Chapter Nine. Mrs Popejoy’s Statement.

“Is Miss Cloud at home?” I inquired of the maid, as Ash stood behind in wonder.

“She doesn’t live here, sir,” replied the girl.

“Doesn’t live here?” I echoed dubiously. “Why, only a short time ago I saw her enter here!”

“Well, sir, I don’t know her. I’ve never heard the name.”

“Is Mrs Popejoy in?” I inquired.

“Yes, sir. If you wish to see her, please step inside.”

We both entered the hall, the usual broad passage of a suburban house, with its cheap hall-stand, couple of straight-backed wooden chairs, and a long chest in imitation carved oak. The girl disappeared for a few moments, and on returning ushered us into the dining-room, where we found a rather sour-looking old lady standing ready to greet us. She was about sixty, grey-haired, thin-faced, and wore a cap with faded cherry-coloured ribbons.

“Mrs Popejoy, I believe?” I exclaimed politely, receiving in return a bow, the stiffness of which was intended to show breeding. Then continuing, I said: “I have called on a rather urgent matter concerning your niece, Miss Aline Cloud; but the servant tells me she is not at home, and I thought you would perhaps tell me where I can find her without delay.”

“My niece!” she exclaimed in surprise. “My poor niece died ten years ago.”

“Ten years ago!” I gasped. “And is not Miss Cloud your niece?”

“I have no niece of that name, sir,” she answered. “The name indeed is quite strange to me. There must be some mistake.”

“But your name is Popejoy,” I exclaimed, “and this is Number sixteen, Ellerdale Road?”

“Certainly.”

“Truth to tell, madam,” I said, “I have called on you in order to assure myself of a certain very extraordinary fact.”

“What is it?”

“Well, late on a certain night some weeks ago I accompanied Miss Cloud, the lady I am now in search of, to this house. I sat in the cab while she got out, and with my own eyes saw her admitted by your maid. This strikes me as most extraordinary, in lace of your statement that you know nothing of her.” The old lady reflected.

“What cock-and-bull story did she tell you?” she inquired quickly. “Explain it all to me, then perhaps I can help you.”

There was something about Mrs Popejoy’s manner that I did not like. I could have sworn that she was concealing the truth.

“Well,” I said, “I met Miss Cloud at a theatre, and she told me that you and another lady had accompanied her; that you had got separated, and being a stranger in London she did not know her way home. Therefore I brought her back, and saw her enter here.”

The old lady smiled cynically.

“My dear sir,” she said, “you’ve been very neatly imposed upon. In the first place, I have no niece; secondly, I’ve never entered a theatre for years; thirdly, I’ve never heard of any girl named Cloud; and fourthly, she certainly does not live here.”

“But with my own eyes I saw her enter your door,” I said. “I surely can believe what I have seen!”

“It must have been another house,” she answered. “There are several in this road similar in appearance to mine.”

“No. Number sixteen,” I said. “I looked it up previously in the Directory and saw your name. There can be no mistake.”

“Well, sir,” snapped the old lady, “I am mistress of this house, and surely I ought to know whether I have a niece or not! What kind of lady was she?”

“She was young, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and very good-looking. She had lived in France previously, at Montgeron, near Paris.”

“Ah!” the old lady cried suddenly. “Why, of course, the hussy! Now I remember. It is quite plain that she duped you.”

“Tell me,” I exclaimed eagerly. “Where is she now?”

“How should I know? She wasn’t my niece at all. A few weeks ago I advertised in the Christian World for a companion, and engaged her. She came one afternoon, and said that coming from France she had left all her luggage at Victoria. She was exceedingly pleasant, took tea with me, and afterwards at her request I allowed her to go down to Victoria to see about her boxes. That was about six o’clock, but she did not return until nearly two o’clock in the morning, and when I questioned her she said that she had been unable to find the office where her luggage had been placed, and had been wandering about, having lost her way. I didn’t believe such a lame story, and the consequence was that she left after a week, and I haven’t seen her since.”

