Read Ebook: The Lady from Nowhere: A Detective Story by Hume Fergus

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Ebook has 1401 lines and 52766 words, and 29 pages

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"Well, she didn't exactly send us," explained Mrs. Presk, reluctantly, "but she gave me two tickets and suggested that we should go. Knowing her habits, and always willing to oblige, I went, and took 'Tilda."

"What do you mean?" asked Gebb, staring at the landlady.

Mrs. Presk explained herself more clearly.

"On occasions Miss Ligram was ashamed of her superstitions, I think, sir, for three or four times she got me and 'Tilda out of the house while she consulted her swindlers. Once," said Mrs. Presk, consulting her book, "it was the Crystal Palace; again, two seats at the Adelphi; Earl's Court Exhibition three weeks ago, and the local lecture last night. But we came back always to find her in bed, until this last time," concluded Mr. Presk, with a shudder.

"A strange woman," commented Gebb, thoughtfully. "So you never found out where she came from?"

"No, sir, she was as close as wax. I called her the Lady from Nowhere."

"You know nothing of her past?"

"Nothing! She might have come from the moon for all I know of her."

"Nothing!" interrupted the landlady, emphatically. "I saw nothing."

"Then," said Gebb, rising briskly, "I must stick to the clue of the Yellow Room."

The journalist is the true Asmodeus of the day, and is quite as fond as that meddlesome demon of interfering with what does not concern him. He invades the privacy of our lives, unroofs our houses, reveals our secrets, and trumpets forth things best left untold to the four quarters of the globe.

Gebb had an especial abhorrence of this magpie habit of the Press; as he averred, with much reason, that the excessively minute details of criminal cases set forth in the newspapers put the ill-doers on their guard, and warned them of coming dangers, with the result that they were easily able to evade the futile clutches of the hands of Justice. Yet in the instance of the Grangebury murder, the publication of details had a singular result: no less than the assisting of right against wrong.

As soon as the circumstances of the crime became known, the reporters of every newspaper in the metropolis flocked to Paradise Row with expansive notebooks, eager eyes, and inquiring minds. They surveyed the house, questioned the police, interviewed Mrs. Presk, and gave outline portraits of the landlady and her servant. The Yellow Boudoir especially attracted their attention, and stirred their imagination to descriptions of Eastern splendour. It was hinted that its magnificence was on more than a kingly scale; it was compared to the celebrated room in one of Balzac's romances, and its furnishing and appointments were minutely detailed in glowing descriptions, exhausting the most superlative adjectives in the English tongue. Also the unknown history and strange death of its occupant were commented upon; guesses were made as to her identity; and reasons were given for her secretive life, for her strange belief in, and consultation of, charlatans and fortune-tellers and all those cunning gipsies who live by the gullibility of the public. Appeals were made in these articles to the deaf and dumb driver to appear and declare the mystery of the yellow van, the yellow room, and their queer owner. In short, as the journals were in want of a sensation, they made the most of this material supplied by chance, and England from one end to the other rang with the tidings of Miss Ligram's death, Miss Ligram's boudoir, and Miss Ligram's mysterious life. And all this trumpeting and noise, Gebb, the enemy of the Press, heard with singular complacency, indeed, with pleasure and satisfaction.

"As a rule, I hate these revelations," said he to one who knew his views and wondered at his equanimity, "as in nine cases out of ten they do more harm than good by placing the criminal on his guard; but this is the tenth case, where it is advisable to make the details of the crime as public as possible. I rely on these descriptions of the Yellow Boudoir to trace Miss Ligram's past life."

"In what way?" demanded the inquirer.

"In the way of the yellow van," replied Gebb, promptly. "As Mrs. Presk truly observed, the hard fact of that van shows that Miss Ligram was in the habit of moving from place to place with her tent, and setting it up after the fashion of an Arab, in whatever spot took her fancy. Now, when those other people who have had the Yellow Boudoir set out in its tawdry splendour under their roofs read of Miss Ligram's death, and recognize the description of her strange room, they will come forward, and detail their experiences of the lady. So, in one way and another, we may be enabled to trace Miss Ligram's past life back to a starting-point It is the only chance I can see of gaining any knowledge."

