The mystery of Angelina Frood 3 – Freeman · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The mystery of Angelina Frood 3Angelina Frood
18
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The mystery of Angelina Frood 3
Angelina Frood
FreemanEnglish
Punctually at half-past six I presented myself at the office of Messrs. Japp and Bundy. The senior partner was seated at a writing-table covered with legal-looking documents, and, as I entered, he looked up with a genial, wrinkly smile of recognition, and then turned to his junior.
“You’ve got Dr. Strangeways’s agreement ready, haven’t you, Bundy?” he asked.
“Just finished it five minutes ago,” was the reply. “Here you are.”
Bundy swung round on his stool and held out the two copies. “Would you mind going through it with Dr. Strangeways?” said Japp. “And then you might go with him to Mrs. Frood’s and witness the signatures. I told her you were coming.”
Bundy pulled out his watch, and glared at it through his great spectacles.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “I’m afraid I can’t. There’s old Baldwin, you know. I’ve got to be there at a quarter to seven.”
“So you have,” said Japp, “I had forgotten that. You had better be off now. I’ll see to Dr. Strangeways, if he isn’t in a hurry for a minute or two.”
“I’m not in a hurry at all,” said I. “Don’t put yourself out for me.”
“Well, if you really are not,” said Japp, “I’ll just finish what I am doing, and then I’ll run in with you and get the agreement completed. You might look through it while you are waiting and see that it is all in order.”
Bundy handed me the agreement, and, as I sat down to study it, he removed his spectacles, stuck his eye-glass in his eye, hopped off his perch, brought forth his hat, gloves, and stick, and, having presented his teeth for my inspection, took his departure.
I read through the agreement carefully to ascertain that it embodied the terms agreed on verbally and compared the two copies. Then, while Mr. Japp continued to turn over the leaves of his documents, I let my thoughts stray from the trim, orderly office to the house of mystery in London and the strange events that had befallen there on that rainy night more than a year ago. Once more I called up before the eyes of memory the face of my mysterious patient, sweet and gracious in spite of its deathly pallor. Many a time, in the months that had passed, had I recalled it: so often that it seemed, in a way, to have become familiar. In a few minutes I was going to look upon that face again--for there could be no reasonable doubt that my prospective landlady was she. I looked forward expectantly, almost with excitement, to the meeting. Would she recognize me? I wondered. And if she did not, should I make myself known? This was a difficult question, and I had come to no decision upon it when I was aroused from my reverie by a movement on the part of Mr. Japp, whose labours had apparently come to an end. Folding up the documents and securing them in little bundles with red tape, he deposited them in a cupboard with his notes, and from the same receptacle took out his hat.
“Now,” said he, “if you find the agreement in order, we will proceed to execute it. Are you going to pay the premium now?”
“I have my cheque-book with me,” I replied. “When we have signed the agreement, I will settle up for everything.”
“Thank you,” said he. “I have prepared a receipt which is, practically, an assignment of the furniture and effects and of all rights in the practice.”
He held the door open and I passed out. We descended the steps, and passing the central door common to the two houses, ascended to that of the adjoining house, where Mr. Japp executed a flourish on a handsome brass knocker. In a few moments the door was opened by a woman whom I could not see very distinctly in the dim hall, especially as she turned about and retired up the stairs. Mr. Japp advanced to the door of the front room and rapped with his knuckles, whereupon a high, clear, feminine voice bade him come in. He accordingly entered, and I followed.
The first glance disposed of any doubts that I might have had. The lady who stood up to receive us was unquestionably my late patient, though she looked taller than I had expected. But it was the well-remembered face, less changed, indeed, than I could have wished, for it was still pale, drawn, and weary, as I could see plainly enough in spite of the rather dim light; for, although it was not yet quite dark, the curtains were drawn and a lamp lighted on a small table, beside which was a low easy-chair, on which some needlework had been thrown down.
Mr. Japp introduced me to my future landlady, who bowed, and having invited us to be seated, took up her needlework and sat down in the easy-chair.
