The mystery of the Blue Train
gave himself into the hands of his valet. His bath was prepared, and
as he lay luxuriating in the hot water, his mind went back over the
conversation with his daughter. On the whole he was well satisfied. His
keen mind had long since accepted the fact that divorce was the only
possible way out. Ruth had agreed to the proposed solution with more
readiness than he had hoped for. Yet, in spite of her acquiescence, he
was left with a vague sense of uneasiness. Something about her manner,
he felt, had not been quite natural. He frowned to himself.
"Maybe I'm fanciful," he muttered, "and yet--I bet there's something
she has not told me."
5. A Useful Gentleman
Rufus Van Aldin had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and
dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself, when Knighton entered
the room.
"Mr. Goby is below, sir, waiting to see you."
The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just half-past nine.
"All right," he said curtly. "He can come up."
A minute or two later, Mr. Goby entered the room. He was a small,
elderly man, shabbily dressed, with eyes that looked carefully all
round the room, and never at the person he was addressing.
"Good morning, Goby," said the millionaire. "Take a chair."
"Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin."
Mr. Goby sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at
the radiator.
"I have got a job for you."
"Yes, Mr. Van Aldin?"
"My daughter is married to the Hon. Derek Kettering, as you may perhaps
know."
Mr. Goby transferred his gaze from the radiator to the left-hand drawer
of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face.
Mr. Goby knew a great many things, but he always hated to admit the
fact.
"By my advice, she is about to file a petition for divorce. That, of
course, is a solicitor's business. But, for private reasons, I want the
fullest and most complete information."
Mr. Goby looked at the cornice and murmured:
"About Mr. Kettering?"
"About Mr. Kettering."
"Very good, sir."
Mr. Goby rose to his feet.
"When will you have it ready for me?"
"Are you in a hurry, sir?"
"I'm always in a hurry," said the millionaire.
Mr. Goby smiled understandingly at the fender.
"Shall we say two o'clock this afternoon, sir?" he asked.
"Excellent," approved the other. "Good morning, Goby."
"Good morning, Mr. Van Aldin."
"That's a very useful man," said the millionaire as Goby went out and
his secretary came in. "In his own line he's a specialist."
"What is his line?"
"Information. Give him twenty-four hours and he would lay the private
life of the Archbishop of Canterbury bare for you."
"A useful sort of chap," said Knighton, with a smile.
"He has been useful to me once or twice," said Van Aldin. "Now then,
Knighton, I'm ready for work."
The next few hours saw a vast quantity of business rapidly transacted.
It was half-past twelve when the telephone bell rang, and Mr. Van Aldin
was informed that Mr. Kettering had called. Knighton looked at Van
Aldin, and interpreted his brief nod.
"Ask Mr. Kettering to come up, please."
The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor
passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering stood aside to
let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him.
"Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear."
The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in
Van Aldin. There was charm in it--there had always been charm in it. He
looked piercingly at his son-in-law. Derek Kettering was thirty-four,
lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something
indescribably boyish in it.
"Come in," said Van Aldin curtly. "Sit down."
Kettering flung himself lightly into an arm-chair. He looked at his
father-in-law with a kind of tolerant amusement.
"Not seen you for a long time, sir," he remarked pleasantly. "About two
years, I should say. Seen Ruth yet?"
"I saw her last night," said Van Aldin.
"Looking very fit, isn't she?" said the other lightly.
"I didn't know you had had much opportunity of judging," said Van Aldin
drily.
Derek Kettering raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, we sometimes meet at the same night club, you know," he said
airily.
"I am not going to beat about the bush," Van Aldin said curtly. "I have
advised Ruth to file a petition for divorce."
Derek Kettering seemed unmoved.
"How drastic!" he murmured. "Do you mind if I smoke, sir?"
He lit a cigarette, and puffed out a cloud of smoke as he added
nonchalantly:
"And what did Ruth say?"
"Ruth proposes to take my advice," said her father.
"Does she really?"
"Is that all you have got to say?" demanded Van Aldin sharply.
Kettering flicked his ash into the grate.
"I think, you know," he said, with a detached air, "that she's making a
great mistake."
"From your point of view she doubtless is," said Van Aldin grimly.
"Oh, come now," said the other; "don't let's be personal. I really
wasn't thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Ruth. You
know my poor old Governor really can't last much longer; all the
doctors say so. Ruth had better give it a couple more years, then I
shall be Lord Leconbury, and she can be châtelaine of Leconbury, which
is what she married me for."
"I won't have any of your darned impudence," roared Van Aldin.
Derek Kettering smiled at him quite unmoved.
"I agree with you. It's an obsolete idea," he said. "There's nothing
in a title nowadays. Still, Leconbury is a very fine old place, and,
after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be
very annoying for Ruth if she divorces me to find me marrying again,
and some other woman queening it at Leconbury instead of her."
"I am serious, young man," said Van Aldin.
