Part 77

"Three doctors have, however, declared that death ensued from natural causes, hence the police discredit the valet's story. Baron van Veltrup, who was well known in international finance, was a frequent visitor to London, where he had permanent chambers in Jermyn Street. He was in the habit of receiving strange callers--persons who probably gave him secret information regarding Government concessions and other such matters. Therefore it is not believed that the man whom he met in secret has any connexion with his sudden and lamented death. The Baron contributed most generously to Dutch charities, especially to the Blinden Institution, of which he was one of the governors.

"Some of his financial deals were of outstanding magnitude. The last loan to Peru was made through his house, in combination with that of Chamartin, in Madrid, while he negotiated a big loan to Serbia immediately before the war, as well as obtaining the concessions for two new railways in Northern Italy and in Portugal. The reputation of the house of Veltrup was one of the highest standing, and the Baron's untimely death has cast a gloom over financial circles in all the European capitals."

I raised my eyes from the paper and gazed across the Thames now growing grey in the evening light. Outside, the soft wind whispered in the trees and across the long suspension bridge ran an endless stream of motor traffic into and out of London.

The affair in Amsterdam was certainly curious, but what attracted me most was the fact that the dead Baron had been a partner with the late Count Chamartin, whose widow I knew by sight. The Count had also died very suddenly. So within a short time of each other two men whose names were ones to conjure with in international finance had both died!

The valet's story I did not doubt. I knew that such men as the late Baron were often compelled, in their own interests, to receive visits from mysterious and often undesirable persons, most of whom were paid for their information. Every giant of finance employs his secret agents, whose duty it is to keep his principal informed of the various political and other secrets in Europe. Indeed, the great financiers know more of the underground currents of foreign politics than they do at any Embassy or Ministry of Foreign Affairs. It is their duty to know the secrets of nations--and they profit upon their knowledge.

I sat ruminating. The sudden deaths of the two pillars of finance was, to say the least, a curious coincidence. I recollected that Chamartin had been associated with De Gex, and the object of the latter's journey to Madrid had apparently been to interview his dead friend's widow. I also remembered Professor Vega's description of the deadly effect of that secret poison orosin--that it might cause almost instant death, and that all doctors would attribute the cause to heart failure.

This caused me to ponder for a long time. I read and re-read the report of the Baron's death, and when I retired to bed--Harry not having yet returned--I could not sleep, so haunted was I by vague suspicions.

Next day I found that I could not apply myself to work at the office, so gave it up and once more wandered towards Hyde Park Corner and up Park Lane where again I passed through Stretton Street. The blinds of the big dark mansion were all lowered, indicating that its owner was still out of town. Yet I knew that he was living in the half darkness of that closed house.

Why?

Several days passed when, unable to rest, I at last asked leave of absence from old Mr. Francis, and crossed by the night-boat from Harwich to the Hook of Holland. On the following day I found myself in quaint old Amsterdam, that city built upon the sand in defiance of a certain text in St. Matthew, the city with its great network of canals, and its many gaudily-painted barges. As I left my hotel and walked to the Dam, the central square of the city, my nostrils were saluted upon one side by the perfume of the flowers adorning the windows and the odour of cook-shops, while on the other was the smell of tar and the fumes of the humble kitchens of sailing vessels.

I happened to know an Englishman employed as clerk to a firm of Dutch forwarding agents whose offices were in the Dam, and this man, whose name was Graham, I at once sought.

We went out to a café together, and I explained the object of my visit, namely, the investigation of the death of Baron van Veltrup. Graham at once regarded me with considerable astonishment, for very naturally he could not make out why I should take such a keen interest in the death of one of the richest men in Holland.

"The Baron died of heart failure," my friend said. "The doctors are agreed upon that. His valet told some extraordinary story, but no credence has been placed in it. There has been a good deal in the papers concerning the unfortunate affair, but the excitement has now all died down. The Baron was, I believe, buried yesterday."

"I know that there is no suspicion that death was due to foul play, Graham," I said. "But I confess that in face of certain knowledge I possess I am not altogether satisfied with the doctor's conclusion."

My friend smiled incredulously.

"At first, the police were, I heard, inclined to suspect foul play. But after full investigation they are now quite satisfied as to the cause of death."

"Be that as it may, I intend to make a few discreet inquiries," I replied resolutely. "I want you, if you will, to assist me."

He smiled again in undisguised disbelief.

"Of course you are at liberty to express your own opinion," he said with some reluctance. "And if you wish, I will assist you. But I really think, Garfield, that you will be only wasting your time--and mine."

"I hope not," I assured him. "Were I not in possession of certain exclusive information I should not venture to come here from London and trouble you, as I am doing."

Graham, whom I had known for a number of years, looked very straight at me.

"What is the nature of this exclusive information?" he inquired. "You are concealing something, Hugh."

"Yes. I know I am," was my reply as I smiled at him. "I am here to discover the truth regarding the death of Baron van Veltrup."

"Then you suspect foul play--eh?" asked my friend.

"Yes, I do," I replied in a low voice, "and I want you, Graham, to put me in touch with the Baron's valet."

"He is a man named Folcker, a Swede, according to the newspapers. I dare say I could find him."

"If you can, you will assist me very much. I must have a chat with him," I said. "I feel somehow that in face of the strange facts within my knowledge that he can give me the clue to the cause of his master's death."

Graham smiled. He seemed to regard me as a person whose mind was not quite sound. But I will give him his due. He propitiated me, and promised to get into touch with Oscar Folcker. By virtue of the wide ramifications of the firm by which Graham was employed, I knew that it would be an easy matter, hence I was not surprised when next day he rang me up on the telephone to my hotel and told me that he had been able to find the valet Folcker who would call upon me at six o'clock that evening.