MRS3 The Velvet Hand (26 page)

The train started. In the rack above Mr. Bristed's head the second pot of beautiful pansies nodded and swayed to the motion. Excepting Mme Storey, we were all very self-conscious, scarcely knowing how to comport ourselves in this queer situation, half play-acting, half reality of the grimmest sort. There, where the fleshy figure of Bristed now lolled, two nights ago the old scientist had sat, full of his testy humours and irritations, shortly to be stilled by death in its most horrible form. Queer! Queer! A sickly feeling of excitement possessed me. I heartily wished the affair were over and done with.

Bristed's excitement seemed to be of a more pleasurable sort. "Shall I put on the glasses and cape?" he asked like a child.

"Plenty of time," said Mme Storey; "nothing could have happened this side of Stotesbury, I think."

Straiker shot a contemptuous look sideways at Bristed. These two were bound to rub each other the wrong way, because Straiker, according to the English technicality, was a gentleman, whereas Bristed was not. These distinctions are difficult to explain.

The train stopped at the suburban station and afterward pounded on through the dark. I suppose it was full of people all bound on their various businesses, but we could see or hear nothing of them: our compartment was like a tiny world of its own. There was little conversation among us; the elements of our party were too disparate. The silence seemed to get a little on Bristed's nerves, and he made one or two explosive attempts to start something, but received no encouragement. His wife sat beside me, completely withdrawn into herself like a woman of marble.

From time to time Mme Storey glanced at her watch, and finally she said: "Time to get ready."

We all started nervously. There was nothing for her and for myself to do, since we were just playing ourselves. She placed Mrs. Bristed's hat on top of her head, and told her to sit up stiffly and look sour. These directions sounded comic, but nobody thought of smiling then. My heart was beating thickly.

"What must I do?" asked Straiker.

"Pull your hat over your face and slump down in your seat," said Mme Storey.

Meanwhile, Bristed had put on Mr. Hendrie's thick glasses, wrapped the cape around him, and jammed down the tweed hat as the old man had been accustomed to do. Of course, he did not look like the old man, really, but such is the power of suggestion, that I imagined I saw him sitting there and shivered.

The train began to slow down.

"Remember," said Mme Storey, "we are all supposed to be sound asleep."

We took relaxed attitudes and closed our eyes. The train gradually lost way, and stopped with a little jerk. A minute or two of tense suspense succeeded. We heard the doors of the carriages open and close, the shuffle of feet along the platform, the cries of the trainmen; then the moment of silence when all is ready for the start again. Suddenly we heard an exclamation outside our carriage. We opened our eyes to perceive the startled face of a young guard looking through the window. He opened the door.

"I remember now," he said excitedly. "Seeing you all asleep like that brings it back: the old man and the young man on one side, and the three women on the other. But night before last there was another person in this compartment!"

A long-drawn exclamation escaped from all of us: "Ahh!"

"What sort of person?" asked Mme Storey.

"A woman, ma'am."

This created a fresh surprise.

"A big woman—elderly—with gray hair and a shabby bonnet. She had a big shawl around her, or a cape; couldn't be sure which. The lights of the compartment were behind her, and I couldn't see her face very good. When I came along she was standing at the door. The door was fast, but she had the window all the way down and was leaning out a little. That was how she was as the train pulled out."

"On account of the gas," murmured Mme Storey
sotto voce
.

I did not understand her reference then.

The conductor and the other guard had come up. The second guard said: "That old woman got out of the last carriage. I marked her because she was so big and strong. I saw her get out but didn't see her get on the train again. She must have followed the passengers out to the exit gate and come back again."

"Was she carrying anything?" asked Mme Storey.

"That I can't say, ma'am."

The conductor was growing uneasy. "What are your wishes, madam?" he asked. His deference was due to the letter from Scotland Yard that my mistress carried.

"Let the train go on," said Mme Storey. "But come to me again at Redminster. I may have to ask you to hold it there for a moment or two."

With a relieved air he gave the signal to start.

We settled back in our seats. Young Straiker, his eyes burning with excitement, said: "This means—this means...?"

"Presumptive evidence in favour of your brother," said Mme Storey cautiously; but her glance was kind upon him.

