grief, and has placed himself absolutely in my hands, to do whatever I think best."
"And what have you done?"
"I have been first of all to No. 17, Wellborough Street. It is a small tobacconist's shop, kept by a man named Winter and his wife.
"From what I can gather the tobacco business is a blind, and Winter is a betting man. I suspect he is really something a good deal less respectable than that.
"The plans of the blackmailer are well laid, and I can see exactly how it will work if the money is sent there in an envelope addressed to Thomson.
"If the police should be watching they will see plenty of people pass in and out, and they won't be able to discover which of them is the customer for the letter.
"If they tell Winter they are police—which would be unlikely and foolish—he will say he knows nothing of the matter; he often has letters and parcels left there for customers, and he doesn't know who Thomson is.
"If there is any delay in asking, then he will say that the letter came and Thomson called and took it away, and he will describe Thomson as someone exactly opposite to the real Thomson in appearance.
"But my own idea is that neither Thomson nor Winter are afraid of the police, and are convinced that Sir Joshua will be frightened into paying blackmail.
"This charge against his wife, under the peculiar circumstances, is not one which a wealthy and well-known man would care to give to the scandal-loving public, who are always ready to say, 'Ah, you may depend there's something in it!' His wife's beauty and her diamonds made a sensation at the Drawing Room, and Sir Joshua would hardly care to make her the heroine of a blackmailing case, and to inform everybody that his second wife, the beautiful Lady Broome, was his children's governess."
"Your arguments, my dear Dorcas, would be excellent supposing the charge were untrue, but you have the strongest possible evidence that the blackmailers have facts on their side. Margaret Grey was imprisoned for theft, and the employer of Margaret Grey, who spoke for her in court, was Mr. John Garrod, who six months later gave her a reference to Sir Joshua Broome, and stated that he was her last employer. What can possibly be urged against such evidence as that?"
"One thing, and one thing only," said Dorcas, as she handed Toddlekins, the bulldog, the Spratt's biscuit which he always looked for at supper-time.
"And that is?"
"This—that the governess recommended to Sir Joshua Broome by Mr. John Garrod called herself Margaret Grey.
"If she was the Margaret Grey who was tried and sentenced at the Old Bailey, it was an exceedingly foolish thing for her to start on a new career in the old name.
"If Mr. John Garrod was willing to conceal the imprisonment from Sir Joshua, he would certainly have been willing to consent to the young lady assuming an alias.
"Why didn't she ask him to?"
A week had gone by since Dorcas had informed me of Lady Broome's serious illness, and the only communication I had received with regard to the terrible charge contained in the anonymous letter was a little note from Dorcas herself, telling me that I had better not come until I heard from her again, as the case would probably keep her from home for some days.
On the morning of the eighth day, while I was smoking my after-breakfast pipe and skimming the Daily Telegraph, there was a sharp ring at the bell and presently my servant entered with a telegram.
The telegram was as follows:
"Meet me, Charing Cross. First-class waiting room. Noon. You can help me. Dorcas."
I was at Charing Cross Station at quarter to twelve. Punctually on the stroke of noon, Dorcas entered the waiting-room.
"I'm so glad you've come," she said. "You can help me in the Broome case."
"I shall be delighted. I have been expecting to hear something about it from you every day."
"There has been nothing really satisfactory to report," exclaimed Dorcas, "but I think we shall get on the right track to-day. I have been rather hindered by the illness of Lady Broome."
"How is she?—not worse, I hope."
"No, she is better. Her husband has been able to convince her that he has the most absolute faith in her innocence, and he has told a little white story which under the circumstances is pardonable. He has assured her that the blackmailers, finding no money has been sent, are reducing their terms, which is practically a confession that they dare not put their threat into execution."
"But what has really happened? Have they shifted their ground?"
"Not an inch. This morning, Sir Joshua received a letter informing him that 'One Who Knows' would give him only one more day's grace. Unless the money was sent to the address given by ten o'clock this evening the particulars of Lady Broome's trial and conviction would be sent to the Lord Chamberlain's office without fail."
"And have you discovered who the person is who 'knows,' and who is willing to have a thousand pounds in bank-notes entrusted to this man Winter?"
