The Red Symbol Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  A RED-HAIRED WOMAN!

  I bent over the corpse and touched the forehead tentatively with myfinger-tips. It was stone cold. The man must have been dead many hours.

  "Come on; we must send for the police; pull yourself together, man!" Isaid to Jenkins, who seemed half-paralyzed with fear and horror.

  We squeezed back through the small opening, and I gently closed thedoor, and gripping Jenkins by the arm, marched him down the stairs to myrooms. He was trembling like a leaf, and scarcely able to stand alone.

  "We've never had such a thing happen before," he kept mumblinghelplessly, over and over again.

  I bade him have some whiskey, if he could find any, and remain there tokeep an eye on the staircase, while I went across to Scotland Yard; for,through some inexplicable pig-headedness on the part of the policeauthorities, not even the headquarters was on the telephone.

  The Abbey bells were ringing for afternoon service, and there were manypeople about, churchgoers and holiday makers in their Sunday clothes.The contrast between the sunny streets, with their cheerful crowds, andthe silent sinister tragedy of the scene I had just left struck meforcibly.

  If I had sent Jenkins on the errand, I guess he would have created quitea sensation. That is why I went myself; and I doubt if any one sawanything unusual about me, as I threaded my way quietly through thethrong at Whitehall corner, where the 'buses stop to take up passengers.

  A minute or two later I was in an inspector's room at "the Yard," givingmy information to a little man who heard me out almost in silence,watching me keenly the while.

  I imagine that I appeared quite calm. I could hear my own voice statingthe bald facts succinctly, but, to my ears, it sounded like the voice ofsome one else, for it was with a great effort that I retained mycomposure. I knew that this strange and terrible event which I had beenthe one to discover was only another link in the chain of circumstances,which, so far as my knowledge went, began less than twenty-four hoursago; a chain that threatened to fetter me, or the girl I loved. For myown safety I cared nothing. My one thought was to protect Anne, who mustbe, either fortuitously, or of her own will, involved in this tangledweb of intrigue.

  I should, of course, be subjected to cross-examination, and, on my wayto Scotland Yard, I had decided just what I meant to reveal. I wouldhave to relate how I encountered the old Russian, when he mistook myflat for Cassavetti's; but of the portrait in his possession, of oursubsequent interview, and of the incident of the river steps, I wouldsay nothing.

  For the present I merely stated how Jenkins and I had discovered thefact that a murder had been committed.

  "I dined in company with Mr. Cassavetti last night," I continued. "Butbefore that--"

  I was going to mention the mysterious Russian; but my auditor checkedme.

  "Half a minute, Mr. Wynn," he said, as he filled in some words on aform, and handed it to a police officer waiting inside the door. The mantook the paper, saluted, and went out.

  "I gather that you did not search the rooms? That when you found the manlying dead there, you simply came out and left everything as it was?"

  "Yes. I saw at once we could do nothing; the poor fellow was cold andrigid."

  I felt that I spoke dully, mechanically; but the horror of the thing wasso strongly upon me, that, if I had relaxed the self-restraint I wasexerting, I think I should have collapsed altogether. This business-likelittle official, who had received the news that a murder had beencommitted as calmly as if I had merely told him some one had tried topick my pocket, could not imagine and must not suspect the significancethis ghastly discovery held for me, or the maddening conjectures thatwere flashing across my mind.

  "I wish every one would act as sensibly; it would save us a lot oftrouble;" he remarked, closing his note-book, and stowing it, and hisfountain pen, in his breast-pocket. "I will return with you now; my menwill be there before we are, and the divisional surgeon won't be longafter us."

  _The rooms were in great disorder, and had been subjectedto an exhaustive search._ Page 51]

  We walked the short distance in silence; and when we turned the cornerof the street where the block was situated, I saw that the news hadspread, as such news always does, in some unaccountable fashion, fora little crowd had assembled, gazing at the closed street-door, andexchanging comments and ejaculations.

  I pulled out my keys, but, for all the self-control I thought I wasmaintaining, my hand trembled so I could not fit the latch-key into thelock.

