The mystery of Angelina Frood
“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