"Oh, thank God!" he said. "This will be fine news to bring him!"

"Splendid!" said Bristed enthusiastically. His wife said never a word.

"A female thug!" said Bristed, with his ill-timed laugh. "That's something new!"

"Unusual," said Mme Storey drily, "but not unheard of in the annals of crime."

"She must have been thoroughly familiar with the line."

"Not necessarily," said my mistress. "It may have been pure accident that she flung her victim over the viaduct. Any place would have done."

I shuddered.

"What must we do now?" asked Bristed.

"You may take off your disguise. It has served its turn."

We fell silent. I suppose the same thought was in every mind. There was now a shadowy sixth presence riding in the compartment with us. She must have sat down between the two men opposite me. I pictured her cunning and brutal glance around at her sleeping fellow travellers. Was her purpose born in that moment, or had she entered the carriage with murderous intent? Perhaps the old man had awakened, or seemed about to awake, and it was that which had sealed his fate. I pictured her getting the knife out and opening it—how horrible in the hand of a woman! Had she gone through his pockets or stabbed him first? ...

The rumble of the train took on a hollower sound.

"We are crossing the viaduct," said Mme Storey.

Oh, it was too horrible! Involuntarily, I shut my eyes and clapped my hands over my ears. But clearer than with the eyes of my body I saw the door of the compartment open and that poor murdered body go hurtling down through the dark. When I opened my eyes we were on solid ground again. There was a sort of witless grin of excitement pasted on Bristed's face. "It is nothing to him but a newspaper sensation," I thought.

A few minutes later we came to a stop in the station at Redminster. The conductor and guard came to the door of our carriage. Mme Storey asked the latter if he could remember having seen the old woman leave the train at this place, but he could only shake his head.

"Can't say, madam. There was quite a number got off."

Mme Storey then asked the conductor for sufficient time to make inquiry of the ticket taker. She nodded to me to follow and indicated that I was to bring the pot of pansies. I wondered greatly what this was for. Bristed and his wife made as if to come with us, but Mme Storey asked them to remain in their seats.

"It would only make confusion," she said.

We were obliged to wait until the passengers had passed through the gate. Mme Storey whispered to me: "While I am questioning the man, stand in such a way that his eye must fall on the pot of pansies. I do not wish to suggest the word pansies to him, but hope that the sight of the thing itself may stir his memory."

The conductor identified Mme Storey to the ticket collector. Scotland Yard! the man's eyes widened at the sound; and his amazement visibly grew as he took note of my mistress's beautiful face in the light of the station lamps, and her elegant attire. Not at all the sort of figure one associates with the police. I took care to stand where the light would fall on my pot of flowers.

"What can you tell me about the people who got off this train two nights ago?" asked Mme Storey.

"There was about twenty persons, ma'am," he said. "I can give you the exact number if you let me look up my record."

"Never mind that," said Mme Storey. "Do you remember any women among them?"

"Women?" he said, scratching his head. "Yes, there was women among 'em. What sort of a woman are you lookin' for?"

"I'd rather have you tell me what you saw."

"I mind one woman," he said, after a moment's thought: "big woman with a shawl around her shoulders. She was a rare ugly specimen, she was—that's how I mind her. Big gray eyebrows jutting out like an old man's, and a moustache like; and a few long hairs growing on her chin. Enough to stop a clock, ma'am."

"That will be the one," said Mme Storey. "Was she carrying anything?"

"Little old-fashioned satchel, ma'am. Squarish in shape."

"Anything else?"

"That was all I saw."

"Was the satchel big enough to have contained this pot of pansies?"

His eyes goggled at the flowers, but he answered readily: "No, ma'am."

"What was in her other arm?"

"It was hidden under the big shawl, ma'am."

"Then she might have been carrying quite a large object in it."

"Possibly, ma'am.... Come to think of it, she must have had something in that arm, because I mind how she had to put her satchel down in order to give me her ticket."

"Excellent," said Mme Storey. Turning to the conductor she said: "We will leave the train here."

I was sent back to fetch Mr. and Mrs. Bristed. We supposed that young Straiker would continue his journey to London; but he begged to be allowed to see the thing through, and Mme Storey made no objection.