Within the week events of a strange nature justified the judicious belief entertained by the astute detective. Letters in female caligraphy were received at Scotland Yard, stating that the writers could give certain information to the police concerning the murdered woman. Also, a few days later, decayed females of the landlady genus presented themselves in person to detail their experiences of Miss Ligram and her eccentricities. From all these personal and written statements it appeared that for four years, more or less, Miss Ligram had been moving from one part of London to another. In no one place she had remained longer than six months, and in each her conduct and mode of life had been the same. She arrived regularly in the yellow van, and, having obtained permission from the various landladies at the cost of paying double the rent demanded, as regularly set up and furnished her Yellow Boudoir. As in the latest instance of the Grangebury episode, she consulted fortune-tellers, spiritualists, and shady people of a like nature, departing at the end of each tenancy without a word as to her destination. It would seem from this evidence that the woman was consistent in her eccentricities, and conducted her strangely secretive life on the most methodical principles.

One thing which seemed of a piece with the dead woman's desire for concealment, was that in every place she--so to speak--camped in, she gave a different name; each appellation being stranger than the last, and all apparently of her own manufacture. She figured at Hampstead under the name of Margil; in Richmond she was known as Miss Ramlig; when housed in St. John's Wood she called herself Milgar; and at Shepherd's Bush--but for the sake of clearness it will be advisable to let the several landladies speak for themselves--five persons, five pieces of information more or less similar, and five obviously made-up names. So much for the past of Miss Ligram.

Mrs. Brown, of West Kensington, stated that she knew the deceased under the name of Miss Limrag. She arrived at Mrs. Brown's in the month of May, '95, and after a six months' tenancy departed in the month of October in the same year. Mrs. Brown was ignorant as to where she come from, and equally at a loss to declare whither she went. Both in coming and going Miss Limrag used as a means of transport the yellow van, and during her residence she inhabited the Yellow Room of her own furnishing for the consulting therein of the fortune-telling fraternity.

Mrs. Kane testified that a lady who called herself Miss Milgar arrived in Shelley Road, St. John's Wood, on the first day of November, '95, and left the district in the last days of April, '96. Her conduct during her six months' stay was similar to that described by Mrs. Presk and Mrs. Brown. On the evidence of such conduct, and the facts of the van and boudoir , Mrs. Kane had no hesitation in declaring that the murdered Miss Ligram, of Grangebury, was her eccentric lodger, Miss Milgar.

The information given by Miss Bain, of Crescent Villa, Hampstead, showed that the name assumed there by the wandering lady was Margil, and that she took possession of her lodgings there in the month of November, '93--having arrived, according to her custom, in the yellow van. While the lodger of Miss Bain, she gave herself up to the study of dream-books, and the interpretation of visions. During her occupancy of Crescent Villa, the landlady, in spite of all efforts, could find out nothing about her past or discover where she came from; and the so-called Miss Margil departed with her furniture towards the end of April, 1894. She left no address.

Miss Lamb, resident at Richmond, entertained the unknown from November, 1894, to April, 1895. She knew her by the strange name of Ramlig, and always thought her weak in her mind, owing to her queer mode of life, and belief in omens. When Miss Ramlig made any boastful speech reflecting on her worldly prosperity, she would touch wood to avert the omen. "Absit omen"; "Umberufen"; "In a good hour be it spoken "; "N'importe." These words and phrases were continually on her tongue; and she was a slave to all forms of superstition. She would not walk under a ladder; if she spilt salt she threw a pinch over her shoulder; an unexpected meeting with a magpie, a hunchback, a cross-eyed person, or with a piebald horse, either made her rejoice in the most extravagant fashion, or threw her into a fever of apprehension. She was not communicative, and resisted all Miss Lamb's attempts at social intercourse. During the whole period of her stay, no words were spoken, and no event occurred, likely to throw light on her past; nor, when she departed, did Miss Lamb discover whither she intended to go. In coming, in staying, in going, Miss Ramlig was a mystery.

