The Grey Wig: Stories and Novelettes

'Mortlake knew nothing of the meetings?'

'I don't know. Perhaps he did. Mr. Constant had probably enlisted her in his social mission work. I knew she was one of the attendants at the big children's tea in the Great Assembly Hall early in November. He treated her quite like a lady. She was the only attendant who worked with her hands.'

'The others carried the cups on their feet, I suppose.'

'No; how could that be? My meaning is that all the other attendants were real ladies, and Jessie was only an amateur, so to speak. There was no novelty for her in handing kids cups of tea. I dare say she had helped her landlady often enough at that-there's quite a bushel of brats below stairs. It's almost as bad as at friend Crowl's. Jessie was a real brick. But perhaps Tom didn't know her value. Perhaps he didn't like Constant to call on her, and it led to a quarrel. Anyhow, she's disappeared, like the snowfall on the river. There's not a trace. The landlady, who was such a friend of hers that Jessie used to make up her stuff into dresses for nothing, tells me that she's dreadfully annoyed at not having been left the slightest clue to her late tenant's whereabouts.'

'You have been making inquiries on your own account apparently?'

'Only of the landlady. Jessie never even gave her the week's notice, but paid her in lieu of it, and left immediately. The landlady told me I could have knocked her down with a feather. Unfortunately, I wasn't there to do it, or I should certainly have knocked her down for not keeping her eyes open better. She says if she had only had the least suspicion beforehand that the minx (she dared to call Jessie a minx) was going, she'd have known where, or her name would have been somebody else's. And yet she admits that Jessie was looking ill and worried. Stupid old hag!'

'A woman of character,' murmured the detective.

'Didn't I tell you so?' cried Denzil, eagerly. 'Another girl would have let out that she was going. But no, not a word. She plumped down the money and walked out. The landlady ran upstairs. None of Jessie's things were there. She must have quietly sold them off, or transferred them to the new place. I never in my life met a girl who so thoroughly knew her own mind or had a mind so worth knowing. She always reminded me of the Maid of Saragossa.'

'Indeed! And when did she leave?'

'On the l9th of November.'

'Mortlake of course knows where she is?'

'I can't say. Last time I was at the house to inquire-it was at the end of November-he hadn't been seen there for six weeks. He wrote to her, of course, sometimes-the landlady knew his writing.'

Wimp looked Denzil straight in the eyes, and said, 'You mean, of course, to accuse Mortlake of the murder of Mr. Constant?'

'N-n-no, not at all,' stammered Denzil, 'only you know what Mr. Grodman wrote to the Pell Mell. The more we know about Mr. Constant's life the more we shall know about the manner of his death. I thought my information would be valuable to you, and I brought it.'

'And why didn't you take it to Mr. Grodman?'

'Because I thought it wouldn't be valuable to me.'

'You wrote Criminals I have Caught?'

'How-how do you know that?' Wimp was startling him to-day with a vengeance.

'Your style, my dear Mr. Cantercot. The unique, noble style.'

'Yes, I was afraid it would betray me,' said Denzil. 'And since you know, I may tell you that Grodman's a mean curmudgeon. What does he want with all that money and those houses-a man with no sense of the Beautiful? He'd have taken my information, and given me more kicks than ha'pence for it, so to speak.'

'Yes, he is a shrewd man after all. I don't see anything valuable in your evidence against Mortlake.'

'No!' said Denzil in a disappointed tone, and fearing he was going to be robbed. 'Not when Mortlake was already jealous of Mr. Constant, who was a sort of rival organiser, unpaid! A kind of blackleg doing the work cheaper-nay, for nothing.'

'Did Mortlake tell you he was jealous?' said Wimp, a shade of sarcastic contempt piercing through his tones.

'Oh, yes! He said to me, 'That man will work mischief. I don't like your kid-glove philanthropists meddling in matters they don't understand.''

'Those were his very words?'

'His ipsissima verba.'

'Very well. I have your address in my files. Here is a sovereign for you.'

'Only one sovereign! It's not the least use to me.'

'Very well. It's of great use to me. I have a wife to keep.'

'I haven't,' said Denzil, with a sickly smile, 'so perhaps I can manage on it after all.' He took his hat and the sovereign.

Outside the door he met a rather pretty servant just bringing in some tea to her master. He nearly upset her tray at sight of her. She seemed more amused at the rencontre than he.

'Good afternoon, dear,' she said coquettishly. 'You might let me have that sovereign. I do so want a new Sunday bonnet.'

Denzil gave her the sovereign, and slammed the hall-door viciously when he got to the bottom of the stairs. He seemed to be walking arm-in-arm with the long arm of coincidence. Wimp did not hear the duologue. He was already busy on his evening's report to headquarters. The next day Denzil had a body-guard wherever he went. It might have gratified his vanity had he known it. But to-night he was yet unattended, so no one noted that he went to 46 Glover Street, after the early Crowl supper. He could not help going. He wanted to get another sovereign. He also itched to taunt Grodman. Not succeeding in the former object, he felt the road open for the second.

'Do you still hope to discover the Bow murderer?' he asked the old bloodhound.

'I can lay my hand on him now,' Grodman announced curtly.

Denzil hitched his chair back involuntarily. He found conversation with detectives as lively as playing at skittles with bombshells. They got on his nerves terribly, these undemonstrative gentlemen with no sense of the Beautiful.

'But why don't you give him up to justice?' he murmured.

'Ah-it has to be proved yet. But it is only a matter of time.'

'Oh!' said Denzil, 'and shall I write the story for you?'

'No. You will not live long enough.'

Denzil turned white. 'Nonsense! I am years younger than you,' he gasped.

'Yes,' said Grodman, 'but you drink so much.'

VII.

When Wimp invited Grodman to eat his Christmas plum-pudding at King's Cross, Grodman was only a little surprised. The two men were always overwhelmingly cordial when they met, in order to disguise their mutual detestation. When people really like each other, they make no concealment of their mutual contempt. In his letter to Grodman, Wimp said that he thought it might be nicer for him to keep Christmas in company than in solitary state. There seems to be a general prejudice in favour of Christmas numbers, and Grodman yielded to it. Besides, he thought that a peep at the Wimp domestic interior would be as good as a pantomime. He quite enjoyed the fun that was coming, for he knew that Wimp had not invited him out of mere 'peace and goodwill.'

There was only one other guest at the festive board. This was Wimp's wife's mother's mother, a lady of sweet seventy. Only a minority of mankind can obtain a grandmother-in-law by marrying, but Wimp was not unduly conceited. The old lady suffered from delusions. One of them was that she was a centenarian. She dressed for the part. It is extraordinary what pains ladies will take to conceal their age. Another of Wimp's grandmother-in-law's delusions was that Wimp had married to get her into the family. Not to frustrate his design, she always gave him her company on high-days and holidays. Wilfred Wimp-the little boy who stole the jam-was in great form at the Christmas dinner. The only drawback to his enjoyment was that its sweets needed no stealing. His mother presided over the platters, and thought how much cleverer Grodman was than her husband. When the pretty servant who waited on them was momentarily out of the room, Grodman had remarked that she seemed very inquisitive. This coincided with Mrs. Wimp's own convictions, though Mr. Wimp could never be brought to see anything