THE YELLOW CLAW. Sax Rohmer
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short, it amounts to this, then: Mrs. Vernon, during these various
absences, never went to Scotland at all? It was a conspiracy?”
“Exactly--exactly, Inspector! I wired instructing my agent to extort
from the woman, Fry, the address to which she forwarded letters received
by her for Mrs. Vernon. The lady's death, news of which will now have
reached him, will no doubt be a lever, enabling my representative to
obtain the desired information.”
“When do you expect to hear from him?”
“At any moment. Failing a full confession by the Frys, you will of
course know how to act, Inspector?”
“Damme!” cried Dunbar, “can your man be relied upon to watch them? They
mustn't slip away! Shall I instruct Perth to arrest the couple?”
“I wired my agent this morning, Inspector, to communicate with the local
police respecting the Frys.”
Inspector Dunbar tapped his small, widely-separated teeth with the end
of his fountain-pen.
“I have had one priceless witness slip through my fingers,” he muttered.
“I'll hand in my resignation if the Frys go!”
“To whom do you refer?”
Inspector Dunbar rose.
“It is a point with which I need not trouble you, sir,” he said. “It was
not included in the extract of report sent to you. This is going to be
the biggest case of my professional career, or my name is not Robert
Dunbar!”
Closing his notebook, he thrust it into his pocket, and replaced his
fountain-pen in the little leather wallet.
“Of course,” said the solicitor, rising in turn, and adjusting the
troublesome pince-nez, “there was some intrigue with Leroux? So much is
evident.”
“You will be thinking that, eh?”
“My dear Inspector”--Mr. Debnam, the wily, was seeking information--“my
dear Inspector, Leroux's own wife was absent in Paris--quite a safe
distance; and Mrs. Vernon (now proven to be a woman conducting a love
intrigue) is found dead under most compromising circumstances--MOST
compromising circumstances--in his flat! His servants, even, are got
safely out of the way for the evening”...
“Quite so,” said Dunbar, shortly, “quite so, Mr. Debnam.” He opened the
door. “Might I see the late Mrs. Vernon's maid?”
“She is at her home. As I told you, Mrs. Vernon habitually released her
for the period of these absences.”
The notebook reappeared.
“The young woman's address?”
“You can get it from the housekeeper. Is there anything else you wish to
know?”
“Nothing beyond that, thank you.”
Three minutes later, Inspector Dunbar had written in his book:--Clarice
Goodstone, c/o Mrs. Herne, 134a Robert Street, Hampstead Road, N. W.
He departed from the house whereat Death the Gleaner had twice knocked
with his Scythe.
CABMAN TWO
Returning to Scotland Yard, Inspector Dunbar walked straight up to
his own room. There he found Sowerby, very red faced and humid, and a
taximan who sat stolidly surveying the Embankment from the window.
“Hullo!” cried Dunbar; “he's turned up, then?”
“No, he hasn't,” replied Sowerby with a mild irritation. “But we know
where to find him, and he ought to lose his license.”
The taximan turned hurriedly. He wore a muffler so tightly packed
between his neck and the collar of his uniform jacket, that it appeared
materially to impair his respiration. His face possessed a bluish tinge,
suggestive of asphyxia, and his watery eyes protruded remarkably; his
breathing was noisily audible.
“No, chuck it, mister!” he exclaimed. “I'm only tellin' you 'cause it
ain't my line to play tricks on the police. You'll find my name in
the books downstairs more'n any other driver in London! I reckon I've
brought enough umbrellas, cameras, walkin' sticks, hopera cloaks,
watches and sicklike in 'ere, to set up a blarsted pawnbroker's!”
“That's all right, my lad!” said Dunbar, holding up his hand to silence
the voluble speaker. “There's going to be no license-losing. You did not
hear that you were wanted before?”
The watery eyes of the cabman protruded painfully; he respired like a
horse.
“ME, guv'nor!” he exclaimed. “Gor'blime! I ain't the bloke! I was
drivin' back from takin' the Honorable 'Erbert 'Arding 'ome--same as I
does almost every night, when the 'ouse is a-sittin'--when I see old Tom
Brian drawin' away from the door o' Palace Man--”
Again Dunbar held up his hand.
“No doubt you mean well,” he said; “but damme! begin at the beginning!
Who are you, and what have you come to tell us?”
“'Oo are I?--'Ere's 'oo I ham!” wheezed the cabman, proffering a greasy
license. “Richard 'Amper, number 3 Breams Mews, Dulwich Village”...
“That's all right,” said Dunbar, thrusting back the proffered document;
“and last night you had taken Mr. Harding the member of Parliament, to
his residence in?”--
“In Peers' Chambers, Westminister--that's it, guv'nor! Comin' back, I
'ave to pass along the north side o' the Square, an' just a'ead o' me,
I see old Tom Brian a-pullin' round the Johnny 'Orner,--'im comin' from
Palace Mansions.”
“Mr. Exel only mentioned seeing ONE cab,” muttered Dunbar, glancing
keenly aside at Sowerby.
“Wotcher say, guv'nor?” asked the cabman.
“I say--did you see a gentleman approaching from the corner?” asked
Dunbar.