The owner of Myrtle Bank, Shepherd's Bush, a bird-like spinster called Cass, informed Gebb that a certain Miss Migral lodged with her from the first of May to the end of October, 1894. She arrived in the van spoken of by the other witnesses; she paid double rent for the privilege of dismantling a room, and therein set up her tent-like habitation of yellow satin, furnished with cane chairs and tables, illuminated with candles, and perfumed with incense. She was, said Miss Cass, superstitious beyond all belief, actually divining by teacups, and believing in the future as foretold by the position of the tea-leaves, after the fashion of illiterate servant-girls. Miss Migral never went to church, she had--so far as Miss Cass knew, no Bible in her possession; but read books dealing with fortune-telling and necromancy. One of her favourite volumes was "The Book of Fate," another "The Book of Dreams," and she appeared to have an insatiable desire to know the future; but for what reason, Miss Cass--in spite of all efforts--was unable to discover. This strange creature departed with all her worldly goods for some unknown destination during the last days of October, 1894.

Mrs. Presk was the last landlady who received this mysterious woman, and knew her as Miss Ligram. She arrived at Paradise Row at the beginning of May, 1896, and met with a violent death three months later. Mrs. Presk was as ignorant of the woman's past as the other landladies had been. She arrived from nowhere, and, no doubt, would have departed six months later in an equally mysterious fashion. But in the middle of her Grangebury tenancy, a violent death put an end to her further wanderings.

Miss Bain, Hampstead Margil, Nov., 1893, to April, 1894

Miss Cass, Shepherd's Bush Migral, May to Oct.,1894

Miss Lamb, Richmond Ramlig, Nov., 1894, to April, 1895

Mrs. Brown, West Kensington Limrag, May to Oct. 1895

Mrs. Kane, St. John's Wool Milgar, Nov., 1895, to April, 1896

Mrs. Presk, Grangebury Ligram, April to July, 1896

And at the foot of this table he noted the fact that on the night of the 24th July, 1896--according to medical evidence at ten o'clock--the so-called Miss Ligram met with a violent death at the hands of some unknown person.

So far so good; but here Gebb's information came to an end, and beyond a few years' knowledge of Miss Ligram's past, he had no evidence to show him why she had taken to this mode of life, or why her eccentric manner of living should have been cut short by violence. Ready as he was in resource, the detective did not know how to act, or in which direction to turn for information. While thus perplexed he received a hasty note scribbled on a half-sheet of dirty paper. It ran as follows:--

"48, Guy Street, Pimlico.

"Come and see me at once, about the Grangebury case. I have solved the mystery, and can hang the criminal.--Yours,

"Simon Parge."

But that Gebb knew the writer of this curt note, which was hardly civil in its brevity, he would have been much surprised at the untoward chance of its coming at so critical a moment to help him out of his difficulties. As it was, he felt more relieved than astonished, and hastened to obey the summons without delay. It was not the first time he had used Mr. Parge as a finger-post to point out the right path, and in the present instance he was rather vexed with himself that he had not applied before in this quarter for advice and guidance. But better late than never, thought he, while repairing his error, and making up for his neglect by replying in person to the summons.

Towards Parge, the detective stood in the relation of pupil to master; for it was Parge who, observing his abilities, had induced him to join the profession, and had never ceased to praise, and blame, and help him on to the best of his ability. For some considerable time Parge had been a noted detective himself, and he had retired within the last few years into private life, owing to a tendency to obesity and an increase of years which forbade his further exercising his talents in the way of thief-catching and assassin-hunting. The criminal fraternity had rejoiced rather too soon, when they heard that their great enemy had retired on a pension; for Parge left behind him a worthy successor in the person of Gebb, and he still instructed the latter in particularly difficult cases where two heads were better than one. Mr. Parge, by reason of his eighteen stone, was chained to an armchair for the rest of his life; but his brain was still active, and he took a sufficient interest in Scotland Yard affairs to read all criminal cases, and help his more active deputy to bring them to satisfactory conclusions. The old detective sat in his house like Odin on the Air-throne, and--through the medium of the Press--knew much that was going on in the shady section of society, which he had watched for so many years. Frequently he instructed Gebb how to act, and what conclusions to form on slender evidence; and the pupil, when at a loss, invariably turned to his master for a word of encouragement and explanation. But that Parge had forestalled him by sending the note, Gebb, later on, would have laid the case of the Yellow Boudoir before his--so to speak--sleeping partner.

