Chapter 10

Teddy Rudall's Ideas

Number Forty, Beryle Square, was a handsome-looking Town residence, but, the owners now being away from London, it had rather a desolate appearance. The boxes of brilliant flowers, that had preserved a many-coloured fringe outside the windows, had all been removed, and, the shutters being up, the house had a lonely look, which was infinitely dreary. The old woman, who looked after it in the absence of its owner, was a grimy-looking party of unprepossessing appearance, addicted to the wearing of a crushed crape bonnet, a withered-looking black dress, and a large apron which had once been white. She made a daily tour of inspection through all the deserted rooms, and cherished dire suspicions of crafty burglars hiding behind doors and under couches. Mrs. Bickles was the name of this ancient damsel, but, as a matter of fact, she had never been married, but assumed the appellation which she thought was more in keeping with her dignity.

This bright July afternoon, was the day upon which Dentham was due at 40, Beryle Square, to give his information regarding Adrian Lancaster's whereabouts, and Mrs. Bickles was seated in the kitchen, moralizing over a glass of ale, and the remnants of the frugal meal, which she dignified with the name of luncheon. Like most old people, she was very garrulous, and in default of a better listener, talked to herself when alone, so she ran no chance of interruption, but had it all her own way.

"Victuals," moaned Mrs. Bickles, wiping her mouth after a drink of beer, "is that dear, as never was. I'm sure it costs a forting to buy as much as 'ud keep a cat alive, and as for summat to drink, what with their Billees in Parlymint, and their chargin's out of it, I might as well live in the Sara Desert."

She sopped up the gravy on her plate, with a piece of bread, and immediately attacked the baker, from whom she had bought it, as an excellent object to rail at.

"It's that heavy," said the lady viciously, referring to the bread, "as lead is feathers to it—on my stomick it lies like a pavin' stone, and the indigressings I suffers is nightmares in 'emselves. I'm getting as thin as a lamp-post—a shadder of the h'old days—ah well!" she concluded philosophically, finishing the beer, "it don't take much to fill a coffing as I'll soon be occipying."

At this moment the front door-bell rang, and with a grumble at being disturbed at her meal, Mrs. Bickles took a large key in her withered claw, and crawled upstairs in an aggressive temper.

"Why can't they holler down the airy," she whispered, pushing back the bolts from the door, "it's a policeman or a post, I know—what with 'urrying up and skipping down, my legs is ashaking like aspinalls."

She unlocked the door, and threw it open, when, much to her surprise, Olive Maunders stepped inside, followed by a young gentleman dressed in an irreproachable tweed suit, with a flower in his button-hole and a smile on his face. Mrs. Bickles with many curtseys began to apologise for her delay in opening the door, when Olive cut her short in a peremptory manner.

"What is the most presentable room in the house?" she asked, "I have come up on business, but leave again by the afternoon train."

"The dorin-room's muffled up," explained Mrs. Bickles, in a thoughtful manner, "and the dinin' ain't fit to receive compingy—I won't say as what the best bedroom needs dustin', but I think the libery is most decent."

"Very well, then, the library will do," replied Olive, walking towards it, followed by her escort, "and if anyone calls to see me in about an hour, show him in."

"Yes, miss," said the charwoman, with many genufluxions, "but there ain't anythin' to eat."

"I don't want anything, thank you," answered Olive, and disappeared with the gentleman into the library, leaving Mrs. Bickles looking after them in astonishment.

"Now what's up, I do wonder," she said apostrophising the door through which they had vanished "is it police, or pleasures?—it can't be divorces 'cause they're both single—if her par only knowed as she was making appointments with male parties in the 'ouse, it mightn't be to his likings—well it ain't no biziness of mine," pursued Mrs. Bickles cheerfully, taking her way down to the nether regions, "their moralses and their quarrelses is their own businesses."

Meanwhile Olive Maunders was seated on a holland-covered chair in the library, talking earnestly to Teddy Rudall, who sat in a similar chair, with a puzzled look on his genial young face.

"I want you to understand plainly why I have asked you to come up with me to-day," explained Olive deliberately, "I put an advertisement in the paper concerning Adrian Lancaster, and it is about that advertisement I am here to-day."

"Has it been answered?" asked Rudall, with a look of interest.

"Yes—and in extremely bad English too," replied the girl, handing him a scrap of blue paper, "read it please, and see what you make of it."

