# The Bartenstein Case/Chapter 10

CHAPTER V
THE SWORD-STICK DISAPPEARS
These enigmatic words were spoken, or rather hissed, by Grandfather Punctuality in such a scarcely audible tone, that only Lauderdale caught them. But Inspector Dwayne, turning at that moment, saw the clutch on the young man's arm and the fierce gleam in the old collector's eyes, and stopped, wondering at the meaning of the scene. Grandfather Punctuality's animation thereupon died away as suddenly as it had arisen; he slouched back to his chair, picked up his pipe, and became oblivious of all around him.
"What was he saying to you, Lieutenant?" asked the Inspector, as they emerged into the passage. "He seemed a bit energetic, I thought."
Lauderdale repeated word for word exactly what Grandfather Punctuality had said. Inspector Dwayne elevated his eyebrows, removed his bowler hat, and wiped his bald head.
"Well, look at that now!" he exclaimed. "Seemed as if he was glad to hear of it. There's been something between him and Bartenstein. ​I wonder what? I'll tell you what it is, sir—this is a queer case."
"A very queer case," agreed Lauderdale.
"There's more—much more—in it than meets the eye," continued the Inspector sagely. "There are wheels within wheels, Lieutenant, in this. And upon my word, I don't exactly know what to do—I mean about yourself. Just take a turn along Bedford Row with me, sir, for a minute—we'll tell those other two they can have a peep at Grandfather Punctuality by looking in at the window."
Bedford Row, save for a few children playing on the pavement, was now deserted, and they walked along for a time in silence—the Inspector evidently deep in thought and a good deal puzzled.
"A very strange case!" he said. "And about yourself, sir, as I said, I'm a good deal puzzled. Speaking as a man, I'll tell you straight out that, from what I've already seen and heard, I believe you innocent, and that Bartenstein met his death after you left him."
"Thank you," said Lauderdale.
"But speaking as an officer—why, I'm afraid I ought to arrest you," continued the Inspector. "There's prima facie evidence against you. Will you take my advice, Lieutenant?"
"Yes—if it seems good to me," answered Lauderdale.
"Then I should go through with it," said Inspector Dwayne. "If you're conscious of your ​own innocence you won't mind the fullest inquiry."
"On the contrary, I should welcome it," said Lauderdale.
"You must see that a number of people will say that you killed the man in a sudden passion," said the Inspector. "In a measure you were rivals———"
"I shouldn't stab a man behind his back!" said Lauderdale. "This man was stabbed from behind, according to the accounts."
"So anybody would say that knew you, sir," answered the Inspector drily. "But the law does not know anybody. It only knows what's put before it. And when there's a woman in the case between two men———"
"Let us leave that out, Inspector," said Lauderdale.
"Very good, sir, but I'm afraid it won't be in either your power or mine to leave it out," answered Inspector Dwayne. "There are a lot of things one would personally like to leave out which will force themselves in."
"Well," said Lauderdale a little impatiently. "What's to be done?"
"We'll drive back to the Yard and see the Chief," said the Inspector. "It'll be better for you, Lieutenant, to go through with it—indeed, I see no other way for it. And in the meantime I'll be at work in some other direction, and to start with I'll put Mitchell on to this old chap here. He'll have to be a double extra speci​men of a mole, will Grandfather Punctuality, if he burrows underground without Mitchell's knowledge. And you mark my words, Lieutenant, there'll be something revealed yet that will be more surprising than Bartenstein's murder was."
Leaving Mitchell with certain instructions, Inspector Dwayne and Lauderdale then returned to Scotland Yard, where they repaired to a very high official, with whom they were immediately closeted. As for Mr. Hasleton, he repaired to his room, feeling that he had enjoyed a new sensation.
All London woke next morning to marvel at the latest development in the Bartenstein case. The young gentleman who had been described by the valet as being the last person seen with the murdered man was discovered—nay, he had presented himself at Scotland Yard quite boldly and unconcernedly! Moreover, late at night, after a conference with a very high official and with the inspector to whom he had first presented himself, he had submitted to formal arrest, and had at his own wish made a statement as to his knowledge of the matter, which would doubtless be read when he was brought up at Bow Street that morning.
And so as much of London as could get there flocked into and around Bow Street, in the endeavour to see something of the chief actors in the latest murder mystery, for there were elements of strangeness in it which appealed to more ​classes than one. A millionaire murdered—a young Army officer implicated—some suspicion of a love-affair—some mystery about the weapon with which there could be little doubt the deed was done—all these were pretty ingredients to put into a pie. Even the smallest slice of such a pie would appeal to the most jaded appetite.
Such proceedings as these are, as everybody knows, usually formal to the verge of dullness. But those who were fortunate enough to obtain places in court were treated to a certain amount of excitement in the fact that the prisoner had not only made the formal statement referred to in the newspapers, but had stipulated that when evidence of his voluntary appearance at Scotland Yard and subsequent arrest had been given, it should be read by Inspector Dwayne. And read it was, to everybody's surprise and wonderment.
"My name," this document ran, "is John Lauderdale. I am twenty-five years of age, and my present address is 251B Jermyn Street. I hold His Majesty's commission and am a lieutenant in the 42nd Lancers. During the past four years I have been abroad, at foreign stations, and only returned to this country about a month ago. I am acquainted with the late Mr. Marcus Bartenstein through having met him at the house of Sir Nicholas Oxenham—I think on about four or five occasions. We were on the footing of mere acquaintances, and had scarcely ​ever exchanged more than a few sentences together.