"Yes, I have been keeping observation on No. 17, Wellborough Street, and my assistant, the sergeant, has been helping me. I don't think there is the slightest doubt that the writer of the letter is Winter's wife—or at least the woman who passes as Mrs. Winter. She is a good-looking woman of about two or three and thirty, well educated, and in every way I should say the man's superior. But she is a heavy drinker. The people in the neighbourhood through whom inquiries have been made for me say that Mrs. Winter, when sober, is a well-mannered, lady-like person. She speaks like a woman of education, but with a slight American accent."
"That doesn't tell you much about her."
"Is there nothing that strikes you as peculiar in the description I have given?" said Dorcas quietly.
"No," I replied, "except that it is peculiar that a lady-like woman of education should be living with a man who, if your suspicions are correct, must be a very disreputable person."
"That has no bearing on the case," replied Dorcas. "What I think is peculiar is that she has a slight American accent."
"Why should that be peculiar in connection with this case?"
"The reason that I think so is this. Mr. John Garrod, who gave evidence in favour of Margaret Grey, and at the expiration of Margaret Grey's sentence, recommended a Margaret Grey to Sir Joshua Broome, was an American."
"Yes, of course—that is so. But there are thousands of American women in London."
"Yes—but there is still a coincidence which may be the first finger-post on the high road to the Truth. If my suspicion that this woman is the writer of the letter is correct—and I can't conceive anybody else allowing a thousand pounds to be entrusted to Winter—then we have these two facts to consider side by side. The only person who appeared to know anything about Margaret Grey in court was an American. The person who is now using the knowledge of the trial of Margaret Grey for the purpose of blackmailing Margaret Grey's husband speaks with an American accent."
"But one was a man and the other is a woman."
"Exactly," said Dorcas, "and so my next step must be to see if the man knows the woman."
"You have found Mr. Garrod?"
"Yes—late last night—that is why I telegraphed to you this morning. I cabled to New York a week ago for information. Yesterday my correspondent cabled that a John Garrod, a well-known citizen of New York, had left for London a month previously. Last night I succeeded, through the kindness of the New York Herald's London agency, in tracing Mr. John Garrod to the Hotel Métropole. We are going to call on him now."
"But how do you know that it is the same John Garrod?"
"I gave my correspondent a full description of the gentleman I wanted from the information Sir Joshua furnished me with. You forget, Sir Joshua saw him at the Langham Hotel."
We had been talking as we walked and I had been too interested in the conversation to notice which way we were going. It was therefore with something like a start that I heard Dorcas exclaim, "Here we are at the Métropole. Now for Mr. John Garrod."
"But will he see us?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," said Dorcas, "I think so. I made an appointment last night with an introduction from the London correspondent of the Herald, who is a friend of mine."
"Does he know you are a private detective?"
"No, he only knows that my name is Mrs. Dene, and that I am calling upon him with an introduction from the Herald. That is a pass-word with all good Americans."
"And why have you brought me?"
"Because I want a witness to our conversation. When you are cross-examining anyone the presence of a third party is invaluable. It is the presence of an audience that worries a witness in a cross-examination in a court of law. If the witness and the counsel were fighting their duel alone in a room, half the counsel's advantage would be gone."
Dorcas went to the Inquiry Office and sent up her name to Mr. Garrod, and in a few minutes the page returned with a request that we would follow him.
We were shown into a sitting-room on the second floor, and found Mr. John Garrod, a tall, grey-haired, military-looking American of the best type.
He received us courteously, but I thought somewhat suspiciously, and at once asked Dorcas to what he was indebted for the pleasure of the interview.
"I will tell you in a few words, Mr. Garrod," said Dorcas, shifting her chair a little, so that her back was to the window, the light from which fell full on the American's face.
"This gentleman, Mr. Saxon, and myself are interested in a will, of which Mr. Saxon is one of the executors. Among those to whom money is left is a Miss Margaret Grey, formerly a governess in your employ."
Mr. Garrod's face flushed at the mention of the name of Margaret Grey, and then became deathly pale.
"I—I certainly at one time had a person of that name in my house," he said, after a pause. "But it is a good many years since we parted. Why do you come to me about her?"
"Because she is described in the will as residing with you."
"And how did you know that I was in London?"
"The New York Herald people, to whom I went to inquire if you were known in America, kindly informed me that you were here. I came to you with their introduction."
"Yes, I remember—of course. Well, I am sorry that I am unable to give you any information as to my former governess's present whereabouts."