Thus adjured, Teddy took the paper, and smoothing it out, read as follows in his slow, languid voice:

"The writter of this knows somthing of Mr. Adrian Lancaster—if there is muny, he will come and tell all he knowes, without preggyduce—adres D. Manor Court, Yew Street, Hampstead."

"Extraordinary document," commented Teddy, handing it back to Olive, "particularly the last words. I don't know which to admire the most, the legal knowledge, or the spelling—well, did you answer this?"

"I did, and told D., whosoever he or she may be, to call here at three o'clock to-day."

"Oh! it's nearly three now," said Teddy, glancing at his watch, "and what do you want me to do?"

"Depends entirely on what I learn from 'D'" replied Olive, folding up the letter and putting it away. "I did not tell my father, as I don't want to do so until I find out something definite about Adrian."

"I'll be delighted to do anything I can," said Rudall heartily, "I feel awfully sorry for Adrian—it would have been much better if he had stayed and faced it out."

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Olive sadly, "but you see he acted on the impulse of the moment. Adrian was always so impulsive."

"Why speak of him in the past tense?" asked Teddy lightly.

Olive rose to her feet, and folding her arms behind her back, walked up and down the room slowly.

"I suppose I shouldn't," she replied, after a pause, "he is no doubt all right, and only hiding himself till he knows how things are with Mr. Trevanna. Can you blame him?"

"Not for pitching into Trevanna," said Rudall coolly. "I don't know anyone with a more aggravating manner than that sweet youth. He admits throwing the cards in Lancaster's face, so I don't wonder Adrian retaliated, but I think it was a pity he did not stay and face it out."

"You've said that before," cried Olive, angrily.

"No doubt, and I dare say I'll say it again," returned Teddy, smiling. "It's my opinion, although I dare say if I were in the same predicament, I should act the same way, but what puzzles me is that Adrian did not himself reply to your advertisement. He knew he'd be quite safe with you, and besides there was a paragraph in several papers stating that Trevanna was getting well and had exonerated him."

"That's what makes me fear Adrian is dead," said Olive, turning her pale face towards him.

"Dead!—nonsense," cried Teddy hastily. "Why should he be dead? He wouldn't commit suicide, it is unlikely he has met with an accident, and no one would harm him, for he hadn't an enemy in the world."

"No, that's true. Adrian has no enemy, but there is a man who does not like me, so out of revenge he might harm Adrian."

"A man who does not like you?" repeated Teddy in surprise.

"Yes; Dr. Roversmire," she answered, coming up close to him, and laying her gloved hand on his arm. "He wanted to marry me, and I refused him because I loved Adrian. Suppose he wanted to remove Adrian from his path."

"The supposition is too idle. But suppose he did, what then? Do you think he would murder him?"

"No," she said, in a low voice, "but Dr. Roversmire is a theosophist, a believer in occult science. He comes from India, where they say these people have strange, unholy powers. What if he had lured Adrian to his house at Hampstead, and disintegrated his body."

Teddy Rudall smiled at this, for he was a matter-of-fact young man, very sceptical of the powers asserted to be exercised by the theosophists.

"That's a lot of nonsense, you know," he said lightly. "That theosophy is all bosh. I've been to lots of their meetings, and it's the same kind of rubbish as table-turning and mesmerism. You surely don't believe in it?"

"I did not, but since Adrian has vanished so strangely I confess I feel a little afraid."

"Of Dr. Roversmire?"

"Yes; he called to see me last week, and from the way he spoke I feel sure he knows something of Adrian."

"At all events, you may be sure there is no disintegration business about it," said Teddy decisively, "for these gentry can scatter their own body to the winds, but they can't do it with any one else's."

"But he might have got rid of Adrian by some other means?"

"Adrian isn't the sort of fellow to allow himself to be got rid of easily," retorted Rudall soothingly. "Come, Miss Maunders, that wretched Indian juggler, whom I remember having seen here, has upset your nerves with his mad talk. I'm certain Adrian is all right and this 'D' who is coming here to-day will no doubt be able to tell us where he is."

"I hope so," began Olive, when suddenly there came a ring at the door, and they looked quickly at one another.

"Here is the answer to your advertisement," said Teddy gaily. "Now then, Miss Maunders, don't bother your head about any theosophy or supernatural interference. We'll soon find out where Adrian is and give him a good rating for making such a fuss over nothing."