"There can be no doubt about it. He went to the house on the day that the murder was discovered. Now the next thing to find out is where he now is. From what his landlady told me, I should not think he was in the possession of much money. As a matter of fact, she suspected that he had been pawning his clothes, for the reason that his bag, which was comparatively heavy when he arrived, seemed to be almost empty when he left. To-morrow morning I shall make enquiries at the various pawnbrokers in the neighbourhood, and it is just possible we may get some further information from them."
Promising to communicate with Jim immediately he had anything of importance to impart, Robins took his departure, and Jim went in search of Alice to tell her the news. Next day word was brought to him to the effect that Murbridge had pawned several articles, but in no case were the proprietors able to furnish any information concerning his present whereabouts. Feeling that it was just possible, as in the case of the eating-house keeper near Paddington Station, that the detectives had not been able to acquire all the knowledge that was going, Jim, accompanied by the faithful Terence, set off in the afternoon for number eighteen, Great Medium Street. It proved to be a lodging-house of the common type.
In response to their ring the door was opened by the landlady, a voluble person of Irish descent. She looked her visitors up and down before admitting them, and having done so, enquired if they stood in need of apartments.
"I regret to say that we do not," said Jim blandly. "My friend and I have come to put a few questions to you concerning----"
"Not poor Mr. Melbrook, I hope," she answered. "Is all London gone mad?
'Twas but yesterday afternoon, just when I was settin' down to my bit o'
tea that a gentleman comes to make enquiries about Mr. Melbrook. I told 'im he'd left the house, but that would not do. He wanted to know where he had gone, and when and why he had left, just for all the world as if he was his long-lost brother. Then this morning another comes. Wanted to know if I knew where Mr. Melbrook pawned his clothes? Did he appear to be in any trouble? Now here you are with your questions. D'ye think I've got nothing better to do than to be trapesing round talkin' about what don't concern me? What's the world coming to, I should like to know?"
"But, my good woman, I am most anxious to find Mr. Melbrook," said Jim, "and if you can put me into the possession of any information that will help me to do so, I shall be very pleased to reward you for your trouble."
"But I've got nothing to tell you," she replied, "more's the pity of it, since you speak so fair. From the time that Mr. Melbrook left my house until this very moment I've heard nothing of him. He may have gone back to America--if he was an American as they say--but there, he may be anywhere. He was one of them sort of men that says nothing about his business; he just kept himself to himself with his paper, and took his drop of gin and water at night the same as you and me might do. If I was to die next minute, that's all I can tell you about him."
Seeing that it was useless to question her further, Jim pressed some coins into the woman's willing hand, and bade her good-day. Then, more dispirited by his failure than he would admit, he drove back to his hotel. Alice met him in the hall with a telegram.
"This has just come for you," she said. "I was about to open it."
Taking it from her, he tore open the envelope, and withdrew the message.
It was from Robins, and ran as follows:--
"Think am on right track--will report as soon as return."
It had been despatched from Waterloo Station.
"Why did he not say where he was going?" said Jim testily, "instead of keeping me in suspense."
"Because he does not like to commit himself before he has more to report, I suppose," said Alice. "Do not worry yourself about it, dear.
You will hear everything in good time."
A long letter from Helen which arrived that evening helped to console Jim, while the writing of an answer to her enabled him to while away another half-hour. But it must be confessed that that evening Jim was far from being himself. He felt that he would have given anything to have accompanied the detective in his search. He went to bed at an early hour, to dream that he was chasing Murbridge round the world, and do what he would he could not come up with him. Next day there was no news, and it was not until the middle of the day following that he heard anything. Then another telegram arrived, stating that the detective would call at the hotel between eight and nine o'clock that evening. He did so, and the first glimpse of his face told Jim that his errand had as usual been fruitless.
"I can see," he said, "that you have not met with any success. Is that not so?"
"I'm sorry, sir," the man answered. "Information was brought me the day before yesterday that a man answering in every way the description of the person we wanted had pawned a small portmanteau at a shop in the Mile End Road, and on making enquiries there, I heard that he had come to lodge at a house in one of the streets in the vicinity. Accompanied by one of my mates, I went to the house in question, only to discover that we were too late again, and that the man had left for Southampton that morning, intending to catch the out-going boat for South Africa.
Procuring a cab, I set off for Waterloo, and on my arrival there sent that telegram to you, sir, and then went down to Southampton by the next train. Unfortunately the two hours' delay had given him his chance, for when I reached Southampton it was only to find that the vessel had sailed half-an-hour before. I went at once to the Agent's office, where I discovered that a man whose appearance tallied exactly with the description given had booked a steerage passage at the last moment, and had sailed aboard her. But if he's got out of England safely, we'll catch him at Madeira. The police there will arrest him, and hold him for us until we can get him handed over. He does not know that I am upon his track, and for that reason he'll be sure to think he's got safely away."
