Chapter XXVI: Every Woman for Herself

Mrs. Walsingham went out early the next morning fully conscious that she had a hard and a trying day before her. But her excellent night had fitted her for whatever lay in front; now that the critical moment had arrived, she felt something of the joy of battle in her veins; she rose to the occasion with a zest which gave her positive pleasure. She was going to fight for her own hand; by nightfall she hoped to be in a position from which she could, metaphorically, snap her fingers at anything which savoured of the past. So she tripped out of Bloomsbury flats, and went Strand-wards, all unconscious of the fact that Mr. Sydney Werrick, who to his many other accomplishments added that of being able to cleverly disguise himself, watched her emerge and sauntered after her at a comfortably easy pace and distance. But Mr. Werrick, in his turn, was equally unconscious that he, too, was shadowed by a keen-eyed person who had no intention of losing sight of him.

Mrs. Walsingham, following her usual habits, crossed Russell Square, went down Southampton Row and Kingsway to Norfolk Street, and entering Abbotsbury House, remained there for a good hour, during which time Mr. Werrick killed the slow moments by various devices, in which tedious occupation he was imitated by his shadow. Werrick knew already that there was but one entrance and one exit to Abbotsbury House; on it, however much he lounged about Norfolk Street, however deeply he professed to be interested in the kaleidoscopic life of the Strand, as seen from the two corners of the street-top, he kept the eye of a lynx. And at length he saw Mrs. Walsingham emerge, and he followed her to a neighbouring bank; and when she came out of its doors, a few minutes later, he followed her along the Strand. Then Mrs. Walsingham openly and boldly walked into the shop of Mr. Wiertz, and Mr. Werrick took up a position on the opposite side of the street, and wondered what she was doing in the establishment, which was ornamented by the unmistakable sign of the pawnbroker.

Mr. Wiertz, who happened to be in his shop when Mrs. Walsingham entered, was surprised to see her, though he was not sure why he was surprised. That her visit was connected with financial reasons he felt assured, but for the moment he could not surmise what particular kind of financial reasons they might be. He greeted Mrs. Walsingham with great politeness, however, remembering the magnificence in which he had recently beheld her at the Odalium Theatre, and he came bowing and smiling towards her as she entered and fixed an inquiring gaze upon him. Mrs. Walsingham, however, knew that what Mr. Wiertz was really bowing and smiling at was the diamond necklace, or his recollections of it.

“I want to see you in private, Mr. Wiertz,” she said, without preface.

“With pleasure, madam,” replied Mr. Wiertz. He led the way to his sanctum at the extreme rear of the premises, and carefully shut the door upon himself and his customer before he placed his most comfortable chair at her disposal. “We shall not be disturbed here, madam,” he said. “But you are familiar with my little den.”

Mrs. Walsingham laid her handbag on the table and rested an elbow upon it.

“You remember my diamond necklace, Mr. Wiertz?” she said, going straight to her subject. “Of course you do.”

“I remember it, Mrs. Walsingham, and I had the pleasure of seeing you wear it the other night,” answered Mr. Wiertz.

Mrs. Walsingham started and looked a question.

“At the Odalium--close by,” said Mr. Wiertz. “Yes--I indulged myself with a seat at the play. And very beautiful it was--the diamond necklace, I mean, of course.”

Mrs. Walsingham laughed.

“I suppose you couldn’t take your eyes off it?” she said.

Mr. Wiertz bowed. He also smiled, blandly.

“It would, of course, attract you much more than anything you saw on the stage,” continued Mrs. Walsingham. “Yes, I remember that you always had a great liking for my necklace, Mr. Wiertz. You also wanted to buy it. Very well--I want to sell it.”

This blunt announcement produced two effects on Mr. Wiertz. A great wave of joy leapt up in his soul; it was followed by a mightier wave of caution. He took off his spectacles and began to polish them. Previously, Mrs. Walsingham had not wished to sell; now, Mrs. Walsingham did wish to sell. That difference made--all the difference.

“Ah!” he said. “Yes? Now, when I wanted to buy the necklace, I had a customer in view. Now I have no customer in view.”

“That’s of no consequence,” said Mrs. Walsingham, with fine indifference. “It doesn’t make the slightest difference in the value of the stones, you know. I remarked that I want to sell the necklace, just as it is. How much will you give me for it, Mr. Wiertz--prompt cash?”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mr. Wiertz. “I--I am not thinking of buying anything so very----”

Mrs. Walsingham stopped him with a glance.

“Don’t let’s waste time in foolish talk, Mr. Wiertz,” she said. And, as if to show how practical she meant to be in the matter, she unlocked her bag, took out a case and unveiled the diamond necklace before him. “You know you want to buy this,” she continued, “and now I’m prepared to sell it to you. You made me an offer once before--I didn’t really know the worth of the stones, then. Now, I do. And so--how much are you going to offer me--cash?”

Mr. Wiertz took up the diamond necklace and examined it carefully. His fingers trembled a little as he put it down again.

“I had an immediate customer at that time,” he protested. “Now, it is too late, and if I bought this, I should have to wait, and to look about me, and----”

“Stuff!” said Mrs. Walsingham. “And nonsense, too. You know as well as I do that if you buy that necklace you can sell it again within twenty-four hours and make an enormous profit. What you’re calculating at this moment is how you can beat me down so that you can increase that profit. But you won’t, Mr. Wiertz. I’ve got my own price on that diamond necklace, and I’m going to have it. It doesn’t matter whether you give it to me or not. Because, if you don’t somebody else will.”

Mr. Wiertz rubbed his hands together and smiled feebly.

“How--how much do you want?” he asked.

