The Stowmarket Mystery.

by Louis Tracy.

CHAPTER I

"THE STOWMARKET MYSTERY"

"Mr. David Hume."

Reginald Brett, barrister-detective, twisted round in his easy-chair to permit the light to fall clearly on the card handed to him by his man-servant.

"What does Mr. David Hume look like, Smith?" he asked.

"A gentleman, sir."

Well-trained servants never make a mistake when they give such a description of a visitor. Brett was satisfied.

"Produce him."

Then he examined the card.

"It is odd," he thought. "Mr. David Hume gives no address, and writes his own cards. I like his signature, too. Now, I wonder--"

The door was thrown open. A tall, well-proportioned young man entered. He was soberly attired in blue serge. His face and hands bore the impress of travel and exposure. His expression was pleasing and attractive. In repose his features were regular, and marked with lines of thought. A short, well-trimmed beard, of the type affected by some naval men, gave him a somewhat unusual appearance. Otherwise he carried himself like a British cavalry officer in mufti.

He advanced into the room and bowed easily. Brett, who had risen, instantly felt that his visitor was one of those people who erect invisible barriers between themselves and strangers.

"My errand will occupy some time, perhaps half an hour, to permit of full explanation," said Mr. Hume. "May I ask--"

"I am completely at your service. Take that chair. You will find it comfortable. Do you smoke? Yes. Well, try those cigarettes. They are better than they look."

Mr. Hume seemed to be gratified by this cordial reception. He seated himself as requested, in the best light obtainable in a north-side Victoria Street flat, and picked up the box of cigarettes.

"Turkish," he announced.

"Yes."

"Grown on a slope near Salonica."

"Indeed? You interest me."

"Oh, I know them well. I was there two months ago. I suppose you got these as a present from Yildiz Kiosk?"

"Mr. Hume, you asked for half an hour, Make it an hour. You have touched upon a subject dear to my heart."

"They are the best cigarettes in the world. No one can buy them. They are made for the exclusive use of the Sultan's household. To attempt to export them means the bastinado and banishment, at the least. I do not credit you with employing agents on such terms, so I a.s.sume an Imperial gift."

The barrister had been looking intently at the other man during this short colloquy. Suddenly his eyes sparkled. He struck a match and held it to his visitor, with the words:

"You are quite right, Mr. David Hume-Frazer."

The person thus addressed neither started, nor sprang to his feet, nor gasped in amazement He took the match, lit a cigarette, and said:

"So you know me?"

"Yes."

"It is strange. I have never previously met you to my knowledge. Am I still a celebrity?"

"To me--yes."

"A sort of distinguished criminal, eh?"

"No man could be such a judge of tobacco and remain commonplace."

"'Pon my honour, Mr. Brett, I think you deserve your reputation. For the first time during eighteen months I feel hopeful. Do you know, I pa.s.sed dozens of acquaintances in the streets yesterday and none of them knew me.

Yet you pick me out at the first glance, so to speak."

"They might do the same if you spoke to them, Mr.--"

"Hume, if you please."

"Certainly. Why have you dropped part of your surname?"

"It is a long story. My lawyers, Flint & Sharp, of Gray's Inn, heard of your achievements in the cases of Lady Lyle and the Imperial Diamonds.

They persuaded me to come to you."

"Though, personally, you have little faith in me?"

"Heaven knows, Mr. Brett, I have had good cause to lose faith. My case defies a.n.a.lysis. It savours of the supernatural."

The barrister shoved his chair sideways until he was able to reach a bookcase, from which he took a bulky interleaved volume.

"Supernatural," he repeated. "That is new to me. As I remember the affair, it was highly sensational, perplexing--a blend of romance and j.a.panese knives--but I do not remember any abnormal element save one, utter absence of motive."

"Do you mean to say that you possess a record of the facts?" inquired Hume, exhibiting some tokens of excitement in face and voice as he watched Brett turning over the leaves of the sc.r.a.p-book, in which newspaper cuttings were neatly pasted, some being freely annotated.

"Yes. The daily press supplies my demands in the way of fiction--a word, by the way, often misapplied. Where do you find stranger tales than in the records of every-day life? Ah, here we are!"

He searched through a large number of printed extracts. There were comments, long reports, and not a few notes, all under the heading: "The Stowmarket Mystery."

Hume was now deeply agitated; he evidently restrained his feelings by sheer force of will.

"Mr. Brett," he said, and his voice trembled a little, "surely you could not have expected my presence here this morning?"

"I no more expected you than the man in the moon," was the reply; "but I recognised you at once. I watched your face for many hours whilst you stood in the dock. Professional business took me to the a.s.sizes during your second trial. At one time I thought of offering my services."