At five minutes to six sounded Isis Klaw’s ring upon the door bell. Paxton, Coram, and I had spent the interval in discussing the apparently supernatural happening which threatened to wreak the artist’s ruin. Again and again he had asked us, “Should I call in the Scotland Yard people? If Moris Klaw fails, consider the priceless time lost!”
“If Moris Klaw fails,” Coram assured him, “no one else will succeed!”
We admitted Isis, who wore now a smart tweed costume and a fashionable hat. Beyond doubt, Isis Klaw was strikingly beautiful.
At the door of the studio stood her father, staring straight up to the morning sky, as though by astrological arts he hoped to solve the mystery.
“What time does your model come?” he asked, ere Paxton could question him.
“Half-past ten. But, Mr. Klaw----” began our anxious friend.
“Where does it lead to,” Klaw rumbled on, “that lane behind the studio?”
“Tradesmen’s entrance to the next house.”
“Whose house?”
“Doctor Gleason.”
“M.D.?”
“Yes. But tell me, Mr. Klaw--tell me, have you any clue?”
“My mind, Mr. Paxton, records for me that Nicris was not stolen away, but walked! Plainly, I feel her go tiptoe, tiptoe, so silent and cautious! She is concerned, this barbaric dancing girl who escapes from your studio, with two things. One is some very big man. She thinks, as she tiptoes, of one very tall: six feet and three inches at least! So it is not of you she thinks, Mr. Paxton. We shall see of whom it is. Tell me the name of your acquaintance, the point-policeman.”
We were all staring at Moris Klaw, spellbound with astonishment. But Paxton managed to mumble:
“James--Constable James.”
“We shall seek him, this James, at the section house of the police depot,” rumbled Klaw. “Be silent, Mr. Paxton; let no one know of your loss. And hope.”
“I can see no ground for hope!”
“No? But I? I recognize the clue, Mr. Paxton! What a great science is that of mental photography!”
What did he mean? None of us could surmise, and I could see that poor Paxton reposed no faith whatever in the eccentric methods of the investigator. He would have voiced his doubts, I think, but he met a glance from the dark eyes of Isis Klaw which silenced him.
“My child,” said Klaw to his daughter, “take the cushion and return. My negative is a clear one. You understand?”
“Perfectly,” replied Isis, with composure.
“Breakfast----” began Paxton, tentatively.
But Moris Klaw waved his hands and enveloped himself in the big cloak.
“There is no time for such gross matters!” he said. “We are busy.”
From the brown bowler he took out a scent spray and bedewed his high, bald forehead with verbena.
“It is exhausting, that odic photography!” he explained.
Shortly afterward he and I walked around to the local police depot. Something occurred to me, en route.
“By the way,” I said, “what was the other thing of which you spoke? The thing that you declared Nicris to be thinking of, though I don’t understand in the least how one can refer to the ‘thoughts’ of an ivory statue!”
“Ah,” rumbled my companion, “it is something I shall explain later--that other fear of the missing one.”
Arriving at the police depot, “Shall I ask for Constable James?” I said.
“Ah, no,” replied Klaw. “It is for the constable that he relieved at twelve o’clock I am looking.”
Inquiry showed that the latter officer--his name was Freeman--had just entered the section house. Moris Klaw’s questions elicited the following story, although its bearing upon the matter in hand was not evident to me.
Toward twelve o’clock, that is, shortly before Freeman was relieved, a man, supporting a woman, came down the street and entered the gate of Doctor Gleeson’s house. The woman was enveloped in a huge fur cloak which entirely concealed her face and figure, but from her feeble step the constable judged her to be very ill. Considering the lateness of the hour, also, he concluded that the case must be a serious one; he further supposed the sick woman to be resident in the neighbourhood, since she came on foot.
He had begun to wonder at the length of the consultation, when, nearly an hour later, the man appeared again from the shadows of the drive, still supporting the woman. Pausing at the gate he waved his hand to the policeman.
Constable Freeman ran across the road immediately.
“Fetch me a taxicab, officer!” said the stranger, supporting his companion and exhibiting much solicitude.
Freeman promptly ran to the corner of Beira Road and returned with a cab from the all-night rank.
“Open the door!” directed the man, who was a person of imposing height--some six-feet-three, Freeman averred.
“Ha, ha!” growled Moris Klaw, “six-feet-three! What a wondrous science!”
He seemed triumphant; but I was merely growing more nonplussed.
With that, carefully wrapping the cloak about the woman’s figure, the big man took her up in his arms and placed her inside the cab--the only glimpse of her which the constable obtained being that of a small foot clad in a silk stocking. She had apparently dropped her shoe.
Tenderly assisting her to a corner of the vehicle, the man, having bent and whispered some word of encouragement in her ear, directed the cabman to drive to the Savoy.
“Did you give him your assistance?” asked Moris Klaw.
“No. He did not seem to require it.”
“And the number of the cabman?”
Freeman fetched his notebook and supplied the required information.
“Thank you, Constable Freeman,” said Klaw. “You are a very alert constable. Good morning, Constable Freeman!”
Again satisfaction beamed from behind my companion’s glasses. But to my eyes the darkness grew momentarily less penetrable. For these inquiries bore upon matters which had occurred prior to twelve o’clock; and, Coram, myself, and Paxton had seen the statue in its usual place considerably after midnight! My brain was in a turmoil.
Said Moris Klaw: “That cab was from the big garage at Brixton. We shall ring up the Brixton garage and learn where the man may be found. Perhaps, if Providence is with us--and Providence is with the right--he has not yet again left home.”
From a public call office we rang up the garage, and learned that the man we wanted was not due to report for duty until ten o’clock. We experienced some difficulty in obtaining his private address, but finally it was given to us. Thither we hastened, and aroused the man from his bed.
“A big gentleman and a sick lady,” said Moris Klaw, “they hired your cab from Doctor Gleeson’s, near Beira Road, at about twelve o’clock last night, and you drove them to the Savoy Hotel.”
“No, sir. He changed the address afterward. I’ve been wondering why. I drove him to Number 6A, Rectory Grove, Old Town, Clapham.”
“Was the lady by then recovered--no? Yes?”
“Partly, sir. I heard him talking to her. But he carried her into the house.”
“Ah,” said Moris Klaw, “there is much genius wasted; but what a great science is the science of the mind!”
