Chapter XXIX: The Silent Tenant

Carsdale went away from his interview with Mr. Winch and Frances Leverton conscious of mixed feelings. He was triumphant, and yet he was annoyed; he had scored a success over two people whom he cordially disliked, but his victory had cost him the greater part of three thousand pounds. Although he had always been prepared for this sudden onslaught, he was not a little surprised when it came, and as he walked out of New Square he was puzzling his brains to make out how Frances had worked up the evidence against him, for he himself had begun to believe that he was safe. That young woman, he decided, was a great deal too clever; he began to regret that in past days he had not made up to her; it was evident that she possessed a good business head and knew what figures meant, and she might, under favourable conditions, have been very useful to him. Instead of that, she was his enemy, and, as events had just proved, a formidable one. “Lucky that I was always able to keep a reserve at the bank in case that ever did come up!” he muttered as he made for Fleet Street. “There’d have been the devil to pay with old Winch if I hadn’t taken the upper hand. Well, that’s two thousand seven hundred gone, anyway.”

This amount, however, seemed a mere nothing in comparison with the potentialities which Carsdale carried in the inner breast pocket of his immaculate morning coat. They were simple enough matters in themselves--only two or three papers with Richard Shrewsbury’s signature hastily scrawled at the foot of each, but they--and the signature--gave Carsdale full and entire power to deal with his young client’s fortune. Carsdale, as he chartered a taxi-cab at Temple Bar, was master of a quarter of a million of what was as good as ready money.

The bank at which Richard Shrewsbury kept his account, and whereat the securities lay which Carsdale was now hastening to lay hold of, was an old-established, old-fashioned private concern, belonging to two families, the respective heads of which were staid and sober old gentlemen whose business concerns were of such an eminently respectable nature that they were neither of them given to suspecting evil. And accordingly, when Carsdale interviewed one of them in the private parlour, and presented an order from Richard which empowered him to take such securities as he thought fit, they regarded the matter as one of ordinary business, and made no remark when he selected two hundred thousand pounds’ worth of stock which was convertible into ready money on sight. Polite old gentlemen both, they simply took Richard’s written order and Carsdale’s receipt, and expressed a polite hope that young Mr. Shrewsbury was well and enjoying himself. “Quite well, thank you,” replied Carsdale, in his pleasantest matter. “The fact is that Mr. Shrewsbury contemplates matrimony, and I am accordingly going to put the bulk of his property on a rather better footing. I shall have some even stronger securities for your care presently, gentleman.”

The two old gentlemen said they should always be glad to take care of anything for Mr. Shrewsbury or for Mr. Carsdale. Anything sounder than the present securities they could hardly conceive of; however, if Mr. Shrewsbury was about to marry, perhaps an extra one, or even a half per cent., would be an advantage, and no doubt Mr. Carsdale had something in his eye.

“Oh, an excellent readjustment, excellent--a rare opportunity, gentlemen,” said Mr. Carsdale, cheerily. “One that I must not miss on my young friend’s behalf--a stock that is seldom on the market.”

“We hope Mr. Shrewsbury is making a good marriage?” said one of the partners. “He is still young.”

“Oh, a most excellent marriage--excellent!” answered Carsdale. “A very wise marriage--delightful and clever lady.”

Then he took the securities and went off and plunged into the labyrinths of that mysterious City wherein men play with the signs and symbols of money as children play with pebbles and broken potsherds, and within an hour the securities were sold and Carsdale was commanding two hundred thousand pounds, and had, moreover, so disposed it that it was safely in his own keeping. There was nothing more to do then but to put half the world between him and London, and he meant to do that at once. He had exploited London quite sufficiently, and had not done well out of it; his eyes were turned now to other and uncultivated pastures, where a man of capital might do wonders. And it being then about luncheon time, he turned into a famous City restaurant, and ate and drank with a good heart, and over his subsequent cigar and coffee he consulted certain shipping lists, quite unaware that an innocent-looking, well-dressed gentleman, who had lunched in close proximity to him and had afterwards followed him into the smoking-room, was keeping a close observation on all that he did.

Carsdale like all men of his type had a soft spot, and his particular soft spot was for Mrs. Walsingham. She was not only his cousin, but his pupil in his particular school of finance, and when, as a school-girl, she had made a fool of herself by running away with and marrying Sydney Werrick, he had stood by her, helped her when hard times came, and had eventually taken her and Werrick into a sort of partnership with him in New York, where the three had indulged in certain shady pursuits which had landed Werrick in jail and brought the other two perilously near to the same fate. Carsdale and Sylvie, both filled with a strong and intensely selfish notion of the virtues of self-preservation, had escaped that fate and jumped quickly for England, and there each had met with big strokes of luck and for a time done well. But the luck had died down; Leverton’s death had taken business away from Carsdale; he had made two or three bad speculations; people were beginning to fight shy of him; certain investors were saying nasty things about him; it was time to seek an entirely new field. And the question which chiefly concerned him as he sat in that City smoking-room, idling away the time which he had no mind to spend at his office, was--what was to be done about Sylvie?

He was not going to desert her, he said to himself. That was certain--but he was equally certain and determined that he was not going to be saddled with Sydney Werrick. And the only way in which to get rid of that inconvenient person was to make a prompt start on the part of Sylvie and himself. So far he had said nothing to her of his definite plans, but he knew her well enough to be assured that she would do exactly what he advised and asked her to do. And so, when he had finished his coffee, he walked out once more into the City, and repairing to Moorgate Street, entered the offices of the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company. When he came out, half an hour later, he carried away with him two first-class tickets for Buenos Aires, available by a boat which was due to leave Southampton next morning.

