The Black House in Harley Street/Chapter 7

For a full moment after the man-servant had made his entry no one spoke, Christopher, his hand still holding the switch of the electric light which he had just turned on, stared open-mouthed at Service; Goulburn, who had never suspected the footman as the writer of the anonymous notes, was just as much surprised as Christopher. As for Service himself, he remained perfectly quiet, regarding first Goulburn and then Christopher with a patient submission which seemed to imply that it was not choice but stern necessity which had placed him in his present position.

Goulburn was the first to speak. He stepped over to the electric light which he had just turned off, switched it on, and swung round again to the footman.

"So it's you, Service," he said.

Service bowed his head respectfully.

"Yes, sir."

"And you who wrote me those notes?"

"Yes, sir."

Goulburn pointed to a chair.

"Well, I suppose you'd some object in doing so," he said. "Sit down. What is it that you have to tell us?"

​Service glanced around about him—at the door, at the window.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but if you have no objection, I should wish to have both window and door secured. In my situation, sir, I am obliged to be most careful about my safety."

"Very good," answered Goulburn. He went behind the curtain through which Service had just slipped and made fast the window; then, crossing the room, locked the door. "Now, then," he said, turning to the footman, "sit down and let us hear what you have to say."

Service took the chair indicated and looked first at Goulburn and then at Christopher, who remained standing.

"I dare say you think this a strange intrusion, gentlemen," he began. "I hope I shall justify myself to you."

"We should certainly like to know why you come in this mysterious fashion," said Goulburn, "and why you have written me equally mysterious notes. You have warned me twice against the next-door house—your employer's. Now I want to know why."

Service looked round about him. In spite of his knowledge that door and window alike were secured, there was something of anxiety, if not of suspicion, in his manner, and his voice so far had never risen above a whisper.

"You're quite safe, Service," said Christopher, interpreting his meaning.

​Service wiped his forehead.

"I live in such an atmosphere of mystery, gentlemen," he said, raising his voice to a more confident note, "that I'm afraid of anything. I never turn my head without expecting a face at my shoulder. It's getting on my nerves."

"What is getting on your nerves?" asked Goulburn.

Service jerked his head backward, in the direction of the next house.

"That, sir!" he replied significantly. "Our place—the black house."

Goulburn regarded him steadily for a full moment. He came to the conclusion that the man was not only quite sober but in deadly earnest about whatever errand it was on which he had come, and he took a chair at the table by which Service was seated and motioned Christopher to do the same.

"Now, then, Service, speak straight out," he said. "What is it?"

The footman leaned across the table; his voice sank to a whisper again.

"Mr. Goulburn, sir," he said, "I take it I'm not wrong in saying—in the most respectful manner, sir—that I believe your affections are engaged by Miss Phillimore?"

"Yes, you may understand that," answered Goulburn.

"Thank you, sir," continued Service. "Of course I shall say nothing until the right time, sir; but, Mr. ​Goulburn, if I were you, sir, I would do my very best to get Miss Phillimore away from that house—away from the people in it. If not, sir—well, you'll have trouble."

There was something so full of conviction in the man's tones, so peculiarly earnest in his manner, that Goulburn and Christopher looked at each other involuntarily as if to find some solution of the problem thus put before them. They turned to Service with the same question on their lips—

"What do you mean?"

Service leant farther forward across the table, looking from one face to the other.

"I mean this, gentlemen," he said, in a lower whisper than before: "it's my impression that next door is just a hotbed of crime. I believe that three people in it are members of a gang, and that nobody that's got money—like Miss Phillimore, for instance—is really safe amongst them. And I'm not talking off the top, gentlemen. I'm telling you the result of two years' observation and reflection."

After a moment's silence Goulburn spoke.

"You say three people in that house, Service," he said. "Now, let's be plain—you can speak confidently. You mean———?"

"I mean the doctor himself, sir, and Miss Lamotte, and Pimpery. The three of them!" said Service, with conviction. "The three of them, Mr. Goulburn."

Goulburn and Christopher looked at each other with wondering faces. Could the man really be right, or ​was he indulging in wild theories generated by an overheated imagination?

"That's a serious charge, you know, Service," said Christopher. "Do you think you can substantiate it?"

"Mr. Aspinall, sir," replied Service. "I'm very well aware that it is a serious charge. I'm just as well aware that I believe it to be a true one. Now, gentlemen, I'm going to tell you something that will surprise you more than anything I've said so far. You've heard about this big diamond robbery?"

"Well?" said Goulburn.

"You haven't suspected anybody?"

"No."

Service bent still farther forward.

"Well, I have, gentlemen," he whispered. "I haven't a doubt that Lady Maxton's diamonds are in the possession of my employer—the doctor."