“You are not looking quite up to the mark,” Japp observed, regarding her critically, as he turned over the papers.
“No,” she admitted, “I think I am a little run down.”
“H’m,” said Japp. “Oughtn’t to get run down at your age. Why, you are only just wound up. However, you’ve got a doctor for a tenant, so you will be able to take out some of the rent in medical advice. Let me see, I told you what the terms of the agreement were, but you had better look through it before you sign.”
He handed her one of the documents, which she took from him, and, dropping her needlework in her lap, leaned back in her chair to read it. Meanwhile, I examined her with a good deal of interest and curiosity, wondering how she had fared and what had happened to her in the months that had elapsed since I had last seen her. The light was not very favourable for a minute inspection, for the lamp on the table was the sole luminary, and that was covered by a red silk shade. But I was confirmed in my original impression of her. She was more than ordinarily good-looking, and rather striking in appearance, and I judged that under happier conditions she might have appeared even more attractive. As it was, the formally parted dark hair, the strongly marked, straight eyebrows, the firm mouth, rather compressed and a little drawn down at the corners, and the pale complexion imparted to her face a character that was somewhat intense, sombre, and even troubled. But, for this I could fully account from my knowledge of her circumstances, and I was conscious of looking on her with a very sympathetic and friendly eye.
“This is quite satisfactory to me,” she said at length, in the clear, high-pitched voice to which Bundy had objected, “and if it is equally so to Dr. Strangeways, I suppose I had better sign.”
She laid the paper on the table, and, taking the fountain-pen that Japp proffered, signed her name, Angelina Frood, in a bold, legible hand, and then returned the pen to its owner; who forthwith affixed his signature as witness and spread out the duplicate for me to sign. When this also was completed, he handed me the copy signed by Mrs. Frood and the receipt for the premium, and I drew a cheque for the amount and delivered it to him.
“Many thanks,” said he, slipping it into a wallet and pocketing it. “That concludes our business and puts you finally in possession. I wish you every success in your practice. By the way, I mentioned to Mrs. Frood that you had seen her husband and that you know how she is placed; and she agreed with me that it was best that you should understand the position in case you should meet him again.”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Frood agreed. “There is no use in trying to make a secret of it. He came down with you from London, Mr. Japp tells me.”
“Not from London,” said I. “He got in at Dartford.”
Here Mr. Japp rose and stole towards the door. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” said he, “but I must get back to the office and hear what Bundy has to report. Don’t get up. I can let myself out.”
He made his exit quietly, shutting the door after him, and as soon as he was gone Mrs. Frood asked:
“Do you mean that he changed into your train at Dartford?”
“No,” I answered. “I think he came to Dartford on foot. He looked tired and his boots were covered with white dust.”
“You are very observant, Dr. Strangeways,” she said. “I wonder what made you notice him so particularly?”
“He is rather a noticeable man,” I said, and then, deciding that it was better to be quite frank, I added: “But the fact is I had seen him before.”
“Indeed!” said she. “Would you think me very inquisitive if I asked where you had seen him?”
“Not at all,” I answered. “It was a little more than a year ago, about twelve o’clock at night, in a house near Regent’s Park, to which I was taken in a closed car to see a lady.”
As I spoke she dropped her needlework and sat up, gazing at me with a startled and rather puzzled expression. “But,” she said, “you are not the doctor who came to see me that night?”
“I am, indeed,” said I.
“Now,” she exclaimed, “isn’t that an extraordinary thing? I had a feeling that I had seen you somewhere before. I seemed to recognize your voice. But you don’t look the same. Hadn’t you a beard then?”
“Yes, I am but the shaven and shorn remnant of my former self, but I am your late medical attendant.”
She looked at me with an odd, reflective, questioning expression, but without making any further comment. Presently she said:
“You were very kind and sympathetic though you were so quiet. I wonder what you thought of it all.”
“I hadn’t much to go on beyond the medical facts,” I replied evasively.
