“When did she vanish, then?”
“At the wedding breakfast.”
“Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite dramatic, in fact.”
“Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common.”
“They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this. Pray let me have the details.”
“I warn you that they are very incomplete.”
“Perhaps we may make them less so.”
“Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed, ‘Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding’:
“The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown
into the greatest consternation by the strange and painful
episodes which have taken place in connection with his
wedding. The ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers
of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning; but it is
only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange
rumours which have been so persistently floating about. In
spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so
much public attention has now been drawn to it that no
good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what
is a common subject for conversation.
“The ceremony, which was performed at St. George’s,
Hanover Square, was a very quiet one, no one being present
save the father of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater, Lord Eustace, and Lady
Clara St. Simon (the younger brother and sister of the
bridegroom), and Lady Alicia Whittington. The whole party
proceeded afterwards to the house of Mr. Aloysius Doran,
at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been prepared. It
appears that some little trouble was caused by a woman,
whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to
force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging
that she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only
after a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by
the butler and the footman. The bride, who had fortunately
entered the house before this unpleasant interruption, had
sat down to breakfast with the rest, when she complained of
a sudden indisposition and retired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some comment, her father
followed her, but learned from her maid that she had only
come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an ulster
and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the
footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house
thus apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his
mistress, believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius
Doran, in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put
themselves in communication with the police, and very
energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably
result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business.
Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There are
rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the
police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused
the original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or
some other motive, she may have been concerned in the
strange disappearance of the bride.”
“And is that all?”
“Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a suggestive one.”
“And it is —”
“That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a danseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands now — so far as it has been set forth in the public press.”
“And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory.”
“Lord Robert St. Simon,” announced our page-boy, throwing open the door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. He advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses.
“Goodday, Lord St. Simon,” said Holmes, rising and bow-ing. “Pray take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over.”
“A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society.”
“No, I am descending.”
“I beg pardon.”
“My last client of the sort was a king.”
“Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?”
“The King of Scandinavia.”
“What! Had he lost his wife?”
“You can understand,” said Holmes suavely, “that I extend to the affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to you in yours.”
“Of course! Very right! very right! I’m sure I beg pardon. As to my own case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you in forming an opinion.”
“Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public prints, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct — this article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride.”
Lord St. Simon glanced over it. “Yes, it is correct, as far as it goes.”
“But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly by questioning you.”
“Pray do so.”
“When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?”
“In San Francisco, a year ago.”
“You were travelling in the States?”
“Yes.”
“Did you become engaged then?”
“No.”
“But you were on a friendly footing?”
“I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was amused.”
“Her father is very rich?”
“He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope.”
“And how did he make his money?”
“In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold, invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds.”
“Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady’s — your wife’s character?”
The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into the fire. “You see, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “my wife was twenty before her father became a rich man. During that time she ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education has come from Nature rather than from the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of traditions. She is impetuous — volcanic, I was about to say. She is swift in making up her mind and fearless in cartying out her resolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the name which I have the honour to bear” — he gave a little stately cough — “had not I thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her.”
“Have you her photograph?”
“I brought this with me.” He opened a locket and showed us the full face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he closed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon.
“The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your acquaintance?”