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Stowmarket Mystery, or, a Legacy of Hate

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<h3>Chapter XIX</h3> <h2>The Third Man Appears</h2> Return to Table of Contents The Rev. Wilberforce Layton raised no objection to his daughter’s excursion to London with Mrs. Capella. Indeed, he promised to meet them in Whitby a week later, and remain there during August. Mrs. Eastham pleaded age and the school treat. It was, therefore, a comparatively youthful party which Brett joined at dinner in one of the great hotels in Northumberland Avenue. Someone had exercised rare discretion in ordering a special meal; the wines were good, and two at least of the company merry as emancipated school children. The barrister soon received ample confirmation of the discovery made by the Stowmarket waiter. Robert Hume-Frazer was undoubtedly in love with his cousin, or, to speak correctly, for the ex-sailor was a gentleman, he had been in love with her as a boy, and now secretly grieved over a hopeless passion. Whether Margaret was conscious of this devotion or not Brett was unable to decide. By neither word nor look was Robert indiscreet. When she was present he was lively and talkative, entertaining the others with snatches of strange memories drawn from an adventurous career. It was only when she quitted their little circle that Brett detected the mask of angry despair that settled for a moment on the young man’s face, and rendered him indifferent to other influences until he resolutely aroused himself. Yet, on the whole, a great improvement was visible in Frazer. Attired in one of David’s evening dress suits, carefully groomed and trimmed, he no sooner donned the garments which gave him the outward semblance of an aristocrat than he dropped the curt, somewhat coarse, mannerisms which hitherto distinguished him from his cousin. Beyond a more cosmopolitan style of speech, he was singularly like David in person and deportment. They resembled twins rather than first cousins. They were both remarkably fine-looking men, tall, wiry, and in splendid condition. It was only the slightly more attenuated features of Robert that made it possible, even for Brett, to distinguish one from the other at a little distance. Helen was pleased to be facetious on the point. “Really, Davie,” she said, “now that your cousin has come amongst us, you must remove your beard at once.” “Why?” he asked. “Because you are so alike that some evening, in these dark corridors, I shall mistake Mr. Frazer for you.” “That won’t be half bad,” laughed Robert. Nellie blushed, and endeavoured to evade the consequences of her own remark. “I meant,” she exclaimed, “that you would be sure to laugh at me if I treated you as Davie.” “Not at all. I would consider it a cousinly duty to make you believe I was David, and not myself.” “Then,” she cried, “I will guard against any possibility of error by treating both of you as Mr. Robert Hume-Frazer until I am quite sure.” “Waiter!” said David, “where is the barber’s shop?” Helen became redder than ever, but they enjoyed the joke at her expense. The waiter politely informed his questioner that the barber would not be on duty until the morning at 8 a.m. “Then book the first chair for me!” said David. “And the second for me!” joined in Robert. “Mr. Brett,” said Margaret, “don’t you consider this competition perfectly disgraceful?” “I am overjoyed,” he replied. “It appears to me that the result must be personally most satisfactory.” “In what way?” “It is obvious that you have no resource but to accept my willing slavery, Miss Layton having monopolised the attentions of your two cousins.” “Hello!” cried Frazer. “This is an unexpected attack. Miss Layton, I resign. Have no fear. In the darkest corridor I will warn you that my name is ‘Robert.’” Though the words were carelessly good-humoured, they were just a trifle emphatic. The incident passed, but they recalled it subsequently under very different circumstances. Brett went home about ten o’clock. Next day at noon he was arranging for the immediate delivery of a type-writer machine, sold by Mr. Numagawa Jiro to a West End exchange, when a telegram reached him: <blockquote> “Come at once. Urgent.—HUME.” </blockquote> He drove to the hotel, where David and Helen were sitting in the foyer awaiting his arrival. Hume had kept his promise anent the barber. He no longer desired to alter his appearance in any way, and had only grown a beard on account of his sensitiveness regarding his two trials at the Assizes. But the fun of the affair had quite gone. Helen was pale, David greatly perturbed. “A terrible thing has happened,” he said, in a low voice, when he grasped the barrister’s hand. “Someone tried to kill Bob an hour ago.” The blank amazement on Brett’s face caused him to add hurriedly: “It is quite true. He had the narrowest escape. He is in bed now. The doctor is examining him. We have secured the next room to his, and Margaret is there with a nurse.” The barrister made no reply, but accompanied them to Frazer’s apartment. In the adjoining room they found Margaret, terribly scared, but listening eagerly to the doctor’s cheery optimism. “It is nothing,” he was saying, “a severe squeeze, some slight abrasions, and a great nervous shock, quite serious in its nature, although your friend makes light of it, and wishes to get up at once. I think, however—” A nurse entered. “The patient insists upon my leaving the room,” she cried angrily. “He is dressing.” They heard Robert’s voice: “Confound it, I