"Oh, so am I," said Kettering. "I am in very low water financially; it
will put me in a nasty hole if Ruth divorces me, and, after all, if she
has stood it for ten years, why not stand it a little longer? I give
you my word of honour that the old man can't possibly last out another
eighteen months, and, as I said before, it's a pity Ruth shouldn't get
what she married me for."
"You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position?"
Derek Kettering laughed a laugh that was not all amusement.
"You don't think it was a question of a love match?" he asked.
"I know," said Van Aldin slowly, "that you spoke very differently in
Paris ten years ago."
"Did I? Perhaps I did. Ruth was very beautiful, you know--rather like
an angel or a saint, or something that had stepped down from a niche
in a church. I had fine ideas, I remember, of turning over a new leaf,
of settling down and living up to the highest traditions of English
home-life with a beautiful wife who loved me."
He laughed again, rather more discordantly.
"But you don't believe that, I suppose?" he said.
"I have no doubt at all that you married Ruth for her money," said Van
Aldin unemotionally.
"And that she married me for love?" asked the other ironically.
"Certainly," said Van Aldin.
Derek Kettering stared at him for a minute or two, then he nodded
reflectively.
"I see you believe that," he said. "So did I at the time. I can assure
you, my dear father-in-law, I was very soon undeceived."
"I don't know what you are getting at," said Van Aldin, "and I don't
care. You have treated Ruth darned badly."
"Oh, I have," agreed Kettering lightly, "but she's tough, you know.
She's your daughter. Underneath the pink-and-white softness of her
she's as hard as granite. You have always been known as a hard man, so
I have been told, but Ruth is harder than you are. You, at any rate,
love one person better than yourself. Ruth never has and never will."
"That is enough," said Van Aldin. "I asked you here so that I could
tell you fair and square what I meant to do. My girl has got to have
some happiness, and remember this, I am behind her."
Derek Kettering got up and stood by the mantelpiece. He tossed away his
cigarette. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.
"What exactly do you mean by that, I wonder?" he said.
"I mean," said Van Aldin, "that you had better not try to defend the
case."
"Oh," said Kettering. "Is that a threat?"
"You can take it any way you please," said Van Aldin.
Kettering drew a chair up to the table. He sat down fronting the
millionaire.
"And supposing," he said softly, "that, just for argument's sake, I did
defend the case?"
Van Aldin shrugged his shoulders.
"You have not got a leg to stand upon, you young fool. Ask your
solicitors, they will soon tell you. Your conduct has been notorious,
the talk of London."
"Ruth has been kicking up a row about Mirelle, I suppose. Very foolish
of her. I don't interfere with her friends."
"What do you mean?" said Van Aldin sharply.
Derek Kettering laughed.
"I see you don't know everything sir," he said. "You are, perhaps
naturally, prejudiced."
He took up his hat and stick and moved towards the door.
"Giving advice is not much in my line." He delivered his final thrust.
"But, in this case, I should advise most strongly perfect frankness
between father and daughter."
He passed quickly out of the room and shut the door behind him just as
the millionaire sprang up.
"Now, what the hell did he mean by that?" said Van Aldin as he sank
back into his chair again.
All his uneasiness returned in full force. There was something here
that he had not yet got to the bottom of. The telephone was by his
elbow; he seized it, and asked for the number of his daughter's house.
"Hallo! Hallo! Is that Mayfair 81907? Mrs. Kettering in? Oh, she's
out, is she? Yes, out to lunch. What time will she be in? You don't
know? Oh, very good; no, there's no message."
He slammed the receiver down again angrily. At two o'clock he was
pacing the floor of his room waiting expectantly for Goby. The latter
was ushered in at ten minutes past two.
"Well?" barked the millionaire sharply.
But little Mr. Goby was not to be hurried. He sat down at the table,
produced a very shabby pocket-book, and proceeded to read from it
in a monotonous voice. The millionaire listened attentively, with
an increasing satisfaction. Goby came to a full stop, and looked
attentively at the wastepaper-basket.
"Um!" said Van Aldin. "That seems pretty definite. The case will go
through like winking. The hotel evidence is all right, I suppose?"
"Cast iron," said Mr. Goby, and looked malevolently at a gilt arm-chair.
"And financially he's in very low water. He's trying to raise a
loan now, you say? Has already raised practically all he can upon
his expectations from his father. Once the news of the divorce gets
about, he won't be able to raise another cent, and not only that, his
obligations can be bought up and pressure can be put upon him from that
quarter. We have got him, Goby; we have got him in a cleft stick."
He hit the table a bang with his fist. His face was grim and triumphant.
"The information," said Mr. Goby in a thin voice, "seems satisfactory."
"I have got to go round to Curzon Street now," said the millionaire. "I
am much obliged to you, Goby. You are the goods all right."
A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little man's face.
"Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin," he said; "I try to do my best."
Van Aldin did not go direct to Curzon Street. He went first to the
City, where he had two interviews which added to his satisfaction. From
there he took the tube to Down Street. As he was walking along Curzon
Street, a figure came out of No. 160, and turned up the street towards
him, so that they passed each other on the pavement. For a moment,
the millionaire had fancied it might be Derek Kettering himself; the