“Oh, you needn’t be so cautious,” said she, “now that the cat is out of the bag.”
“Well,” I said, “it was pretty obvious that there had been trouble of some kind. The door had been broken open, there was one man in a state of hysterics, another man considerably upset and rather angry, and a woman with the mark on her neck of a cord or band----”
“It was a knitted silk neck-tie, to be accurate. But you put the matter in a nut-shell very neatly; and I see that you diagnosed what novelists call ‘the eternal triangle.’ And to a certain extent you were right; only the triangle was imaginary. If you don’t mind, I will tell you just what did happen. The gentleman who came for you was a Mr. Fordyce, the lessee of one or two provincial theatres--I was on the stage then; but perhaps you guessed that.”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Well, Mr. Fordyce had an idea of producing a play at one of his houses, and was going to give me a leading part. He had been to our house once or twice to talk the matter over with Nicholas (my husband) and me, and we were more or less friendly. He was quite a nice, sober kind of man, and perfectly proper and respectful. On this night he had been at the theatre where I had an engagement, and, as it was a wet night, he drove me home in his car, and was coming in to have a few words with us about our business. He wanted to see a photograph of me in a particular costume, and when we arrived home I ran upstairs to fetch it. There I found Nicholas, who had seen our arrival from the window, and was in a state of furious jealousy. Directly I entered the room, he locked the door and flew at me like a wild beast. As to what followed, I think you know as much as I do, for I fainted, and when I recovered Nicholas was sobbing in a corner, and Mr. Fordyce was standing by the door, looking as black as thunder.”
“Had your husband been jealous of Mr. Fordyce previously?”
“Not a bit. But on this occasion he was in a very queer state. I think he had been drinking, and taking some other things that were bad for him----”
“Such as cocaine,” I suggested.
“Yes. But, dear me! What a very noticing person you are, Dr. Strangeways! But you are quite right. It was the cocaine that was the cause of the trouble. He was always a difficult man; emotional, excitable, eccentric, and not very temperate, but after he had acquired the drug habit he went to the bad completely. He became slovenly, and even dirty in his person, frightfully emotional, and gave up work of all kind, so that but for my tiny income and my small earnings we should have starved.”
“So you actually supported him?”
“Latterly I did. And I daresay, if I had remained on the stage, we should have done fairly well, as I was supposed to have some talent, though I didn’t like the life. But, of course, after this affair, I didn’t dare to live with him. He wasn’t safe. I should have been constantly in fear of my life.”
“Had he ever been violent before?”
“Not seriously. He had often threatened horrible things, and I had looked on his threats as mere vapourings, but this was a different affair. I must have had a really narrow escape. So the very next day, I went into lodgings. But that didn’t answer. He wouldn’t agree to the separation, and was continually dogging me and making a disturbance. In the end, I had to give up my engagement and go off, leaving no address.”
“I suppose you went back to your people?”
“No,” she replied. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t any people. My mother died when I was quite a child, and I lost my father when I was about seventeen. He died on the Gold Coast, where he held an appointment as District Commissioner.”
“Ah,” said I, “I thought you were in some way connected with West Africa. I noticed the zodiac ring on your finger when you were signing the agreement. When I was newly qualified I took a trip down the West Coast as a ship’s surgeon, and bought one of those rings at Cape Coast.”
“They are quaint little things, aren’t they?” she remarked, slipping the ring off her finger and handing it to me. “I don’t often wear it, though. It is rather clumsy, and it doesn’t fit very well; and I don’t care much for rings.”
I turned the little trinket over in my hand and examined it with reminiscent interest. It was a roughly wrought band of yellow native gold, with the conventional signs of the zodiac worked round it in raised figures. Inside I noticed that the letters A. C. had been engraved.
“It was given to you before you were married, I presume,” said I, as I returned it to her.
“Yes,” she replied, “those are the initials of my maiden name--Angelina Carthew.” She took the ring from me, but instead of replacing it on her finger, dropped it into a little pouch-like purse with metal jaws, which she had taken from her pocket.
