Chapter XXIV: Some Discoveries in Scarborough

We had breakfast next morning in that big room of the Grand Hotel at Scarborough that overlooks the bay.

Though I was myself an early riser, Whitlock had been up and out a long time before me. Most probably he had been to have a chat with the Chief Constable of the town, in order to learn something of the tenants of Kazan House. But when he returned he made no remark save--

"Tired last night--eh, Keene? I've been for a stroll along the Esplanade. Quite nice this morning," and he looked out upon the sunlit sea, the green Castle Hill, and the much-talked-of Marine Drive. Scarborough, without any exaggeration, can be called the Queen of English watering-places. Once, in the days when our fathers were courting, it was the mode to go to Scarborough and parade on its "Spaw," but, alas! nowadays, when there are so many other attractive places, and when Cook's take the curious "abroad" cheaper than they can live at home, even beautiful Scarborough, like so many of our lovely coast towns, is far too much neglected by the wealthiest of English holiday-makers.

Breakfast finished, I walked up Huntriss Row with my companion, who wanted to send telegrams. One of them was, I noticed, in cipher, and addressed to Scotland Yard. Then we returned, crossed the Spa Bridge, and ascended to the South Cliff, the select and aristocratic part of the town, whence splendid views are afforded of the old town, harbour, and the ruined stronghold upon the grass-grown promontory.

The morning was delightful, with bright sun and little wind, and as we passed along the sea-front, with long terraces of big, substantially-built houses, our eyes were eagerly in search of Kazan House. Its discovery did not entail very much difficulty, but we were both much disappointed to note upon the door a small board in black and gold, bearing the word "Apartments."

It was a boarding-house, as were nearly all the others in the same terrace. Its position was a delightful one, for right before it, sloping between the Esplanade and the sea, lay the beautiful Belvedere Gardens, with their pineries and roseries, which every visitor knows as one of the finest shore-gardens in all the kingdom, private property, and therefore closed to the public, save in the rose season, when their benevolent owner threw them open in aid of various charities. On such occasions thousands upon thousands availed themselves of the opportunity of wandering in those cleverly-devised walks, and admiring the glorious views of sea and cliff that show through the canopies of foliage, in the direction of Filey.

"It's a boarding-house, as I expected," remarked Whitlock, disappointedly, as we strolled past. "Mr Frederick Stonor may have been only a visitor to this place, after all. At any rate, let's see," and he suddenly turned back again, entered the gate, went up the short walk of the tiny strip of front garden and touched the electric bell.

A maid with dark, fluffy hair appeared, whereupon my friend inquired if there were any rooms to let.

"If you step in, sir," replied the girl, with a Yorkshire accent, "I'll call my mistress."

So we entered the small hall and waited until there appeared a middle-aged, rather pleasant-faced woman, who wore a severe black stuff gown, and whose dark hair, parted in the centre, was brushed down flat.

We repeated our inquiry, and were shown up to the first floor, where we found a large, airy sitting-room and two well-furnished bedrooms. Whitlock, acting as spokesman, expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with both the accommodation and the terms demanded, while the landlady, growing chatty, as landladies usually do when they exhibit their best demeanour towards fresh arrivals, told us that her name was Pennington, and that she was a widow.

Whitlock did not press any inquiries, but said that we would take the rooms, and that our traps were on their way from London and would arrive on the morrow. We would return to the Grand, pay our bill, and come back there in an hour's time.

And so we became tenants of furnished rooms in Kazan House, South Cliff, Scarborough.

"We shall have to remain here at least one day, if not two," my friend remarked, as we walked back in the direction of the town.

"Then, if I must stay, I'll be compelled to wire to the office," I said.

"Better wire now. I have an idea that we shall learn something here," he answered. "I was half inclined to make inquiries of the man Stonor; but, after all, it's better to let the questions come naturally, otherwise Mrs Pennington may not be communicative."

At noon, therefore, we were installed in our new abode, and standing together at the sitting-room window we obtained a wide view of the charming garden of the Belvedere. Two young ladies in white dresses were wandering in the rosery, plucking bunches of flowers, while the owner, a well-preserved, elderly gentleman, was giving directions to his gardeners. Beyond the gardens lay the sunlit sea, blue and unruffled.

Luncheon was served very shortly afterwards, and following it reappeared Mrs Pennington to express, in her fussy manner, a hope that we were satisfied.

This gave Whitlock his opportunity. He began by hinting that if we were comfortable we should probably spend the winter with her--knowing well what winter lodgers mean to the keepers of seaside boarding-houses. By such remarks as these he ingratiated himself with her, and then began to remark about the beauties of the private garden opposite.

"Yes," she replied. "They belong to the landlord of this house. He's a most courtly and charming gentleman, and allows his tenants to go in and walk about on Sundays. I hear, however, that some people have abused the privilege and have actually carried away great bunches of his roses."

"Such privileges are always abused," I remarked.

"You're quite right, sir," declared Mrs Pennington. "It's a shame, and it makes it bad for others."

"The two young ladies I saw just now are his daughters, I suppose?"

"No, sir. His granddaughters. Both very charming girls. They have a German lady as companion. Has she been out there this morning? She's generally out very early, getting flowers for the table--often before I'm up."

"I shall see her presently, I expect," was my reply.

Then she fell to gossiping about her neighbours and referring to the kindheartedness and generosity of the gentleman to whom the terrace belonged, and who lived in the big stone house at the end, whence a subterranean passage running beneath the Esplanade gave communication with the extensive cliff gardens.