If Goulburn had been surprised by Service's previous conduct and statements, he was now more than surprised. He turned an amazed countenance on Christopher, and was astonished to find Christopher was betraying no emotion of any kind: there were certainly no signs of surprise on his face.

"That's a still more serious charge, Service," remarked Christopher. "How are you going to make that good?"

"Well, sir, I'll explain to you and Mr. Goulburn," replied Service. "First of all, let me tell you that I became suspicious of certain things very soon after I came next door, and I began to keep my eyes open, ​and to make notes,—I can write a little shorthand, gentlemen, having at one time intended to embrace a commercial career,—and of course I've seen a good deal and overheard a good deal. But to come to this Maxton case first—did you gentlemen read the account of the robbery in the newspapers this morning? Yes, of course. Well, now, did you notice a description of a certain leather case in which the Countess of Maxton's diamonds were kept?"

"Yes," replied Christopher. "I read two or three accounts of it, in various newspapers. It appears to have been a stout leather box—box-like in shape, at any rate—with brass clampings at the corners and an ordinary lock."

"Yes, sir; and did you notice that it was pig-skin leather, and that it was ornamented or marked with a plain M in black, under the handle by which it was carried?" asked Service.

"Yes, I noticed that, now you mention it," replied Christopher.

"Very good, sir. Now when I read that in the newspapers I was instantly reminded of something," continued Service. "It's about a fortnight or three weeks ago, as near as I can recollect, that Pimpery did one day what I've scarcely ever known him to do before—gave me the keys of the strong-room in which he keeps the plate and so on, and told me to take a basketful of silver down there. I think it must have been just after the doctor had that big reception, when there was a lot of silver got out—he's got piles of it down there, and ​gold plate too, for that matter. Well, while I was in that strong-room I thought I'd just have a look round, and I gratified my curiosity, gentlemen. Now, what happened just shows that even men like Pimpery may nod sometimes. In that strong-room there are two safes—one of these was open. I peeped into it without moving the door, which was perhaps four inches ajar. There were some bundles of papers in it, all tied up, but nothing else except a square leather box exactly like the description of that in which Lady Maxton kept her diamonds, even to the M under the handle. Well, of course I didn't think anything of that—I thought it might be a new dispatch-box for the master, and that the initial stood for Mildart, and I left the strong-room without any further thought of it. But I remembered it when I read the description of Lady Maxton's leather box in the newspaper," concluded Service, with a knowing look.

"And you think the boxes to be one and the same!" exclaimed Goulburn.

Service coughed deprecatingly.

"Pardon me, sir, I don't," he said. "No—not the same by any means."

"Then what do you think?"

Service glanced at Christopher and smiled.

"I think, gentlemen," he said, "that the box I saw in the safe was an exact copy, purposely made, of that belonging to Lady Maxton."

"Which really means," remarked Goulburn, "that you believe that in some way or other the copy was substituted for the original?"

​Service smiled again. His smile was neither sly nor furtive, but it had a quality of self-confidence about it which made it somewhat elusive. It was difficult—so far, at any rate—for Goulburn to understand the man's evident confidence in his own surmises.

"Yes, sir," he said. "You're quite right. I do believe that the copy, stuffed with lead, cotton-wool, and paper, was substituted for the real thing."

"That's a big order, you know, Service," remarked Christopher. "You've evidently formed a strong theory of your own—according to it, when do you say the copy was substituted for the original?"

"Several nights ago, sir—in the Earl's dressing-room," replied Service, with evident confidence in his assertion.

"Oh! And by whom was the exchange effected, do you suggest?" asked Christopher.

Service's voice once again sank to a whisper; once again he glanced about him as if he were afraid of being heard or seen.

"By Lady Maxton herself, sir!" he said.

Christopher made his surprise at this communication felt in a sharp whistle; Goulburn, digging his hands in his pockets, began to work himself on the edge of his chair. He stared hard at Service, as if he were trying to make out what the man really meant.

"Ah!" said Christopher, after a slight pause. "That's what you think, is it? And do you suggest that Lady Maxton is aware of this?"

Service shook his head.

​"No, sir!" he said emphatically. "I do not suggest that. I don't think her ladyship has the slightest idea of what she did."

"Then how is it possible she could do it?" asked Goulburn.

Once more Service lowered his voice to that significant whisper which seemed to hint at even more than he told; once more his eyes looked right and left before turning to the two friends.

"Because she was made to do it!" he whispered.

"Made to do it!"

"Yes, gentlemen, made to do it," repeated Service.

"Look here, gentlemen, has it ever struck you what———"

He hesitated for a moment, as he always did when he came to mentioning van Mildart, and again he dropped his voice as he proceeded.