“Your position is a very disagreeable one,” said I, reverting to the main topic. “I wonder that you haven’t applied for a judicial separation. There are ample grounds for making the application.”
“I suppose there are. But it wouldn’t help me really, even if it were granted. I shouldn’t get rid of him.”
“You could apply to the police if he molested you.”
“No doubt. But that doesn’t sound very restful, does it?”
“I am afraid it doesn’t. But it would be better than being constantly molested without having any remedy or refuge.”
“Perhaps it would,” she agreed doubtfully, and then, with a faint smile, she added: “I suppose you are wondering what on earth made me marry him?”
“Well,” I replied, “it appears to me that his good fortune was more remarkable than his personal attractions.”
“He wasn’t always like he is now,” said she. “I married him nearly ten years ago, and he was fairly presentable then. His manners were quite nice and he had certain accomplishments that rather appealed to a young girl--I was only eighteen and rather impressionable. He was then getting a living by writing magazine stories--love stories, they were, of a highly emotional type--and occasional verses. They were second-rate stuff, really, but to me he seemed a budding genius. It was not until after we were married that the disillusionment came, and then only gradually as his bad habits developed.”
“By the way, what do you suppose he has come down here for? What does he want? I suppose he wishes you to go back to him?”
“I suppose he does. But, primarily, I expect he wants money. It is a horrible position,” she added, with sudden passion. “I hate the idea of hiding away from him when I suspect that the poor wretch has come down to his last few shillings. After all, he is my husband; and I am not so deadly poor now.”
“He seemed to have the wherewith to provide a fair supply of tobacco, to say nothing of the cocaine and a ‘modest quencher’ at the tavern,” I remarked drily. “At any rate, I hope he won’t succeed in finding out where you live.”
“I hope not,” said she. “If he does, I shall have to move on, as I have had to do several times already, and I don’t want to do that. I have only been here a little over two months, and it has been very pleasant and peaceful. But you see, Dr. Strangeways, that, if I am to follow Mr. Japp’s advice, I shall inflict on you a very unpromising patient. There is no medical treatment for matrimonial troubles.”
“No,” I agreed, rising and taking up my hat, “but the physical effects may be dealt with. If I am appointed your medical advisor, I shall send you a tonic, and if I may look in now and again to see how you are getting on, I may be able to help you over some of your difficulties.”
“It is very kind of you,” she said, rising and shaking my hand warmly; and, accepting my suggestion that she had better not come to the street door, she showed me out into the hall and dismissed me with a smile and a little bow.
When I reached the bottom of the steps, I stood irresolutely for a few moments and then, instead of making my way homeward, turned up the street towards the cathedral and the bridge, walking slowly and reflecting profoundly on the story I had just heard. It was a pitiful story; and the quiet, restrained manner of the telling made it the more impressive. All that was masculine in me rose in revolt against the useless, inexcusable wrecking of this poor woman’s life. As to the man, he was, no doubt, to be pitied for being the miserable, degenerate wretch that he was. But he was doomed beyond any hope of salvation. Such wretches as he are condemned in the moment of their birth; they are born to an inheritance of misery and dishonour. But it is infamous that in their inevitable descent into the abyss--from which no one can save them--they should have the power to drag down with them sane and healthy human beings who were destined by nature to a life of happiness, of usefulness, and honour. I thought of the woman I had just left--comely, dignified, energetic, probably even talented. What was her future to be? So far as I could see, the upas shadow of this drug-sodden wastrel had fallen upon her, never to be lifted until merciful death should dissolve the ill-omened union.
This last reflection gave my thoughts a new turn. What was this man’s purpose in pursuing her? Was he bent merely on extorting money or on sharing her modest income? Or was there some more sinister motive? I recalled his face; an evil, sly, vindictive face. I considered what I knew of him; that he had undoubtedly made one attempt to murder this woman, and that, to my knowledge, he carried about his person the means of committing murder. For what purpose could he have provided himself with that formidable weapon? It might be merely as a means of coercion, or it might be as a means of revenge.