He rose to emphasise the fact that the interview was at an end, but Dorcas was by no means anxious to terminate it.
"I am sorry," she said, "because our inquiries in other quarters led us to believe that you would know something. After her release from prison she returned to you."
The American stared at Dorcas open-mouthed for a moment, and then in a trembling voice he exclaimed, "You know that! You know that she was convicted!"
"Yes, we found that out. We got the details of the case from the Central Criminal Court's Sessions Reports, which are published regularly in book form. I suppose there was no doubt of the poor girl's guilt?"
Mr. Garrod hesitated. "I—I don't wish to say anything. I did my best to procure her acquittal."
"Oh, yes, you behaved most generously. And after her release——"
"She went away. I can tell you nothing. I have never seen her since. It was a most painful affair to me then—it is most painful to me to talk about now. I can give you no information as to Miss Grey's present whereabouts, and must beg you to excuse me—I have a business appointment in the City."
Dorcas rose from her chair, but did not move towards the door.
"Well, then, I must be frank with you, Mr. Garrod, although you won't be frank with me. I am determined to trace Margaret Grey's subsequent movements. I am a private detective, acting in the interests of Sir Joshua Broome, to whom you recommended Miss Grey. Why did you not tell us that she left you to go to Sir Joshua?"
Mr. Garrod bit his lip, and his brow clouded.
"Why should I?" he said, defiantly.
"Because Sir Joshua Broome has a right to know how you justify your conduct in recommending to him as a governess to his children a woman whom you knew to be a convicted thief."
"I don't know how you have found all this out, or why after all these years you have come here to charge me with it," exclaimed the American, "but I give you my word of honour as a gentleman that when I recommended Miss Grey to Mr. Broome—I didn't know he was Sir Joshua—I recommended a young lady whom I believed to be an honest woman."
"But she had just served a sentence of six months' imprisonment for stealing rings from a jeweller's shop. Innocent or guilty, you had no right to conceal that fact from a gentleman who came to you for Miss Grey's character."
"I had not—but I did. I was in a terrible predicament, and I did the best I could. I am quite sure that Miss Grey has done nothing to disgrace the strong recommendation I gave her to Mr. Broome."
"Nothing—on the contrary, her employer found her such an amiable and estimable woman that he married her. Your former governess is now Lady Broome."
"Then, in Heaven's name, madam, why do you come to me with this made-up story of a will? Why have you been cross-examining me as to Miss Grey's past when you are well acquainted with it, and she is now in an excellent position and beyond the reach of calumny?"
"That is where you are mistaken, Mr. Garrod. At the present moment Lady Broome is being blackmailed by a person who has a knowledge of the Old Bailey conviction."
"Blackmailed!"
"Yes. About a fortnight ago Lady Broome was presented at a Drawing Room. A day or two afterwards her husband received this." Dorcas handed him the anonymous letter.
Directly he glanced at it, he exclaimed: "My God!—it is too horrible!"
"What is horrible?" exclaimed Dorcas, starting forward and gazing steadily in his face. "You have not read the letter. Is it the handwriting you recognise?"
There was no answer.
"I know who wrote this letter," exclaimed Dorcas, "so probably do you."
"You know?—who is it then?" asked the American in a hoarse voice.
"A woman who calls herself Mrs. Winter—a woman who lives at 17, Wellborough Street, Borough, and speaks with an American accent."
For a moment John Garrod stood silent. He was evidently a prey to strong emotion.
"Madam," he said, "if you will leave this letter with me for six hours I will undertake that no more shall be heard of this infamous threat."
Dorcas shook her head.
"That may be," she said, "but that will not clear the matter up. There can be no going back now. I must either prove that Lady Broome is innocent of this foul charge, or I must repeat to Sir Joshua your acknowledgement that you were present in court when she was convicted and sentenced."
"If you will trust me with this letter I will give you my word of honour that I will call upon Sir Joshua Broome this evening and tell him all I know. Will you trust me?"
"No," said Dorcas. "I must keep the letter, but you may have this telegram which contains the name and address of the sender. Here is the telegram and here is Sir Joshua's address."
She scribbled the Wimbledon address on a card and handed it to him.
"I shall be there at nine this evening," he said.
"And I shall be waiting for you," replied Dorcas.
Directly we were outside in Northumberland Avenue Dorcas turned to me and said, "I have brought the American man and the woman with the American accent together, you see."