Carsdale now proposed to himself to cut clean adrift from everything. His notion was that if you have done with a thing, you have done with it. He had no need to return for even a moment to the old life. He was carrying upon him two hundred thousand pounds in a form which could easily be converted into cash in any civilized country in the world, and at a moment’s notice; in addition to that he also carried a very considerable sum in notes and a sufficiency in gold. There was no reason whatever why he should revisit his office in Norfolk Street nor his rooms in Jermyn Street. He knew that as Richard Shrewsbury had gone to Paris he would be sure to find Mrs. Walsingham in at night--ten minutes’ conversation with her would be sufficient for his purposes. Never for a moment did it cross his mind that Mrs. Walsingham might be playing her own game, might be making plans of her own. He had become so accustomed to her continual appeals to him for advice that it never occurred to him that she would do anything on her own initiative. So he continued to take all that for granted, and went on making his arrangements under the firm impression that she would readily and willingly fall in with them.

The man who was shadowing Carsdale formed certain conclusions after he saw his quarry enter and leave the shipping office. When, after following him up West, he saw him go to a well-known outfitter’s, whose boast it was that they could supply everybody with anything at a moment’s notice, his conclusions grew stronger, and, taking his chances in his hands, he entered a telephone box, and ringing up his principal, asked for an assistant to be sent to him at once, explaining that he believed his man was contemplating a bolt. Thus, for the rest of the day, Carsdale was shadowed by two men instead of one. But, all unconscious of this, he went steadily on with his preparations. He bought all that was necessary for a sea-voyage at the outfitter’s, had his purchases packed into two portmanteaux, and drove with the portmanteaux to a certain motor-garage in Long Acre. The men who followed him saw the portmanteaux carried inside.

“That’s a sure tip,” said one. “He’s going off by motor. What’s to be done? We can’t stop him.”

“Wait a bit,” replied the other. “He mayn’t be going now. If he leaves those portmanteaux there, we shall know that he means to go from here. That’s the main point. Then we can report.”

Carsdale was steadily carrying out his policy of cutting everything adrift. He possessed a motor-car of his own, a good, serviceable car, which was at that moment standing idle in a West-End garage, and could have been used at once. But he was not in the mood to revisit any of his old and accustomed haunts, and he purposely chose an establishment whereat first-class cars were let out on hire, because he was not known there. He explained carefully what he wanted--a first-rate road car that would run him down to Southampton that night, and he made a selection out of the cars shown him which showed that he knew what he wanted in the way of speed, convenience, and comfort. He paid the hire there and then, saw his portmanteaux deposited in the car, and ordered it to be in readiness at any hour after nine o’clock. Then he left, and the men who were shadowing him saw that he had left his portmanteaux behind, and drew their own conclusions. He meant to come back; he meant to go away--so much was evident. One of them went off to report progress to the principal of the private detective agency; the other continued to follow Carsdale.

It was then getting towards evening, and Carsdale had nothing more to do. He knew that he would probably find Sylvie at her favourite restaurant in Soho if he went there, but he had no mind to be seen anywhere where he was likely to be known or recognized. So he lounged away from Long Acre half-aimlessly, and turning up St. Martin’s Lane continued to kill time by looking at the wares displayed in the second-hand book shops. Between six and seven he strolled into Oxford Street, and suddenly catching sight of Frascati’s decided to go in and dine. That, at any rate, would bridge the time until he went round to Sylvie’s flat.

The man watching Carsdale, seeing him enter Frascati’s, and judging that he meant to dine there, promptly rang up the office, said where he was, and asked for his relief. The relief presently came along in a taxi-cab; the smart young woman of whom the principal had spoken to Frances in the morning. She had shadowed Carsdale for three hours on the previous evening, and she was quite eager for more work of the same sort. When she heard that her man was probably dining, she decided, having high ideas of doing a thing thoroughly, that she would enter the restaurant herself and embrace the opportunity of inspecting Carsdale at close quarters while she, too, dined. She quickly found him and got a seat near him; Carsdale, if he noticed her at all, probably put her down as a well, but quietly-dressed young woman who had taken it into her head to come out and dine by herself. And she, watching him without seeming to do so, decided that, whatever he was after, he was a cool and matter-of-fact individual, for he ate and drank in methodical and leisurely fashion, showed no signs of haste or of unusual thought, and looked indeed for all the world like nothing but a smartly-dressed man who had finished his business and meant to enjoy his evening.

It was a little after eight o’clock when Carsdale finally walked out of Frascati’s and turned towards Tottenham Court Road. The girl slipped out after him, and, before she had gone many yards, was joined by the man whom she had relieved.

“I had an idea that I might be useful to-night,” he said, “so I got some dinner close by, and came back. If he’s going to bolt to-night, two of us will be needed.”

Then they separated, and continued to watch their man from distinct points. And Carsdale, all unconscious of the espionage, went on.

He had not a doubt that all his plans would succeed--a firm faith in his own star had always been one of his chief characteristics, and it was as firm as ever. A very brief conversation and explanation with Sylvie, and they would be off, and by that time next day they would be well on their way down the Channel. His spirits, always sanguine, rose at the thought, and he walked along more briskly, humming a tune.

There were two entrances to the block of flats in which Mrs. Walsingham lived; Carsdale went in by the first he came to, and made his way to her door. He always carried a latch-key to that door, for he sometimes made use of the flat when its occupant was not in. And now, never dreaming of anything untoward or wrong, he opened the outer door, and walking in, and seeing inner doors open, called Mrs. Walsingham’s name. There was no answer to his call, and something in the silence of the place suddenly struck him with a sense of uneasiness. He hesitated; then walked into the nearest room. And there, lying across the threshold of Sylvie’s bedroom, he saw a huddled and motionless figure, and knew it instinctively for that of a dead man.