Thus meditating, I had proceeded some distance along the street when I observed, on the opposite side, an old, three-gabled house which looked like some kind of institution. A lamp above the doorway threw its light on a stone tablet on which I could see an inscription of some length, and, judging this to be an ancient almshouse, I crossed the road to inspect it more closely. A glance at the tablet told me that this was the famous rest-house established in the sixteenth century by worthy Richard Watts, to give a night’s lodging and entertainment to six poor travellers, with the express proviso that the said travellers must be neither rogues nor proctors. I had read through the quaint inscription and was speculating, as many others have speculated, on the nature of Richard Watts’s grievance against proctors as a class, when the door opened suddenly and a man rushed out with such impetuosity that he nearly collided with me. I had moved out of his way when he halted and addressed me excitedly.
“I say, governor, can you tell me where I can find a doctor?”
“You have found one,” I replied. “I am a doctor. What is the matter?”
“There’s a bloke in here throwing a fit,” he answered, backing into the doorway and holding the door open for me. I entered, and followed him down a passage to a largish, barely furnished room, where I found four men and a woman, who looked like a hospital nurse, standing around and watching anxiously a man who lay on the floor.
“Here’s a doctor, matron,” said my conductor, as he ushered me in.
“Well, Simmonds,” said the matron, “you haven’t wasted much time.”
“No, mum,” replied Simmonds, “I struck it lucky. Caught him just outside.”
Meanwhile I had stepped up to the prostrate man, and at the first glance I recognized him. He was Mrs. Frood’s husband. And, whatever he might be “throwing,” it was not a fit--in the ordinary medical sense; that is to say, it was not epilepsy or apoplexy; nor was it a fainting fit of an orthodox kind. If the patient had been a woman one would have called it a hysterical seizure, and I could give it no other name, though I was not unmindful of the paper packet that I had seen on that former occasion. But the emotional element was obvious. The man purported to be insensible, and manifestly was not. The tightly closed eyes, the everted lips--showing a row of blackened teeth--the clutching movements of the claw-like hands--all were suggestive of at least half-conscious simulation. I stood for a while, stooping over him and watching him intently, and as I did so the bystanders watched me. Then I felt his pulse, and found it, as I had expected, quick, feeble, and irregular; and finally, producing my stethoscope, listened to his heart with as little disturbance of his clothing as possible.
“Well, Doctor,” said the matron, “what do you think of him?”
“He is decidedly ill,” I replied. “His heart is rather jumpy, and not very strong. Too much tobacco, I fancy, and perhaps some other things that are not very good, and possibly insufficient food.”
“He told me, when he came in,” said the matron, “that he was practically destitute.”
“Ah,” murmured Simmonds, “I expect he’s been blowing all his money on Turkish baths,” whereupon the other poor travellers sniggered softly, and were immediately extinguished by a reproving glance from the matron.
“Do you know what brought this attack on?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied; “he had a little dispute with Simmonds, here, and suddenly became violently excited, and then he fell down insensible, as you see him. It was all about nothing.”
“I jest arsked ’im,” said Simmonds, “if ’e could give me the name of the cove what done ’is ’air, ’cos I thought I’d like to ’ave mine done in the same fashionable style. That seemed to give ’im the fair pip. ’E jawed me something chronic, until I got shirty and told ’im if ’e didn’t shut ’is face I’d give ’im a wipe acrost the snout. Then blow me if ’e didn’t start to throw a fit.”
While this lucid explanation was proceeding I noticed that the patient was evidently listening intently, though he continued to twitch his face, exhibit his unlovely teeth, and wriggle his fingers. He was apparently waiting for my verdict with some anxiety.
“The question is,” said the matron, “what is to be done with him? Do you think he is in any danger?”
As she spoke, we drifted towards the door, and when we were in the passage, out of earshot, I said:
“The best place for that man is the infirmary. There is nothing much the matter with him but dope. He has been dosing himself with cocaine, and he has probably got some more of the stuff about him. He is in no danger now, but if he takes any more he may upset himself badly.”