"Do you think Mr. Garrod is going to see Mrs. Winter?"
"Of course he is. He recognised the handwriting. I was certain of it the minute his eyes fell upon the letter."
"Am I to come to Wimbledon to-night?"
"Certainly. Sir Joshua told the beginning of the story in your presence—there is no reason you should not hear the end of it in his."
"And you think that Lady Broome is innocent—that she was wrongfully convicted?"
"On the contrary, I don't believe she was ever convicted at all. But to-night will clear up the mystery one way or the other. Good-bye till then."
"Are you going to Wellborough Street?"
"No," said Dorcas, "what's the good? If anybody has to pay that thousand pounds now it won't be Sir Joshua Broome, but Mr. John Garrod."
"But if it is a conspiracy, the conspirators may be warned by Garrod's visit and escape."
"If they run away," said Dorcas, "I shall know where to find them if I want them. The sergeant is running up Sir Joshua's bill to an enormous extent. He is going into Winter's place and putting a sovereign on almost every horse in every race, and Winter thinks he has found what I believe is known in the language of the fraternity as 'a first-class mug.'"
At nine o'clock that evening Sir Joshua sat in the big library of his house at Wimbledon, anxiously waiting to renew his acquaintance with Mr. John Garrod. Dorcas, who had told the fine old fellow the result of her day's work, was in the boudoir with Lady Broome, who was now sufficiently recovered to be up, but much too unwell to risk an interview with her old employer.
Sir Joshua had given me a cigar, and I had made myself comfortable in a big easy chair. We were neither of us talking. We were both too anxious and excited to do more than think.
At a few minutes past nine Mr. Garrod was announced and shown into the library. Sir Joshua received him courteously and begged him to be seated, and sent the servant for Mrs. Dene.
"Now, sir," said Sir Joshua, when our little party was complete "Mrs. Dene informs me that she showed you the letter containing the infamous charge against my wife, and that you promised to bring the matter to a satisfactory conclusion, and to put me in possession of the facts to-night. Is that the position?"
"It is, Sir Joshua," said Mr. Garrod, speaking slowly and with evident emotion, "and I am here to fulfil my promise. I am going to place the whole facts before you, and then leave you to decide how you will deal with me. I shall place myself absolutely in your hands.
"In the first place, let me at once ease your mind on one point. When I sent Miss Grey to you I gave her the character she thoroughly deserved."
"Then," said Dorcas, interrupting, "Miss Margaret Grey, who is at present Lady Broome, could never have been a convicted thief."
"She never was. This is how it happened. I came to Europe with my two children and my second wife for a stay of two or three years. I had lost my first wife some years previously and had married again. My second wife was a young lady of good birth, but, at the time I met her, was, owing to family reverses, earning her living as a female clerk in a big New York hotel.
"It was a marriage that made a good deal of talk among my friends and acquaintances, and so I came to Europe with her, bringing my children with me. In London I went to a scholastic agency and engaged a governess. Miss Margaret Grey was sent to me and proved in every way an acquisition.
"Soon after I came to Europe I made a terrible discovery. One day to my horror, while out shopping with my wife, I noticed her pick up something from the counter and conceal it in her muff. I instantly exclaimed out loud, 'Wait a moment—let me ask the price,' and when the shopman came back I pointed to the article and paid for it.
"My wife was a kleptomaniac!
"I spoke to her seriously when we got home. I flung myself on my knees and begged her to think of what this would mean to me if it were discovered. I pointed out to her that if she were arrested and imprisoned the story would go to America, and that she would put a lasting shame upon me and mine.
"She promised me with tears in her eyes that she would not do anything of the sort again, and I believed her. I gave her all the money she could want. I gratified her every wish that there might be no temptation for her to steal again.
"After travelling about the Continent we came to London, and eventually I took a furnished house at Richmond, where I lived with my wife and children, with Miss Grey as their governess.
"One day my wife went to town alone in the morning. In the evening I received a telegram from Bow Street. I hurried there and found that my wife had been arrested for stealing a couple of rings from a jeweller's tray. In her terror when asked for her name and address she had at first refused it, but presently a diabolical idea entered her head. She gave her name as Margaret Grey, said she was a governess, and begged that I, her employer, might be telegraphed for."
"Then it was your wife who was convicted as Margaret Grey!" exclaimed Sir Joshua, springing up in his excitement.