I stood dumbfounded.

“That’s a strange story, sir,” observed Ash, who was standing near.

“It’s amazing!” I said. “And it complicates matters very considerably.”

Turning to Mrs Popejoy, I inquired—

“When you corresponded with her, to what address did you write?”

“To a village post-office somewhere in the Midlands. It was a funny name, which I can’t remember.”

“Do you recollect the county?”

“No. I didn’t put the county. The first letter I wrote was to initials at the office of the newspaper; and in reply I received a letter from Paris, with a request that further letters might be addressed to Miss—what was her name?—Cloud, at this post-office.”

“Then to you she gave her name as Cloud?” I said quickly.

“Yes. At first when you mentioned it I did not recollect. Now I remember.”

“Then you have no idea where she is now!” I said.

“Not the slightest,” the old lady snapped. “I was very glad to see the back of the hussy, for I believe she was no better than she should be, staying out till that hour of the morning. I told Ann to turn out the gas and go to bed, but it seems that she didn’t, and waited up till that unearthly hour. And do you know what,” continued old Mrs Popejoy in a confidential tone, “I believe that there was something very mysterious about her. I have a very shrewd suspicion that she meant to rob me, or do me some evil or other.”

“Why?” I asked eagerly. “What mystery was there surrounding her?”

“Well,” she responded after some little hesitation, “I was very glad indeed when she went off in a flounce, and I hope she’ll never darken my door again. You may think me very timid, but if you had seen what I discovered after she had gone you’d have been of my way of thinking.”

“What did you discover?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, in her bedroom there was, in a small silver box, an old ring that my late husband had prized very much. It had belonged to one of the Popes, and had been blessed by him. The relic was no doubt an extremely valuable one.”

“And when she went?” I asked.

“When she went I had a look round her room to see that nothing had been taken, but to my surprise I found the ring and the box actually burnt up. Only the ashes remained! There was a picture of the Virgin also in the room, an old panel-painting which my husband had picked up in Holland, and what was most extraordinary was that although this picture had also been wholly consumed, the little easel had been left quite intact. Some Devil’s work was effected there, but how, I can’t imagine.”

This was certainly a most startling statement, and the old lady was evidently still nervous regarding it. Did it not fully bear out what had already occurred in my own rooms and in those of the man whose life had so suddenly gone out?

“Do you think, then, that the picture was deliberately burned?” I inquired.

“I examined the ashes very closely,” she replied, “and found that by whatever means the picture was destroyed, the table-cloth had not even been singed. Now, if the picture had been deliberately lighted, a hole must have been burned in the cloth; but as it was, it seemed as though the picture, which the Roman Catholics hold in such reverence, had been destroyed by something little short of a miracle.”

“Have you preserved the ashes?”

“No,” responded the old lady; “Ann threw them into the dustbin at once. I didn’t like to keep them about.”

“And what is your private opinion?” I asked, now that we had grown confidential.

“I believe,” she answered decisively, “I believe that the hussy must have been in league with the very Evil One himself.”

Such was exactly my own opinion, but I had no desire to expose all my feelings, or confess the fascination which she had held over me by reason of her wondrous beauty. It was strange, I thought, how, evil though her heart, she had uttered those ominous warnings. True, I had loved her; I had adored her with all the strength of my being; but she in return had only urged me to love my Platonic little friend Muriel. She who held me powerless beneath her thrall had, with self-denial, released me in order that I might transfer my affections to the bright-eyed woman who was wearing out her heart at Madame Gabrielle’s; she had implored me to cast her aside, and thus escape the mysterious unknown fate which she predicted must inevitably fall upon me.

The reason why she had forbidden me to call at Mrs Popejoy’s, or to address a letter there, was now quite plain. She had deceived me, and I could trust her no further.

Yet had she actually deceived me? Had she not plainly told me that she was an evil-doer, a malefactor, one whose mission was to bring ill-fortune to her fellow-creatures. Yes, Aline Cloud was a mystery. More than ever I now felt that she was the possessor of some unknown subtle influence, some unseen supernatural power by which she could effect evil at will.