"I guess the old man will be in a rage," said Gebb to himself as he hurried with all speed to Pimlico. "I should have seen him before on the matter, only it has bothered me so. He says he has solved the mystery--that means he has discovered who killed Miss Ligram. I don't believe it--with the greatest possible respect for Simon--I don't believe it."

The ex-detective dwelt in a little house in a little square, and passed his time usually in a huge armchair, placed conveniently near the window, so that he could survey the busy world from which he had withdrawn. He was a Daniel Lambert for size and rotundity, with a large red face like a full moon, and an impressive girth which would have made the fortune of an alderman; but his eyes were keen and bright, and the brain pertaining to this man-mountain of flesh was as active as one cased in the leanest of bodies. He was clothed in a gaudy-figured dressing-gown of blue and red, wore carpet slippers on his large feet, a smoking-cap with a large tassel on his sparse locks, and sat amid a litter of newspapers. Parge took in nearly every morning and evening journal in London, and from dawn till dark read the police news, cutting out all such cases as he deemed worthy of his attention. In the evening he usually played whist with his wife and two cronies, or kept the company enthralled by his stories of the scoundrels he had exposed, and the under-world he had moved in. Mrs. Parge--an anaemic woman, as slender as Simon was stout--waited on her husband, and thought him--intellectually and morally, as he was physically--the greatest of men. She did all the house-work with the assistance of a small servant, and, being an excellent cook, had contributed not a little to the weight and size of her spouse by preparing those appetizing dishes which her Simon loved. The couple had a comfortable income, a comfortable house, and both enjoyed the best of health, so that the Parge household was as happy a one as could be found in London.

"My word, Absalom," said lean Mrs. Parge when she opened the door, "you're going to have a bad time; you've going to catch it. Simon saw you from the window, and is getting up steam to receive you."

A series of growls proceeding from the near parlour proclaimed the truth of this warning, and when Gebb entered the presence of his master, steam was got up so far that Parge's smoking-cap came skimming past the head of the visitor. Gebb picked it up and brought it to Parge, who received him and it with a growl of wrath. At Parge's feet lay a pile of newspapers, some open, some folded, some with evidence of scissors' work and some quite whole. On a near table there lay a large volume bound in red cloth, which Gebb recognized as one of the series of books in which Parge noted down the more important cases, and stored his newspaper cuttings. He wondered if the old man had it at his elbow to throw at him, for Parge's fingers evidently itched to send the book after the smoking-cap; but, as he refrained from further violence, Gebb concluded that the volume had been placed within reach of its owner for some purpose connected with his visit. He was right, as subsequent events proved.

"Oh!" growled Parge, glaring at the young man, "so you've thought fit to come at last?"

"I couldn't come sooner, Simon," protested Gebb, taking a chair, "I've been worried out of my life by this Grangebury case."

"And what good has all your worry done, you fool? You've found out nothing."

"Indeed I have. I've traced back Miss Ligram's life to the year '93. She is--but I forget--you don't know the case."

"Don't I!" retorted Parge, sharply. "I know a deal more than you can tell me. I suppose you are in difficulties over the matter?"

Gebb admitted that he was. "And I candidly confess that I do not see my way out of them," he added, with an anxious look at Parge.

The fat man grunted. "If you had come to me in the first instance I could have saved you a lot of trouble."

"Can you explain the mystery, Simon?"

"I can. If I couldn't, I wouldn't have sent for you."

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