As we made our way through the station Mme Storey murmured to me: "The pansies didn't serve us that time; but hang on to them; they will be useful later."

Outside the station Mme Storey looked for a taxi driver with the idea of getting further information; but it appeared that the cabs had all secured fares and driven away. There was a tramcar in the street, but that also moved away with its load. However, a train from the North was due to pass through in a few minutes. We waited, and the cabs presently began to straggle back. The first driver we spoke to was a typical English cabby. I am told they have changed very little since horseflesh gave place to petrol. A burly man rendered still burlier by the amount of clothing he wore, he had a white neckerchief wound round his throat inside his coat collar, and his face was the colour of beetroot. You have seen his prototype driving stagecoaches in old English sporting prints; only nowadays he wears a cap instead of a pot hat.

"Yes, miss," he said hoarsely, "I remember the big woman that got off the Banchester train two nights ago. As it might happen me and my mates we made a bit of game of her among ourselves. Such a fearsome old grenadier. 'I'm glad she ain't my mother-in-law,' I says."

"What became of her?" asked Mme Storey.

"She come out the station and looks about her like a stranger. 'Keb, lady?' I says. She shook her head without speaking. The tram was waiting just the same as it was to-night, but she didn't take that neither, though it's a good half mile to the centre of town. She let it go, and she started walking."

"In what direction?"

"Down the main road, miss, with the tram line."

"You had never seen her before?"

"No, ma'am. I could almost swear she had never been seen in Redminster. That was a face you couldn't forget easy."

While Mme Storey was talking to him, the train came in. We waited to let the bustle subside. In some manner the news of our errand had got about the station and we were the objects of general attention. The size of our party made me feel rather foolish. I wished that Mme Storey and I were alone on this. When the train had gone on, the station guard, the one who collected the tickets, joined us. He hadn't anything to do, he said, until the last train from London to Banchester went through at eleven forty-five, and we would want a guide about town. Mme Storey good-naturedly accepted him, but turned down the cabman, who begged us almost tearfully to make use of his cab.

We set off on the trail of the old woman walking two and two like a parcel of schoolchildren out for an airing: first, Mme Storey and the guard; then the Bristeds, then Mr. Straiker and I. Straiker carried the pot of pansies for me. It was certainly an oddly assorted sextette, yet Mme Storey and the guard chatted away as if they had been acquainted for years. That is her way. The Bristeds had nothing to say to each other. They walked a little apart, as if estranged. I wondered what were the relations between those two. In looking back I could not remember having heard them address each other. A curious excitement filled me; the excitement of the hunt.

The suburban road wound away from the station first to the left, then to the right—English roads are never straight. There were a few shops at the station, then houses and dark gardens. Over the trees ahead we could see a brighter glow which denoted the centre of the town. The road kept winding downhill, and presently we came to a bridge, an ancient bridge with stone parapet. Mme Storey stopped and peered over.

"There seems to be a good bit of water here," she remarked.

"The Scar River, miss," said the guard. "Yes, miss, there's good boating about here."

"What a welcome find for a stranger who had something heavy to get rid of!" said Mme Storey reflectively.

"Eh, miss?" he asked, perplexed.

"Fetch me a constable," said Mme Storey briskly. "Tell him who I am and say that I would like to have this stream dragged under the bridge."

"A body, miss?" he exclaimed in tones of delighted horror.

"Nothing like that! Be as quick as you can, so that we can take the eleven forty-five to Banchester if we find what we want. We'll wait here."

He ran off, delighted with his errand.

Mme Storey hoisted herself on the parapet and lighted a cigarette. Straiker put down the pot of flowers near her. The few townspeople who passed stared at us curiously. It was a bit early in the season to be spooning on the bridge. Suddenly I became aware that a change had come over Bristed. He was still laughing in his fat way, making his inconsequential and enthusiastic comments, but his head had gone forward in a curious fashion, his whole attitude suggested a deathly fear. At the same moment in the light of a street lamp I glimpsed his wife's face. She was staring at him with distended eyes full of rage, contempt, or terror—perhaps all three. Straiker saw it too, and we exchanged a swift glance.