“It is rather late to send him to the infirmary,” she said, “and I don’t quite like to do it. Poor fellow, he seems fearfully down on his luck, and he is quite a superior kind of man. Do you think it would be safe for him to stay here for the night if he had a little medicine of some kind?”
“It would be safe enough,” I replied, “if you could get possession of his coat and waistcoat and lock them up until the morning.”
“Oh, I’ll manage that,” said she; “and about the medicine?”
“Let Simmonds walk up with me--I have taken Dr. Partridge’s practice--and I will give it to him.”
We re-entered the supper-room and found the conditions somewhat changed. Whether it was that the word “infirmary” had been wafted to the patient’s attentive ears, I cannot say; but there were evident signs of recovery. Our friend was sitting up, glaring wildly about him, and inquiring where he was; to which questions Simmonds was furnishing answers of a luridly inaccurate character. When I had taken another look at the patient, and received a vacant stare of almost aggressive unrecognition, I took possession of the facetious Simmonds, and, having promised to look in in the morning, wished the matron good-night and departed with my escort; who entertained me on the way home with picturesque, unflattering, and remarkably shrewd comments on the sufferer.
I had made up a stimulant mixture, and handed it to Simmonds when I remembered Mrs. Frood and that Simmonds would pass her house on his way back. For an instant, I thought of asking him to deliver her medicine for me; and then, with quite a shock, I realized what a hideous blunder it would have been. Evidently, the poor travellers gave their names, and if the man, Frood, had given his correctly, the coincidence of the names would have impressed Simmonds instantly, and then the murder would have been out, and the fat would have been in the fire properly. It was a narrow escape, and it made me realize how insecure was that unfortunate lady’s position with this man lurking in the town. And, realizing this, I determined to trust the addressed bottle to nobody, but to leave it at the house myself. Accordingly, having made up the medicine and wrapped it neatly in paper, I thrust it into my pocket, and, calling out to Mrs. Dunk that I should be back to supper in about half an hour, I set forth, and in a few minutes arrived at the little Georgian doorway and plied the elegant brass knocker. The door was opened--rather incautiously, I thought--by Mrs. Frood herself.
“I am my own bottle-boy, you see, Mrs. Frood,” said I, handing her the medicine. “I thought it safer not to send an addressed packet under the circumstances.”
“But how good of you!” she exclaimed. “How kind and thoughtful! But you shouldn’t have troubled about it to-night.”
“It was only a matter of five minutes’ walk,” said I, “and besides, there was something that I thought you had better know,” and hereupon I proceeded to give her a brief account of my recent adventures and the condition of her precious husband. “Is he subject to attacks of this kind?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “When he is put out about anything in some ways he is rather like a hysterical woman. But, you see, I was right. He is penniless. And that--now I come to think of it--makes it rather odd that he should be here. But won’t you come in for a moment?”
I entered and shut the door. “Why is it odd?” I asked.
“Because he would be getting some money to-morrow. I make him a small allowance; it is very little, but it is as much as I can possibly manage; and it is paid monthly, on the fifteenth of the month. But he has to apply for it personally at the bank or send an accredited messenger with a receipt; and as to-morrow is the fifteenth, the question is, why on earth is he down here now? I mean that it is odd that he should not have waited to collect the allowance before coming to hunt me up.”
“If he is in communication with your banker,” said I, “he could, I suppose, get a letter forwarded to you?”
“No,” she replied; “the banker who pays him is the London agent of Mr. Japp’s banker, and he doesn’t know on whose behalf the payments are made. I had to make that arrangement, or he would have bombarded me with letters.”
“Well,” I said, “you had better keep close for a day or two. If his search for you is unsuccessful, he may get discouraged and raise the siege. I will let you know what his movements are, so far as I can.”
She thanked me once more with most evident sincerity, and as I made my way to the door, she let me out with a cordial and friendly shake of the hand.