"Yes. Ah, you must not blame me too much for what happened afterwards—think of the terrible position I was in. I was called to give evidence on behalf of Margaret Grey, my governess. If I had said, 'This woman has given a false name—she is my wife,' my one hope of getting her off would have been lost, and the case, which was now an ordinary one of theft, and one briefly reported in the papers, would have been written up and headlined all over the country, and would have been cabled to America. I clutched at a straw, and let the deception go on. After all, I might succeed in getting her acquitted if I contended it was kleptomania. I know I ought to have told the truth, but think what it would have meant to me. I still hoped that even if the worst happened to my wife I might, when she was released, reclaim her, and take her back to America without her shame ever being known.
"My first care when I found what had happened was to send my children abroad with Miss Grey. I knew that Miss Grey never read the papers, and would not see the case, but at Richmond one or two people would know her name, and she might be questioned as to the similarity. Abroad, even if the case were fully reported—and I intended to do my best to keep it out—Miss Grey would not be likely to hear of it.
"My wife was convicted, and sentenced at the Sessions to six months' imprisonment. Then I joined Miss Grey and my children abroad. When the sentence was nearly served, and the time was coming for my unhappy wife to be liberated, I returned. I saw Mr. Broome's advertisement in the Times, and answered it on behalf of Miss Grey, who had declined to go with us to America. I told her that my wife had gone home to see a relative who was ill. It was in that way I accounted for her long absence.
"I hoped—and my hope was justified—that very few people would have seen the case. The report was only a few lines, and recorded the fact that Margaret Grey, aged twenty-five, had been convicted of theft. In only one paper did the reporter give my name as having been called as a witness to character. Mr. Broome had evidently not seen it, for when I mentioned that the lady's name was Margaret Grey he made no remark.
"I was obliged to give her real name. How could I have asked her to take another? It would have aroused her suspicions at once, and possibly all would have been discovered.
"Mr. Broome was satisfied with my recommendation, and when I left for America with my wife and children I had the satisfaction of knowing that Miss Grey had found a comfortable home, and that she had not suffered in any way from my unhappy wife's appropriation of her name at the police-court.
"Unfortunately, after my wife's release, she gave way to habits of intemperance. Our life was a most unhappy one. After two years of misery she left me with a man who was coming to England, and from that day I heard no more of her—until—until——"
"Until this morning," said Dorcas.
"Yes," replied Mr. Garrod, with a deep sigh. "Your conjecture is correct. I recognised the handwriting, though it was disguised. I went to the address you gave me, and there I found the wretched woman whom I had married, and from whom after her flight I had obtained a divorce.
"I insisted upon seeing her. I told the man Winter who I was, that I knew the infamous conspiracy they had hatched between them, and that unless my wife saw me I would go to the police and bring the facts before them.
"Winter yielded to my threats, and I had an interview with my wife. I insisted on a confession, telling her that if she refused it I would go to Scotland Yard and tell the whole story, no matter what the consequences might be to myself.
"I insisted on her telling me how she had discovered Lady Broome—I wanted to know for your sake, Sir Joshua, and for your wife's, if the wretched woman had any accomplice beyond the man who passes for her husband.
"Her story was a simple one, and is probably true. On the occasion of the last Drawing Room she was in the crowd watching the carriages drive into the gates of the Palace. Your wife was pointed out by someone in the crowd. 'That's Lady Broome, Sir Joshua Broome's wife,' said a bystander. My wife looked, and instantly recognised our former governess, Margaret Grey.
"She told the man Winter, and between them they hit upon the idea of blackmailing you. They calculated that the facts they would refer you to would be so strong that no denial on Lady Broome's part would allay your terror, and that rather than have the matter gone into by the Lord Chamberlain, and the scandal discussed far and near in the Press and in Society, you would send the money.
"Now that you know the truth, Sir Joshua, there is no more to be feared from her. But I am responsible to you for my share in the transaction, and I will make any public acknowledgement you wish."
"There is no necessity," said Sir Joshua, rising. "We shall never hear any more of the matter from these people, and if we ever hear of it from any other quarter, we can prove at once how the mistake has arisen."
Mr. Garrod rose, and Sir Joshua put out his hand.
"You have my hearty sympathy in your misfortune, sir," he said, "and I quite understand the terrible position you were in when you found your wife had given her name to the police as Margaret Grey."