“Ten thousand--cash,” answered Mrs. Walsingham, promptly.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Wiertz. “Oh, really, it’s--impossible.”

Mrs. Walsingham swept the necklace, case and all, into her handbag. She made signs of departure.

“Impossible!” repeated Mr. Wiertz. “I--I couldn’t sell at a profit on that. Say--we’ll say eight thousand, dear lady.”

“I’ve said what I want,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “And what I want, I’ll have. Ten thousand is my price.”

“I might go to eight thousand five hundred,” said Mr. Wiertz. “You see----”

“I only see that you’re wasting time,” responded Mrs. Walsingham. “I tell you I can get ten thousand elsewhere.”

Mr. Wiertz hesitated. Finally he stretched a hand towards the bag.

“Well, well, let me see it again,” he said. “Really, you are very extortionate, you know, and my profit would be----”

Mrs. Walsingham handed the necklace to him again.

“Ten thousand--not a penny less,” she said.

The jeweller examined the necklace still more closely. At last he turned to his desk.

“How do you want it, then?” he asked. “A cheque?--or I can send out and get you notes if you like?”

“If you please,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She sat back in the easy chair, and put the tips of her fingers together. “You’ve got a good bargain there, Mr. Wiertz--you know you have.”

“But I shall have to find a customer,” said Mr. Wiertz, as he began to write a cheque. “You ladies are so cruel when it comes to bargaining.”

The keen-eyed gentleman who was watching Mr. Sydney Werrick had by this time become aware that Mr. Werrick was watching some other person, and he accordingly waxed anxious to know who that other person was. So when Werrick suddenly woke up from lazy contemplation of the Strand and its crowds, and turned eastward again, his shadow looked about him to see whom he shadowed, and he was not long in deciding that Werrick’s attentions were fixed on the neatly-gowned little lady who made her way back to Norfolk Street. And his sharp eyes saw that she carried a handbag which was secured to her wrist by a chain which was something more than ornamental. After that, he watched his man more keenly than ever.

Mrs. Walsingham re-entered Abbotsbury House and stayed there for half an hour. When she came out she went up into the Strand and boarded a City omnibus. She boarded it at a moment when there was a block in the traffic; Werrick, superbly confident in his disguise, took advantage of this to board the same bus. Mrs. Walsingham got a seat within the vehicle; Werrick climbed to the top and took good care to see who got on and who got off whenever the bus stopped between that point and the City. As for the man who was following Werrick, and who knew him quite well in spite of his disguise, he openly followed Mrs. Walsingham into the bus, being assured by that time that if he kept an eye on her he would also be keeping an eye on the man who rode above their heads.

In this close companionship these three people rode down into the heart of the City. At the Mansion House, Mrs. Walsingham got out of the omnibus, and betook herself into Threadneedle Street. Werrick followed; the shadow followed him. Mrs. Walsingham entered the doors of a well-known private banking firm; Werrick lounged past them, turned, retraced his steps and met his shadow face to face. The shadow knew that he was safe; Werrick showed no sign of sudden recognition; showed nothing: he did not, indeed, seem to see the man whose eyes met his. And the man congratulated himself, and passing on, paused at a convenient point, and thenceforward kept a look-out for the grey Homburg hat which crowned his quarry’s dark face.

The private bank into which Mrs. Walsingham had gone was that whereat Richard Shrewsbury kept his account. She was known there, for she had often transacted business over its counters for both Richard himself and for Carsdale, and when she presented her cheque for fifteen thousand pounds, accompanied by a slip stating what notes she wanted the amount in, it was duly honoured with no more delay than was necessary in counting and checking the notes. And if the two men who were watching outside, each with different motives, had but known it, Mrs. Walsingham presently went off with twenty-five thousand pound’s worth of Bank of England notes in her handbag. But whatever Werrick might guess and the other man wonder at, they knew nothing certain, and the chase began again, Werrick following Mrs. Walsingham, and the keen-faced man following Werrick.

Mrs. Walsingham went away to Lombard Street, and there turned into the Anglo-Austrian Bank. The man who was shadowing Werrick saw her enter; he also saw Werrick pass the door in his sauntering, seemingly purposeless fashion. He himself, hesitating as to what he should do next, turned his attention from his quarry for a moment; when he looked round again, Werrick had disappeared. The shadow hastened his steps looking everywhere; Werrick was nowhere to be seen. Then the shadow, hastily inventing an excuse, entered the bank, and asking a question over the counter of the first clerk he saw, contrived to take a view of the people about him. His man was not amongst them, nor was the woman his man had been following. And though the shadow hung about for some time, he saw neither Mrs. Walsingham nor Werrick again. The truth was that Mrs. Walsingham, having come there by appointment, was transacting some private business in an inner room, and that Werrick, having found out all that he wanted just then, had slipped round a corner, negotiated some courts, and was going back West to meet Sophie Guyner. Eventually, the shadow, who knew very well that Werrick was living at certain chambers in Jermyn Street, and who had no concern with Mrs. Walsingham, went away. Mrs. Walsingham remained some time at the Anglo-Austrian Bank; when she came out she walked in leisurely fashion as far as the Mansion House. There she was about to board another bus, but instead of doing so, she turned away to a telephone box and spoke to Sophie Guyner, telling her that she was sending Griffkin up to the flat with a couple of theatre tickets for that evening, and that she herself should not be home until late. That done, she found a bus and went back to Norfolk Street, and employed herself in her usual avocations until the end of the afternoon, when she repaired to her favourite Soho restaurant and dined. She gave more time to her dinner than was her wont, and it was twenty minutes to eight when she rose and departed, and went home to Bloomsbury. And there, as he came along the corridor from the direction of her own door, she found herself face to face with Captain Blair.