The Red-headed Man. Fergus Hume
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counsellor, or slave, or wife, or attendant, a clay image was placed in the sepulchre of the dead; so that, in such instance, there would be many hundreds of these fictitious mummies arranged round the corpse. The figure we have here is an example of a tomb image. I hope I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly," rejoined Darrel, slipping the image into his pocket. "But your lecture does not help me in the least."
"In what way? Where did you get the mummy?" questioned Patron disconnectedly.
"Out of a murdered woman's pocket."
"Bless me! how strange! Why was she murdered? And how did she become possessed of so unique a curiosity as a Peruvian tomb-image?
"Patron, my friend, those are two questions to which I am trying to obtain an answer."
"If I can help you, Darrel----"
"Thank you; Patron; but I fear you can help me no further. Good-day."
"Good-day, good-day," replied the Egyptologist hastily; for his mind was already reverting to his own particular work, and he was becoming oblivious to the story told by his visitor. "Good-day;" after which he soared into cloudland.
Darrel went away little satisfied with his visit. He had obtained certain historical information, but none likely to throw any light on the mystery of the double crime. The Blue Mummy was connected with the murders in some concealed way, independent of its archæological merits; and it was this hidden connection which Darrel desired to discover. At present, however, he could not see the slightest chance of gaining the necessary information; therefore, this especial clue was absolutely useless--at all events for the time being. Later on its value might be discovered and utilised; but in the meantime, Frank dismissed it, to follow up the clue of the initials on the linen of the dead man. To accomplish this he drove directly to Bond-street.
The mere fact that the red-haired man--as in the absence of an actual name it is convenient to call him--was in the habit of dealing with Harcot and Harcot, shewed that he must have been, if not rich, at least fairly well off. The shop, as Darrel knew, was a very expensive one, and the goods it supplied were sold at much above their market value, from the fact that they were supposed to be particularly fashionable. Darrel carried with him the shirt of the dead man which had been confided to him by Torry; and this he displayed to the eyes of the senior partner. Mr. Harcot was a tall, stately-looking man, more like a Duke than a shopkeeper, and after examining the shirt through his pince-nez, he inquired loftily what it was Mr. Darrel desired to know. Darrel promptly supplied the information.
"I wish to learn what those initials stand for," said he, laying his forefinger on the letters 'J.G.'
"May I ask why!"
Darrel reflected. "I see no reason why you should not know," he remarked; "but you must respect my confidence."
"Certainly, sir, certainly," replied Harcot, whose curiosity was now excited. "Please come this way where we shall not be disturbed."
The tradesman led the way into a small room partitioned off from the shop by a glass screen and on closing the door of this, he handed Darrel a chair with great politeness.
"I await your explanation, sir," he said, smoothing out the shirt on the table.
"One moment," said Frank quickly. "If I tell you my reason for asking this question, and you agree to answer it, can I rely on your being able to give me the desired information?"
"Assuredly, sir. You will observe that under these letters 'J.G.' there is a number, one thousand four hundred and twenty. Well, sir, we index, so to speak, all shirts of our manufacture in that way; and--should your reason for seeking information satisfy me--I have only to look up that number in our books to learn for whom this shirt was made."
"Then you had better do so at once, Mr. Harcot; for thereby you may be able to capture a criminal."
The tradesman looked amazed. "Capture a criminal?" he repeated.
"Yes. On Sunday morning last, after one o'clock, the man to whom that shirt belonged was murdered."
"Murdered, sir!"
"Yes; stabbed to the heart in Mortality-lane."
"Dear, dear!" cried Mr. Harcot in much agitation. "You don't say so! I noticed an account of the tragedy in the Star--an early issue, Mr. Darrel, published at two o'clock; but I did not think that a customer of ours was the victim. How very dreadful! Who is the unfortunate gentleman?"
"That is what I wish you to tell me, Mr. Harcot."
"With pleasure, with pleasure; but if you will excuse my saying so, sir, I did not know that you were an officer of the law."
"Nor am I," rejoined Darrel drily. "I am a novelist; but the detective in charge of this case has permitted me to assist him."
"Oh, indeed, sir," replied Mr. Harcot, considerably astonished. "If you will permit me, sir, I will look up our books."
Washing his hands with invisible soap, and bowing politely, Mr. Harcot vanished, leaving Darrel to his own thoughts. In about ten minutes he returned, looking very pale and concerned. Frank was a trifle surprised at this agitation.
"Dear, dear!" gasped the man, sitting down with an air of consternation. "I am shocked, really. Such a respectable gentleman! so old a customer!"
"What is the name?" cried Darrel anxiously.
"Grent, sir; Jesse Grent, of Wray House, Wraybridge."
"Grent--Grent!" muttered Darrel thoughtfully. "I seem to know the name."
"Everybody does, Mr. Darrel. Grent and Leighbourne, of Fleet-street."
"What! the bankers?"
"Yes, sir, yes. Mr. Jesse Grent was the head of the firm and now he is an angel. I hope so, for he was a good man, sir, who paid his bills most regul----"
"Thank you, Mr. Harcot," said Frank, cutting short these lamentations, which were a trifle mercenary. "You have told me all I wish to know. Mr. Jesse Grent, banker. H'm!--so he was the red-haired man."
Mr. Harcot was about to protest that the late Mr. Grent had white hair, but that Frank, with a curt nod, walked smartly out of the shop. Whereupon Harcot senior went to inform Harcot junior of the loss of a good customer, and to suggest an immediate sending in of the bill to the executors.
It was now too late to call at Torry's private office, as it was long after six o'clock before Frank terminated his inquiries; so he went back to his rooms and pondered over his discovery. He had heard of Mr. Grent, who was a rich banker and much respected. That he should be found dead in a disreputable neighborhood, in disguise, added to the mystery of the case. Frank thought over the matter all night, until his brain was on fire; and he was glad when the morning came that he could see Torry. Just as he was considering the advisability of paying a visit, the detective himself made his appearance and looked considerably disturbed.
"I say, Mr. Darrel," he burst out, "there are two murderers!"
"Two!"
"Yes--a man and a woman!"
CHAPTER V.
"DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM"
"A man and a woman!" repeated Darrel thoughtfully. "Who told you that, Mr. Torry?"
"The third, cabman," replied the detective. "Main is his name. I found him along with Henry and Bike on the cab-stand near Mortality-lane."
"Had you any difficulty in making him speak?"
"No, not the least. He was quite willing to give information and assist the police in every way. Why do you suggest a difficulty?"
"Why," said Darrel, "if this man and woman were actually the assassins it is possible they might have bribed Main to silence."
"And hereby