  "Allow me," said my companion, and took the bunch out of my shakinghand, just as the door was opened from within by a constable who hadstationed himself in the lobby.

  On the top landing we overtook another constable, and two plain-clothesofficers, to whom Jenkins was volubly asserting his belief that it wasnone other than the assassin who had left the door open in the night.

  The minute investigation that followed revealed several significantfacts. One was that the assassin must have been in the rooms for someconsiderable time before Cassavetti returned,--to be struck down theinstant he entered. The position of the body, just behind the door,proved that. Also he was still wearing his thin Inverness, and his hathad rolled to a corner of the little hall. He had not even had time toreplace his keys in his trousers pocket; they dangled loosely from theirchain, and jingled as the body was lifted and moved to the inner room.

  The rooms were in great disorder, and had been subjected to anexhaustive search; even the books had been tumbled out of their shelvesand thrown on the floor. But ordinary robbery was evidently not themotive, for there were several articles of value scattered about theroom; nor had the body been rifled. Cassavetti wore a valuable diamondring, which was still on his finger, as his gold watch was still in hisbreast-pocket; it had stopped at ten minutes to twelve.

  "Run down, so that shows nothing," the detective remarked, as he openedit and looked at the works. "Do you know if your friend carried apocket-book, Mr. Wynn? He did? Then that's the only thing missing. Itwas papers they were after, and I presume they got 'em!"

  That was obvious enough, for not a scrap of written matter wasdiscovered, nor the weapon with which the crime was committed.

  "It's a fairly straightforward case," Inspector Freeman saidcomplacently, later, when the gruesome business was over, and the bodyremoved to the mortuary. "A political affair, of course; the man was aRussian revolutionary--we used to call 'em Nihilists a few yearsago--and his name was no more Cassavetti than mine is! Now, Mr. Wynn,you told me you knew him, and dined with him last night. Do you care togive me any particulars, or would you prefer to keep them till you giveevidence at the inquest?"

  "I'll give them you now, of course," I answered promptly. "I can'tattend the inquest, for I'm leaving England to-morrow morning."

  "Then you'll have to postpone your journey," he said dryly. "For you'rebound to attend the inquest; you'll be the most important witness. May Iask where you were going?"

  I told him, and he nodded.

  "So you're one of Lord Southbourne's young men? Thought I knew yourface, but couldn't quite place you," he responded. "Hope you won't meetwith the same fate as your predecessor. A sad affair, that; we got thenews on Friday. Sounds like much the same sort of thing as this"--hejerked his head towards the ceiling--"except that Mr. Carson was anEnglishman, who never ought to have mixed himself up with a lot likethat."

  Again came that expressive jerk of the head, and his small bright eyesregarded me more shrewdly and observantly than ever.

  "Let me give you a word of warning, Mr. Wynn; don't you follow hisexample. Remember Russia's not England--"

  "I know. I've been there before. Besides, my chief warned me lastnight."

  "Lord Southbourne? Just so; he knows a thing or two. Well, now aboutCassavetti--"

  I was glad enough to get back to the point; it was he and not I who hadstrayed from it, for I was anxious to get rid of him.

  I gave him just the information I had decided upon, and flattered myse
lfthat I did it with a candor that precluded even him from suspecting thatI was keeping anything back. To my immense relief he refrained from anyquestioning, and at the end of my recital put up his pocket-book, androse, holding out his hand.

  "Well, you've given me very valuable assistance, Mr. Wynn. Queer oldcard, that Russian. We shouldn't have much difficulty in tracing him,though you never can tell with these aliens. They've as many bolt holesas a rat. You say he's the only suspicious looking visitor you've everseen here?"

  "The only one of any kind I've encountered who wanted Cassavetti. Afterall, I knew very little of him, and though we were such near neighbors,I saw him far more often about town than here."

  "You never by any chance saw a lady going up to his rooms, or on thestaircase as if she might be going up there? A red-haired woman,--orfair-haired, anyhow--well-dressed?"

  "Never!" I said emphatically, and with truth. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because there was a red-haired woman in his flat last night. That'sall. Good day, Mr. Wynn."