the offer of a berth on board, I came ashore
determined to make my way home by tram and afoot. I should probably
have done so and have been spared--much; but rain began to fall
suddenly and I found myself, foolishly unprovided with a top-coat, in
those grey East End streets without hope of getting a lift.
"It was just as I was crossing Limehouse Causeway that I observed, to
my astonishment, the head-lamps of a cab or car shining out from a dark
and forbidding thoroughfare which led down to the river. The sight was
so utterly unexpected that I paused, looking through the rainy mist in
the direction of the stationary vehicle. I was still unable to make
out if it were a cab or a car, and accordingly I walked along to where
it stood and found that it was a taxicab and apparently for hire.
"'Are you disengaged?' I said to the man.
"'Well, sir, I suppose I am,' was his curious reply. 'Where do you
want to go?'
"I gave him this address and he drove me home. On arriving, so
grateful did I feel that I took pity upon the man, for it had settled
down into a brute of a night, and asked him to come in and take a
glass of grog. He was only too glad to do so. He turned out to be
quite an intelligent sort of fellow, and we chatted together for ten
minutes or so.
"I had forgotten all about him when, I believe on the following night,
he reappeared in the character of a patient. He had a badly damaged
skull, and I gathered that he had had an accident with his cab and had
been pitched out into the road.
"When I had fixed him up, he asked me to do him a small favour. From
inside his tunic he pulled out a long stiff envelope, bearing no
address but the number 30 in big red letters. It was secured at both
ends with black wax bearing the imprint of a curious and complicated
seal.
"'A gentleman left this behind in the cab today, sir,' said the
man--'perhaps the one who was with me when I had the spill, and I've
got no means of tracing him; but he may be able to trace _me_ if he
happened to notice my number, or he may advertise. It evidently
contains something valuable.'
"'Then why not take it to Scotland Yard?' I asked. 'Isn't that the
proper course?'
"'It is,' he admitted; 'but here's the point: if the owner reclaims it
from Scotland Yard he's less likely to dub up handsome than if he gets
it direct from me!'
"I laughed at that, for the soundness of the argument was beyond
dispute. 'But what on earth do you want to leave it with _me_ for?'
I asked."
"'Self-protection,' was the reply. 'They can't say I meant to pinch
it! Whereas, directly there's any inquiry I can come and collect it
and get the reward; and your word will back me up if any questions are
asked; that's if you don't mind, sir.'
"I told him I didn't mind in the least, and accordingly I sealed the
envelope in a yet larger one which I addressed to the Lost Property
Office and put into a private drawer of my bureau. 'You will have no
objection,' I said, 'to this being posted if it isn't reclaimed within
a reasonable time?'
"He said that would be all right and departed--since which moment I
have not set eyes upon him. I now come to the sequel, or what I have
just recognized to be the sequel."
Stuart's agitation grew more marked and it was only by dint of a
palpable effort that he forced himself to resume.
"On the evening of the following day a lady called professionally.
She was young, pretty, and dressed with extraordinary elegance. My
housekeeper admitted her, as I was out at the time but momentarily
expected. She awaited my return here, in this room. She came again
two days later. The name she gave was an odd one: Mademoiselle Dorian.
There is her card,"--Stuart opened a drawer and laid a visiting-card
before Dunbar--"no initials and no address. She travelled in a large
and handsome car. That is to say, according to my housekeeper's
account it is a large and handsome car. I personally, have had but an
imperfect glimpse of it. It does not await her in front of the house,
for some reason, but just around the corner in the side turning.
Beyond wondering why Mademoiselle Dorian had selected me as her
medical advisor I had detected nothing suspicious in her behaviour up
to the time of which I am about to speak.
"Last night there was a singular development, and to-night matters
came to a head."
Thereupon Stuart related as briefly as possible the mysterious episode
of the cowled man, and finally gave an account of the last visit of
Mlle. Dorian. Inspector Dunbar did not interrupt him, but listened
attentively to the singular story.
"And there," concluded Stuart, "on the blotting-pad, lies the sealed
envelope!"
Dunbar took it up eagerly. A small hole had been burned in one end of
the envelope and much of the surrounding paper was charred. The wax
with which Stuart had sealed it had lain uppermost, and although it
had been partly melted, the mark of his signet-ring was still
discernible upon it. Dunbar stood staring at it.
"In the circumstances, Inspector, I think you would be justified in
opening both envelopes," said Stuart.
"I am inclined to agree. But let me just be clear on one or two
points." He took out the bulging note-book and also a fountain-pen
with which he prepared to make entries. "About this cabman, now. You
didn't by any chance note the number of his cab?"
"I did not."
"What build of man was he?"
"Over medium height and muscular. Somewhat inclined to flesh and past
his youth, but active all the same."
"Dark or