“I suppose,” I said, in an endeavour to allay the nervous old lady’s fears, “I suppose there is some quite ordinary explanation for the strange occurrence. Many things which at first appear inexplicable are, when the truth is made plain, quite ordinary events. So it was, I suppose, with the picture and the ring which were consumed by what appears like spontaneous combustion.”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve thought over it a great deal, but the more I think of it, the more extraordinary it seems.”

“I regret to have troubled you,” I said. “I must try and find her at whatever cost, for the matter is a most important one. If you should by any chance come across her again, or if she visits you, I should be obliged if you would at once communicate with me,” and I handed her a card.

“Certainly, sir,” she replied. “The hussy entirely misled you, and I should like to be able to fathom the mystery how my picture and ring were reduced to ashes. If I ever do see her again, depend upon it that I’ll let you know.” Then, with woman’s curiosity, pardonable in the circumstances, she asked, “Is the matter on which you wish to speak to her a personal one?”

“It is, and yet it is not,” I responded vaguely. “It concerns another person—a friend.”

With that I shook her hand, and accompanied by Ash, walked out and left the house.

As we drove back down the Hampstead Road I turned to the valet and said—

“Do you remember whether a tall, dark, shabby-genteel man in a frock-coat and tall hat—a man with a thin, consumptive-looking face—ever called upon your master?”

I was thinking of Aline’s companion, and of their remarkable conversation. At that moment it occurred to me that it might be of Roddy they had spoken, and not of myself. Did he urge her to kill my friend? Ash reflected deeply.

“I don’t remember any man answering that description,” he responded. “After he became a Member of Parliament one or two strange people from his constituency called to see him, but I don’t recollect anybody like the man you describe. How old was he?”

“About forty; or perhaps a trifle over.”

The man shook his head. “No,” he declared, “I don’t think he ever called.”

“When your master sent you out with the note that morning had you any suspicion that he meant to receive a secret visitor? Now, don’t conceal anything from me. Together we must fathom this mystery.” He hesitated, then turning to me, answered—

“Well, to tell the truth, sir, I did.”

“What caused you to suspect?”

“First, the letter being unaddressed was a rather curious fact,” he responded slowly. “Then, I was to meet a lady whom he did not describe further than that she was youngish, and would wear a bunch of flowers. All this appeared strange, but my curiosity was further aroused because he had dressed more carefully than he usually did in a morning, as though visitors were coming.”

“Was he down at the House on the previous night?”

“Yes, sir; I took a telegram down there, and delivered it to him in the Lobby. He opened it, read it, and uttered a bad word, as if its contents annoyed him very much. Then I returned, and he arrived home about half an hour after midnight. I gave him some whiskey and soda, and left him smoking and studying a big blue-book he had brought home with him.”

“Have you any suspicion that the telegram had any connection with the mysterious lady whom you were sent to meet?”

“I’ve several times thought that it had. Of course I can’t tell.”

A silence fell between us. At last I spoke again, saying—

“Remember that all you have heard to-day must be kept secret. Nobody must know that we have been to Mrs Popejoy’s. There is a mystery surrounding this lady named Cloud, and when we get to the bottom of it we shall, I feel certain, obtain a clue to the cause of your poor master’s death. You, his faithful servant, were, I feel assured, devoted to him, therefore it behoves us both to work in unison with a view to discovering the truth.”

“Certainly, sir; I shall not utter a single word of what I have heard to-day. But,” he added, “do you believe that my poor master was murdered?”

“It’s an open question,” I replied. “There are one or two facts which, puzzling the doctors, may be taken as suspicious, yet there are others which seem quite plain, and point to death from natural causes.”

Then, having given him certain instructions how to act if he discovered anything further regarding the mysterious Aline, he alighted at the corner of Cranbourne Street, while I drove on to my own rooms, full of saddest memories of the man who had for years been one of my closest friends.