"We must hope to catch him at Madeira then. The vessel does not touch at any port between, I suppose?"
Robins shook his head.
"No, Madeira is the first port of call. And now, sir, I'll bid you good-night, if you don't mind. I've had a long day of it, and I'm tired.
To-morrow morning I've got to be abroad early on another little case which is causing me a considerable amount of anxiety."
Jim bade him good-night and then went in search of his sister, only to find that she had a bad headache, and had gone to bed. After the excitement of the day bed was out of the question, so donning a hat and coat he left the hotel for a stroll. He walked quietly along Piccadilly, smoking his cigar, and thinking of the girl who had promised to be his wife, and who, at the moment, was probably thinking of him in the quiet little Midlandshire village. How delightful life would be when she would be his wife. He tried to picture himself in the capacity of Helen's husband. From Helen his thoughts turned to Murbridge, and he tried to imagine the guilty wretch, flying across the seas, flattering himself continually that he had escaped the punishment he so richly deserved, finding more security in every mile of water the vessel left behind her, little dreaming that justice was aware of his flight, and that Nemesis was waiting for him so short a time ahead.
Reaching Piccadilly Circus, he walked on until he arrived at Leicester Square. As the sky had become overcast, and a thin drizzle was beginning to fall, he called a hansom, and bade the driver take him back to his hotel. The horse started off, and they were soon proceeding at a fast pace in the direction of Piccadilly. Just as they reached the Criterion Theatre, a man stepped from the pavement, and began to cross the road.
Had not the cabman sharply pulled his horse to one side, nothing could have saved him from being knocked down. So near a thing was it that Jim sprang to his feet, and threw open the apron, feeling sure that the man was down. But near though it was, the pedestrian had escaped, and, turning round, was shaking his fist in a paroxysm of rage at the cabman.
At that moment he saw Jim, and stood for a second or two as if turned to stone; then, gathering his faculties together, he ducked between two cabs and disappeared.
_That man was Richard Murbridge!_
CHAPTER VIII
Before Jim could recover from his astonishment at seeing the man whom he had been led to believe was upon the high seas, standing before him, the cabman had whipped up his horse once more, and was half across the Circus. Springing to his feet, he pushed up the shutter, and bade the driver pull up as quickly as possible. Then, jumping from the cab, he gave the man the first coin he took from his pocket.
"Did you see which way that fellow went we so nearly knocked down?" he cried.
"Went away towards Regent Street, I believe," answered the cabman. "He had a narrow shave and it isn't his fault he isn't in hospital now."
Jim waited to hear no more, but made his way back to the policeman he had noticed standing beside the fountain in the centre of the Circus.
"Did you see that man who was so nearly knocked down by a cab a few minutes ago?" he enquired, scarcely able to speak for excitement.
"I did," the officer answered laconically. "What about him?"
"Only that you must endeavour to find him, and arrest him at once," said Jim. "There is not a moment to be lost. He may have got away by this time."
"And he's precious lucky if he has," said the policeman. "Never saw a closer thing in my life."
"But don't you hear me? You must find him at once. Every second we waste is giving him the chance of getting away."
"Come, come, there's no such hurry: what's he done that you should be so anxious to get hold of him?"
By this time Jim was nearly beside himself with rage at the other's stupidity.
"That man was the Childerbridge murderer," he replied. "I am as certain of it as I am that I see you standing before me now."
"Come, come, Sir, that's all very well you know," said the policeman, with what was plainly a kindly intent, "but you go along home and get to bed quietly; you'll be better in the morning and will have forgotten all about this 'ere murderer."
After which, without another word, he walked away.
"Well, of all the insane idiots in the world," muttered Jim, "that fellow should come first. But I am not going to be baulked; I'll search for Murbridge myself."
He thereupon set off along Regent Street, but before he had gone half the length of the street the folly of such a proceeding became apparent to him. He knew that Murbridge had seen him, and, for this reason, would most likely betake himself to the quiet of the back streets. To attempt to find him, therefore, under cover of darkness, and at such an hour, would be well-nigh an impossibility. Then another idea occurred to him.
Hailing a cab, he set off for Scotland Yard. On arrival there, he handed in his card, and in due course was received most courteously by the chief officer on duty. He explained his errand, and in doing so showed the mistake under which Detective-sergeant Robins had been and was still labouring.
"He shall be communicated with at once," said the official. "I suppose you are quite certain of the identity of the man you saw in Piccadilly Circus, Mr. Standerton?"
"As certain as I am of anything," Jim replied. "I should recognise him anywhere. I was permitted a full view of his face, and I am quite sure that I am not making a mistake. If only the cabman had pulled up a few moments earlier, I might have been able to have stopped him."
"In that case, you should be able to give us some details of his present personal appearance, which would afford us considerable assistance in our search for him."
"He was wearing a black felt hat, and a brown overcoat, the collar of which was turned up."