The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime - Michael Sims [16]
One thing was very certain, however great the crush might have been, it would have been difficult to mistake Carne’s figure. The man’s infirmity and the peculiar beauty of his face rendered him easily recognisable. Possibly, after his long sojourn in India, he found the morning cold, for he wore a long fur coat, the collar of which he had turned up round his ears, thus making a fitting frame for his delicate face. On seeing Lord Amberly he hastened forward to greet him.
“This is most kind and friendly of you,” he said, as he shook the other by the hand. “A fine day and Lord Amberley to meet me. One could scarcely imagine a better welcome.”
As he spoke, one of his Indian servants approached and salaamed before him. He gave him an order, and received an answer in Hindustani, whereupon he turned again to Lord Amberley.
“You may imagine how anxious I am to see my new dwelling,” he said. “My servant tells me that my carriage is here, so may I hope that you will drive back with me and see for yourself how I am likely to be lodged?”
“I shall be delighted,” said Lord Amberley, who was longing for the opportunity, and they accordingly went out into the station yard together to discover a brougham, drawn by two magnificent horses, and with Nur Ali, in all the glory of white raiment and crested turban, on the box, waiting to receive them. His lordship dismissed his Victoria, and when Jowur Singh had taken his place beside his fellow servant upon the box, the carriage rolled out of the station yard in the direction of Hyde Park.
“I trust her ladyship is quite well,” said Simon Carne politely, as they turned into Gloucester Place.
“Excellently well, thank you,” replied his lordship. “She bade me welcome you to England in her name as well as my own, and I was to say that she is looking forward to seeing you.”
“She is most kind, and I shall do myself the honour of calling upon her as soon as circumstances will permit,” answered Carne. “I beg you will convey my best thanks to her for her thought of me.”
While these polite speeches were passing between them they were rapidly approaching a large hoarding, on which was displayed a poster setting forth the name of the now famous detective, Klimo.
Simon Carne, leaning forward, studied it, and when they had passed, turned to his friend again.
“At Victoria and on all the hoardings we meet I see an enormous placard, bearing the word ‘Klimo.’ Pray, what does it mean?”
His lordship laughed.
“You are asking a question which, a month ago, was on the lips of nine out of every ten Londoners. It is only within the last fortnight that we have learned who and what ‘Klimo’ is.”
“And pray what is he?”
“Well, the explanation is very simple. He is neither more nor less than a remarkably astute private detective, who has succeeded in attracting notice in such a way that half London has been induced to patronize him. I have had no dealings with the man myself. But a friend of mine, Lord Orpington, has been the victim of a most audacious burglary, and, the police having failed to solve the mystery, he has called Klimo in. We shall therefore see what he can do before many days are past. But, there, I expect you will soon know more about him than any of us.”
“Indeed! And why?”
“For the simple reason that he has taken No. 1, Belverton Terrace, the house adjoining your own, and sees his clients there.”
Simon Carne pursed up his lips, and appeared to be considering something.
“I trust he will not prove a nuisance,” he said at last. “The agents who found me the house should have acquainted me with the fact. Private detectives, on however large a scale, scarcely strike one as the most desirable of neighbours—particularly for a man who is so fond of quiet as myself.”
At this moment they were approaching their destination. As the carriage passed Belverton Street and pulled up, Lord Amberley pointed to a long line of vehicles standing before the