have been rolled on three times in one day by a bucking broncho, and thought nothing of it. I absolutely refuse to stop in bed!” The doctor resigned professional responsibility; and the nature of Margaret’s cheque caused him to admit that, to a man accustomed to South American ponies, unbroken, the nervous shock might not amount to much. Indeed, Robert appeared almost immediately, and in a bad temper. “I lost my wind,” he explained, “when that horse fell on me, and everyone promptly imagined I was killed. I hope, Margaret, the needless excitement of my appearance on a stretcher did not alarm you. They were going to whip me off to the hospital when I managed to gurgle out the name of the hotel.” “What happened?” said Brett. “The most extraordinary thing. Have you told him, Davie?” “No, I attributed your first words to me as being due to delirium. I had no idea you were in earnest.” “Well, Mr. Brett,” said Frazer, sitting down, for notwithstanding his protests, he was somewhat shaky, “it began to rain after breakfast.” “Excellent!” cried the barrister, “An Englishman, in his sound mind, always starts with the state of the weather.” “I am sound enough, thank goodness, but I had a very close shave. Don’t laugh, Davie. My ribs are sore. As the ladies decided not to go out until the weather took up, Davie said he would keep them company whilst I seized the opportunity to visit a tailor. I left the hotel and walked quickly to the corner of Whitehall. It was hardly worth while taking a cab to Bond Street, and I intended to cross in front of King Charles’s statue. It is an awkward place, and a lot of ’buses, cabs, and vans were bowling along downhill from the Strand and St. Martin’s Church. I waited a moment on the kerbstone, watching for a favourable opportunity, when suddenly I was pitched head foremost in front of a passing ’bus. My escape from instant death was solely due to the splendid way in which the driver handled his horses and applied his brake. The near horse was swung round so sharp that he fell and landed almost, not quite, on the top of me. I could feel his hot, reeking body against my face, and although the greater part of his impact was borne by the road, I got enough to knock the breath out of me. You will see by the state of my clothes in the other room how I was flattened in the mud. By the way, Davie, it is your suit.” Helen choked back something she was going to say, and Frazer continued: “A policeman pulled me from under the horse, and I kept my senses sufficiently to note how the near front wheel had gouged a channel in the mud within an inch or so of my head. It went over my hat. Where is it?” Hume ran into the bedroom, and returned with a bowler hat torn to shreds. “There you are,” said Robert coolly, “Fancy my head in that condition.” “You used the word ‘pitched.’ Do you mean that someone cannoned against you?” “Not a bit of it. It was no accident of a hurrying man blindly following an umbrella. I have been a sailor, Mr. Brett, and am accustomed to maintaining my balance in a sudden lurch. I do it intuitively. It is as much a part of my second self as using my eyes or ears with unconscious accuracy. Some man—a big, powerful man—designedly threw me down, and did so very scientifically, first pressing his knee against the tendons of my left leg, and then using his elbow. Not one in a thousand Londoners would know the trick.” “You are a first-rate witness. Pray go on,” said Brett. “Being a sailor, however, I did manage to twist round slightly as I fell, and I’m blessed if I didn’t think it was Davie here who did it.” The barrister’s keen face lighted curiously. The others, closely watching him, afterwards agreed that he reminded them of a greyhound straining after a luckless hare. “That seems to interest you, Mr. Brett,” said Frazer. “I assure you the momentary impression was very distinct. My assailant was dressed like Davie, too, in dark blue serge, and wore a beard. For the moment I forgot that Davie had visited the barber this morning, and I blurted out something when he met me being carried in through the hall.” “Yes,” exclaimed Hume. “You said: ‘Davie, why did you try to murder me?’ I was sure you were delirious, as I had not left Nellie and Margaret for an instant since you went out.” “That is so,” cried Helen. Margaret uttered no word. She sat, with hands clasped, and pale, set face, watching her cousin as if his story had a mesmeric effect. “I’m awfully sorry,” said Frazer penitently. “I knew at once I was a fool, but you see, old chap, I remembered you best as I had seen you during the previous twenty-four hours, and not as you looked at breakfast this morning. Do forgive me.” But Brett broke in impatiently: “My dear fellow, your natural mistake is the most important thing that has happened since your cousin Alan met his death. The man who attacked you mistook you, in turn, for David. He will try again. I wonder if your accident will be reported in the papers?” “Yes,” said Hume. “A youngster came to me, inquired all about Robert, and seemed to be quite sorry he was not mangled.” “Then it will be your affair next time. Keep a close look-out whenever you are alone. If anyone resembling yourself lays a hand on you, try and detain him at all costs.” “Mr. Brett!” shrieked Helen, “you surely cannot mean it.” His enthusiasm had caused him to ignore her presence. For the next five minutes he was earnestly engaged in explaining away his uncanny request. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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