"Yesterday evening, when I had gone to Sussex Square to dine with Sir Nicholas Oxenham, whose family I have known most intimately from childhood, I received communication from Miss Oxenham, to whom I had the previous evening become engaged to be married, which I have received her permission to refer to here in plain words. It was to the effect that at noon that day Mr. Bartenstein called upon her, informed her that her father was in serious financial danger from which nobody but he, Mr. Bartenstein, could save him, and offered to do so on condition that she, Miss Oxenham, married him. He gave her twenty-four hours to consider her answer.
"Acting on my advice, Miss Oxenham wrote a peremptory refusal, which she handed to me. On leaving Sir Nicholas' house I decided to deliver the note myself. I called at Mr. Bartenstein's house in Princes Gate just as he returned from the House of Commons. He took me up to his study, where I delivered the note. He read it and made no comment. I said that I trusted Miss Oxenham's wishes would be respected by him. He merely replied by a bow, took me downstairs, let me out himself, and we parted without further speech. I walked up Princes Gate, found a motor-cab, and drove home.
"I have been shown the sword-stick with which it is believed the crime was committed. ​I recognize it as my own property. It has been in my family for over a century. It was stolen from me, or I lost it, in Hyde Park, about three weeks ago, and I offered a substantial reward for its recovery, but failed to get news of it. I never saw it from the time I lost it until Inspector Dwayne showed it to me this evening at Scotland Yard.
"This is all I know of the matter, and is the strict truth so far as I am concerned."
Needless to say, public opinion was divided on this statement of Lauderdale's, even amongst those who, being in court, heard Inspector Dwayne read it, and had the opportunity of watching the accused while it was read. Ninety-nine per cent of the interested and curious believed Lauderdale innocent because of his frank outspokenness, his ingenuous manner, his impatience of form and ceremony, his truly British desire to get at the truth and to contribute his quota to it. But one per cent saw nothing in all this but an attempt at a gigantic piece of bluff on the young man's part, and did not scruple to say so.
"He's the cheek of the old 'un himself, that young sprig of yours, Dwayne!" remarked a confrère of the Inspector, as they lunched together that day. "Hang me if ever I knew a more cheeky trick than his walking in upon you with that cut-and-dried narrative. Coming the candid, eh? I should think so! Why, the case is as plain as a pikestaff!"
​"Think so?" said Inspector Dwayne, who was not unwilling to allow his friend to talk.
"Think so?—why, of course I do, my boy!" replied the other. "There's nothing new about the matter—it's only a variation of a game that's been played by one woman and two men ever since the world possessed so much population. It's a back number in the way of originality. Youthful rival—middle-aged rival—poor young man—millionaire———"
"Lieutenant Lauderdale isn't poor," said Inspector Dwayne. "He's worth four thousand a year, and he's heir to a baronetcy."
"Ay, but the other chap was a multi-millionaire," objected the cynical one. "Pooh—the thing's plain! The boy goes there with the girl's note—he and Bartenstein have a scrap—boy loses his temper and pinks him. All done in a second without thinking. You can tell he's a hot-tempered chap. He'll hang, Dwayne, he'll hang—or it'll be manslaughter.
"You saw him in the dock," said Inspector Dwayne slowly. "Do you think a chap like that would stab another man in the back? Because if you do, I don't; and I don't believe he did it, and you see if I don't clear him. There's more in this case than you or I or anybody else. thinks of, I can tell you!"
"Ho, ho!" said the other. "That's what you're after, is it? But you were always a romantically inclined chap, Dwayne—it's your one fault. Well, you'll have your work cut out, ​my boy, if you're going in for the mystery business. A plain road's more to my liking."
Inspector Dwayne was very well aware that he had his work cut out; he was already firmly convinced of Lauderdale's complete innocence. Everything that he knew was in Lauderdale's favour. The chauffeur who had driven him from Knightsbridge to Jermyn Street had turned up that morning and testified that his fare was in quite a normal condition when he had hailed him, and that he showed no trace of excitement or discomposure. Lauderdale's valet, who had awaited his return, had also told Inspector Dwayne that his master's manner had been just as usual that midnight—he had eaten a sandwich or two, drunk a single whisky-and-soda, and gone to bed.
"No, he didn't do it!" mused the Inspector, as he sat in his office that afternoon, Lauderdale being safely immured in Brixton on remand, and the sea of events for the moment being smooth. "I'll stake all my professional existence on that. There's some confounded mystery about the whole thing, and ten to one the secret lies where we can never get it now—with Bartenstein himself. Now, I wonder if there was anything in Bartenstein's early history? I know he went out to South Africa, struck oil in diamonds, and made his pile, but what else was there, and how can I find out? And then there's that stick, and Grandfather Punctuality—oh, it's a mystery, sure enough!"
​Pondering over the problem thus presented, Inspector Dwayne half-unconsciously approached the cupboard in which he fondly believed the fatal weapon to be lodged. He laid his hand on the latch. And then a sharp exclamation escaped him, for the door had been forced open and the sword-stick had disappeared!