The Missing Million

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

JIM followed Parker up the stairs to the room which had been set aside for Rex Walton to change. A glance told him that the change had been effected, for the morning coat and striped trousers which Walton had worn were lying over the back of a chair.

"His overcoat has gone, sir," said Parker suddenly, "and his hat."

"What is the next room to this?" asked Jim, coming outside.

"That is Miss Coleman's own room, sir." The butler opened the door and showed a large and pretty bedroom. On the floor were two suit-cases, packed, and evidently ready for the contemplated trip. On the bed was a large dressing-bag, which was closed.

"Did you bring him up, or did he come by himself?"

"I showed him the way up, sir. He asked me to remind him when it was ten minutes past ten, because he wanted to go upstairs for something."

"Not to change?"

The butler shook his head.

"No, sir; Mr. Walton was changing on his return."

"Could he come downstairs without being seen by any of the servants?"

The butler hesitated.

"I don't know, sir; I will inquire."

Whilst Jim was conducting a search of the apartment, the butler went to make his investigations and returned with the news that no sign of the bridegroom had been seen in the lower hall.

"He could not very well have come down, sir, because two of the chauffeurs were waiting in the porch outside, and they have seen nothing of him."

"Is there any other way out?"

"There's a servants' stairway," said the butler, and led him to a corner at the end of the passage, where a narrow, circular stairway led to the basement kitchen. On the level of the first floor was a door. Jim tried the handle, and it opened. Outside was a small courtyard and another door.

"Where does that lead?" asked Jim

"To the mews, sir. There are garages and stables at the back."

Sepping crossed the flagged yard and found that this second door was also open. It was raining heavily now, and the mews was deserted. In spite of the downpour, Jim walked to the end of the thoroughfare without, however, discovering anybody who had seen the missing bridegroom. He returned to the dining-room. Dora looked white and ill, but if Joan Walton was pale, she was self-possessed. "What has happened, Jimmy?" she asked.

"I can't understand it," he said, shaking his head. "Had Rex any money with him?"

She nodded.

"He had a very large sum— three or four thousand pounds in notes," she said. "He told me that this morning, but wouldn't tell me why such a large sum was necessary."

"Are you perfectly sure he has left the house?" asked Mr. Coleman incredulously. "It is impossible! I've always thought of Mr. Walton as a man of honour, who would—"

"There is no need to alter your opinion of Mr. Walton," said Jim quietly. "He has not left the house of his own free will; of that I am sure."

He went up again to make an examination of the missing man's pockets. They had been emptied, and, with the exception of a banknote in one of the waistcoat pockets, and which had evidently been overlooked in the hurry of changing, he found no money. Why had Rex changed his clothes? The plan was for him to be married in the morning suit he had been wearing when he came to Portland Place, and to change afterwards. That was the most puzzling feature of the situation. If Rex Walton had been removed by force, if he had been captured and carried from the house, he certainly would not have changed his clothes to oblige his captors. If the change had disappeared, and his other suit had not been left behind, that would have explained a great deal.

When he got back to the dining-room, he thought it was expedient to tell of the warning which Rex had received.

"Do you think he has been taken away?"

It was Dora who asked the question, and her voice was low and steady, her beautiful eyes fixed gravely upon the detective's face.

"I want you to tell me the truth, Captain Sepping. Last night did Rex express the slightest wish that he was not going to be married?"

"On the contrary," said Jim instantly, "he was a very happy man, and his only concern was for your welfare."

Mr. Coleman, his face distorted as though he were summoning all his physical as well as his mental powers to absorb this problem, was to Jim a pathetic figure of helplessness.

"These sort of things do not happen, my dear sir," he said testily. "Unless Mr. Walton is in the house, he has left of his own free will."

"I think the police had better be summoned," said Jim.

"That means a scandal," said Mr. Coleman with a violent gesture. "The police must not be called in until we have investigated this matter so far as it is humanly possible. Perhaps he has returned to his own house."

Jim had thought of that too, but a telephone call put through to Cadogan Place brought no satisfactory reply.

Jim escorted Joan Walton home. The missing man had not returned, and no news had come of him.

"Poor Dora!" said the girl, with tears in her eyes. "How terrible, how terrible! Jimmy, do you think he has gone mad?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"Do you think he's in any danger?"

"I don't know. The thing is so inexplicable," said Jim. "K. has never killed— as yet. And Rex is not the sort of man who would be driven to suicide."

"There is nothing in his past, Jimmy?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing," said Jimmy promptly. "I know the whole of his life's history. I think there is hardly a secret between us. In fact, the only thing I don't know about him is where he was going on his honeymoon," he added, and regretted his flippancy when he saw the girl's face.

He went back to his own flat, procured the label of the Kupie that he had found in his pocket, and unearthed a small book which he had had at school. It was a book whose plain pages were disfigured by innumerable smudges, for there had at one period been a craze in Charterhouse for collecting thumbprints.

At Scotland Yard the finger-print expert lost little time in removing any doubt Jim may have had.

"The thumb-print on the label and that in your book, sir, are entirely different," he said. "Neither the left nor the right in the book corresponds with that on the label."

Jim heaved a sigh of relief. For a second he had had the wildest suspicions.

"Take mine," he suggested, and when the imprint of his own thumb had been made, the inspector in charge shook his head.

"No, sir, it isn't your print either."

He drove to Chelsea, and Joan came into the big hall of Rex Walton's beautiful house to meet him. "No news?" she asked.

"None, I'm afraid. I should like to have a talk with his valet. It struck me that he might be able to help us. Rex may have said something to him."

She nodded.

"I'll send for him," she said. "Come in, Jimmy. I'm most unhappy. I think something serious has happened to Rex."

"On the contrary, I do not," said Jim, lying bravely, but he saw that he did not deceive her. "What is the valet's name?"

"William Wells," she answered. "He's an oldish man. He's been Rex's valet for years, and he's devoted to him."

The footman she had sent to look for William returned with the news that the man had gone out. "Gone out?" she said in surprise.

"He went out to get a paper, madam," said the footman, "and he hasn't come back."

"When was this?" she asked.

"Early this morning, about ten o'clock, madam," was the reply.