" . . . Has it ever struck you, I say, what sort of practice it is that's carried on there next door?" he asked. "I ought to know something, because I'd been with Sir Benjamin Hinstock before I came here—he's farther up the street, gentlemen. Next door's practice is—hypnotism. Who goes to him? Again I say I ought to know something, because I admit most of the patients—it's rarely that Pimpery does. Well, who are the patients? They're almost without exception society ladies whose nerves are ruined by their lives, gentlemen. A lot of them are old; some of them are young; they're all what I call faddy and silly, like Lady Max​ton. It's very rarely that any men come—those who do are either old men or what my late master used to call hypochondriacs, which I believe means men who are always fancying that something's wrong with them. But there's twenty women to one man—I know, because I enter their names in a book. And what's the treatment? Does he ever give them any medicine? Why, there isn't a surgery in the house, and there aren't any drugs either! It's all done by mental treatment, suggestion, and such-like fine names—hypnotism I call it. And what I say, gentlemen, is this—if he can hypnotise a woman into believing that she's quite well, and that she won't have any more attacks of nerves, and that she'll sleep that night, and so on,—as he can, gentlemen, without doubt,—why, then, I say, he can hypnotise them into———"

"Handing over their jewels to him, eh, Service?" said Christopher.

"You apprehend me exactly, sir," replied Service.

While Goulburn, who was much more surprised by the events of the evening than Christopher appeared to be, was still silently regarding Service with wondering eyes, Christopher began to walk up and down the room, apparently in deep thought. He came back to the table at last and sat down again.

"Look here, Service," he said. "You spoke of the three people next door being a gang—to use your own words. Now, what do you mean?"

"Mr. Aspinall," replied Service, "this affair of Lady ​Maxton's isn't the first time; similar losses have befallen the people who come next door. It's the biggest, so far, but it's not the first, nor the second, nor the third. Do you remember the case last year of old Lady Beechingway's famous tiara? She was on her way to her jewellers, to have it repaired or something of the sort, and she made two calls—one at next door, and one at her bank. The tiara wasn't there when she got to Bond Street, and it's never been found. Then there were Miss Pelham's, the actress's, pearls—she was at one time coming every day to see either—him, you know, or Miss Lamotte."

"How long has Miss Lamotte been there?" asked Goulburn.

"She was there, sir, when I went there. So was Pimpery. And if you should ask me, sir, the—the doctor has some hold on Pimpery. Pimpery's frightened to death of him."

"How do you know that, Service?" asked Christopher.

"Well, sir, from things I've seen. I've seen him—when they didn't know I was looking—snap at Pimpery as if he were a dog, and Pimpery shrink away from him as if he expected to be struck," replied Service. "And once, sir, I saw Pimpery, after the doctor's back was turned, grind his teeth and shake his fist at him as if he'd have killed him. And the doctor turned sharply, and Pimpery was as meek as a child, gentlemen."

"Queer," said Christopher.

​"Yes, sir, but I can tell you something queerer than that. Do you know that Pimpery has never been outside that house ever since I went into it, two years ago?"

"Never been out of the house? Do you mean literally never?"

"Yes, sir—never. He's never crossed the threshold for one moment," replied Service. "Never has a holiday, nor a day off, nor even goes to take the air of an evening, as other people do. He just stops in. When he isn't at work he sits in the butler's pantry, reading. He never talks to cook, nor to me, nor to anybody but the doctor and Miss Lamotte. I've caught him and her in close confabs many a time."

"It seems a queer business," said Christopher. "What do you think, Dick?"

Goulburn, who had been in close meditation for some minutes, looked at Service, and drew his chair nearer to the table.

"I want to know, Service," he said, "what it was that made you mention Miss Phillimore's name at the beginning of this conversation. What did you mean, for instance, when you advised me to get her away from the house next door as soon as possible—or words to that effect—unless I would have trouble?"

"Well, sir," replied Service, "although mine is only a domestic's place, I have eyes in my head, and I have observed, sir, that Miss Phillimore is neither well in health nor happy in mind."

"What has made you think that?"

"When Miss Phillimore first came, sir, she was ​a young lady of very bright and lively manner, if I may say so," answered Service. "She used to go about the house laughing and singing; she played the piano a good deal, and had always a pleasant word for anybody she met—I mean the servants, sir. Lately, she's changed a good deal—she sits a lot by herself, sir, and I can see that she's thinking about something. She never plays the piano now, and she's very quiet to what she was. I've also observed, sir, that Miss Phillimore has of late looked very tired and pale."

"Weather," commented Christopher laconically. "We're all suffering from the weather."

But Service shook his head. He was evidently the sort of person who, having formed an opinion, stands by it.

"I have my own conclusions, sir," he said respectfully.

"I wish I could draw some!" exclaimed Goulburn, rising and beginning to pace the room with impatient strides. "I confess I never suspected such things as you have revealed to me to-night, Service. After all, they may be purely mistaken notions on your part."