At last Whitlock seized his opportunity and remarked in a casual way--

"I met a little time ago a man named Stonor, who lived somewhere along here. He told me what a charming view could be obtained from the Esplanade."

"Stonor, sir!" Mrs Pennington echoed. "Was it Frederick Stonor?"

"Yes. His name was Frederick--a rather stout, middle-aged man."

"Well, funnily enough, sir, he's my brother."

"Your brother!" exclaimed Whitlock, as we both pricked up our ears.

"Yes, sir. He's been away in York for a week, but he returns to-morrow. So you know him. Only fancy! He will be pleased to find you are our guests."

"Then he rents this house in conjunction with you?" my companion asked.

"Yes, sir."

"He didn't tell me whether he was married or not."

"No, he isn't. In fact," she laughed, "he is a most confirmed bachelor."

"It was about last September, I think, when I met him in London."

"Yes. He went to town last September--so he did."

"There was a young lady with him--if I remember aright."

"A young lady?" replied Stonor's sister, with some surprise. "That's news to me. He went up to see about realising some property which my father left to us three years ago. Are you not mistaken? Fred said nothing to me about any young lady."

"No; I remember quite distinctly. On the second occasion we met--in Piccadilly one afternoon--he had a very pretty young lady with him."

"Then I must ask him when he returns to-morrow," she laughed, good-humouredly. "He has few secrets from me."

"He's been with you here a long time, I suppose?" Whitlock remarked, cleverly changing the topic of conversation.

"Ever since my husband died, five years ago. But," she added, rather thoughtfully, "what you've just told me regarding him being about with a young lady rather worries me."

"Perhaps he's thinking of marrying at last," I laughed.

"I should hope he won't be such a fool!" she declared.

"Well, Mrs Pennington, of course, all I have said you will regard as confidential," Whitlock said. "Had I not believed that you were aware of the young lady's existence I should never have mentioned her. As it is, I think it would be better if you said nothing when he returns. He would only be annoyed with me."

"Of course, sir, if you wish it, I will say nothing," she replied. "But when he returns perhaps you can find out for me who the lady was. I'm very anxious, you know; for if he marries he will most certainly leave here, and I should then lose his help and support, which means very much to me. You can well understand my anxiety."

"I do. Say nothing about the matter, Mrs Pennington, and leave all to me."

When she had closed the door and descended the stairs, my friend turned to me and said hastily--

"I've made an infernal blunder--one that can't be recalled. I'm a fool!"

"Why?"

"Because I said that Stonor knew me. We can't meet him now, or our game will be given away. We must leave early to-morrow morning, but before we go we'll try and learn, if possible, something more. Now that we've promised to help her to fathom her brother's secret she'll tell us all she knows."

"Yes," I said, admitting his remarkable tact and cunning. "You've acted splendidly."

"I got through all right--except that short-sighted statement that I can't now wriggle out of. The moment her brother returns she'll tell him that a friend of his is upstairs. He'll come up, and, finding a perfect stranger, will at once become suspicious. No, Keene; we shall have to leave suddenly early to-morrow morning. There's a train to York a little after nine."

"But before that we ought to have another chat with Mrs Pennington," I suggested. "It's very evident that she don't want her brother to marry."

"We'll go out for a stroll, and try and have a chat with her after tea," he decided.

So, taking our hats, we went out, wandering along the cliffs to Cayton Bay, meeting hardly a soul. Then, on our return, about half-past five, we had tea and sat at the open window, lazily smoking and discussing the curious events of the past few days.

About half-past six we told the fluffy-haired maid to ask Mrs Pennington to kindly step up, and when she entered Whitlock pretended to give her orders regarding what we preferred for breakfast.

She at once began to gossip about all kinds of topics, until with subtle cleverness my companion turned the conversation again to her brother.

"No. He's not often up in London," she said. "But he frequently goes away for two or three days at a time, and he never tells me where he's been to. In fact, this last couple of years he has been very erratic in his movements. He has a good many friends in various parts of Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, and often goes to visit them. But he's always very close regarding his movements--so much so that I've often wondered whether there wasn't some attraction somewhere of which he was keeping me in ignorance."

"Ah! I see," Whitlock laughed. "Then his habit was to go away to unknown destinations?"

"Yes. Once he told me he'd been in Darlington, staying with his cousin for three days, but I afterwards found out that he hadn't been there at all. When I told him he became very much annoyed, and told me in future to mind my own business."

Whitlock shot a meaning glance in my direction.

"And I suppose you didn't make any further remarks?"

"No. But I've been pondering a good deal of late."

"Well, Mrs Pennington," Whitlock said, "I wonder whether, in these circumstances, you can keep a secret? Remember, I am his friend, and I don't wish anything repeated to him."

"I certainly won't repeat anything," the woman assured him. "I'd very much like to know who the lady was with whom you say he was walking about London."

"Then this is her photograph," Whitlock said, producing it suddenly from his breast-pocket. "Do you recognise her?"

Mrs Pennington's countenance went deathly pale as her eager eyes fell upon the picture we had discovered in Woburn Square. I saw that she held her breath, utterly dumbfounded.

That she recognised the portrait was in an instant evident.

But next moment she had recovered herself.

"It's a lie!" she cried, glaring at my friend. "He was never with her! Impossible!"