Service shook his head again.

"Well, what do you propose to do?" asked Goulburn. "You must have some notion in your mind. Are you going to inform the police of your suspicions?"

"I, sir? No, sir! At least, not yet. It would require more evidence than I possess, sir, to warrant me in approaching the authorities," replied Service, in his most precise tones.

​"Then why tell us all this to-night?"

"Because, sir, I think you ought to be warned—especially as regards the young ladies. I have sisters of my own, gentlemen, and also a fiancée. And"—here Service coughed significantly—"I understood that both Miss Phillimore and Miss Goulburn are possessed of considerable means."

Goulburn and Christopher exchanged significant glances. Each was thinking of the same thing—the mystery of Maisie's cheque.

"Well," said Goulburn presently, "I'm very much obliged to you, Service, for your warning, and you may be sure that we shall respect your confidence. I can't understand certain things. We shall see how matters develop. Now, this is a question I want to put to you—do you think you are quite safe in coming here to-night? I mean—are you safe if your suspicions are correct?"

"What Mr. Goulburn means," added Christopher, "is—don't you think that you may have been watched—shadowed?"

"No, sir," replied Service. "I adopted certain precautions. I am not afraid, gentlemen."

"I shouldn't like Dr. van Mildart to know that you have been here at this hour," said Goulburn. "It might arouse suspicions. And if your surmises are correct, that's the last thing one could wish to arouse."

"Precisely, sir," agreed Service. "But I shall regain next door without exciting attention. Indeed, I am believed to be at the bedside of a sick friend, and if you ​will be kind enough to turn out your lights again, I will get away as unobtrusively as I came."

With that Service rose to go, and presently slipped out of the room and into the darkness. Goulburn turned up the lights again.

"I suppose he'll climb the wall?" he said, looking at Christopher.

"Trust him to escape observation," answered Christopher. "I think Mr. Service can take care of himself. What do you think of his notions, Dick?"

Goulburn made a gesture expressive of bewilderment.

"I don't know what to think," he said. "I must confess that I have thought Dr. van Mildart, and Miss Lamotte, and Pimpery all rather queer creatures, but it would never have struck me that they were in league as criminals. And yet———"

"Well?" said Christopher, as Goulburn paused abruptly. "What?"

"Why, I wish we knew the real truth about Maisie's affair," continued Goulburn. "How much do you know about hypnotism, Chris? Do you know enough to say whether it's possible for a man of van Mildart's power to so hypnotise a girl like Maisie that she would do quite unknowingly anything that he told her to do, and would have no recollection of it afterwards?"

"I don't know," said Christopher, with something like a groan. "But I'll find out to-morrow. If it is so—well, then, of course———"

"Yes, then, of course," interrupted Goulburn, "Serv​ice's theory would be quite right. But what a power!"

"I'll take jolly good care he never exercises it on Maisie again!" exclaimed Christopher. "Indeed, I've made her promise that she never gives him the chance—neuralgia or no neuralgia. I'm not going to have that sort of thing. And I'm going to keep my eye on Dr. van Mildart."

"If he's as clever as all that, Chris," said Goulburn, with a sigh, "he'll not give you the chance-he'll keep an eye on you."

"We shall see," said Christopher, thumping his chest. "I won't be beaten easily—especially if there's any danger to Maisie."

"I wish I'd got Moira safely out of that house," said Goulburn, with yet another and a deeper sigh. "Service was quite right—she isn't looking well, and she is troubled about something. She's changed since she got there. However, I shall see her to-morrow."

"I know what I should do if I were in your case, old chap," said Christopher. "I should persuade her to marry you—at once. Then you'd have the right to protect her."

Goulburn stared at Christopher in amazement.

"Why, my dear fellow," he exclaimed, "we're only just engaged! I couldn't ask her to marry me so soon, you know."

"Couldn't you? I could," answered Christopher. "That is, I mean, I could—yes, and I would—if the cases were alike. It doesn't take long to get a special licence."

​Goulburn considered the remarkable suggestion in silence.

"Well," he said at last, "I shall find out for myself to-morrow if anything really is the matter. And if it is———"

"Act promptly," said Christopher.

It was ten o'clock next morning when Goulburn went round to Dr. van Mildart's intending to take Moira into the Park, so that they could converse in privacy. As he went up the steps she opened the door and came out, dressed for walking. He saw at once that something had happened—she was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.

"I have been waiting for you," she said hurriedly. "Take me away somewhere at once. I—I can't breathe in that house!"

"What is it, Moira?" he asked anxiously. "What is it? You look frightened."

She cast a glance at the black house over her shoulder and shuddered.

"Haven't you heard?" she said. "Service, the footman, is dead. They found him dead in his bed early this morning!"