The Charing Cross Mystery - J. S. Fletcher (ereader with android .txt) 📗

There was some big country house near there empty⁠—couldn’t really be sold or let. She bought it, renovated it, fitted it up, stuck a staff of nurses and servants in, and got it blessed by the War Office. Jolly nice place, I believe, and she pays the piper.”

“Doing the benevolent business, eh?”

“So it appears. Easy game, too, when you’ve got a couple of millions behind you. Useful, though.”

Boxley went away soon after that, and Hetherwick, wondering about what he had learned, and now infinitely inquisitive about the identity of Lady Riversreade with Mrs. Whittingham, went into the smoking-room, and more from habit than because he really wanted to see it, picked up a copy of The Times. Almost the first thing on which his glance lighted was the name that was just then in his thoughts⁠—there it was, in capitals, at the head of an advertisement:

Lady Riversreade’s Home For Wounded Officers, Surrey.⁠—

Required at once a Resident Lady-Secretary, fully competent to undertake accounts and correspondence and thoroughly trained in shorthand and typewriting; a knowledge of French and German would be a high recommendation. Application should be made personally any day this week between 10 and 12 and 3 and 5 to Lady Riversreade, Riversreade Court, Dorking.

Hetherwick threw the paper aside, left the club, and at the first newsagent’s he came to bought another copy. With this in his hand he jumped into a taxicab and set off for Surrey Street, wondering if he would find Rhona Hannaford still at Malter’s Hotel. He was fortunate in that⁠—she had not yet left⁠—and in a few minutes he was giving her a full and detailed account of his doings since his last interview with her. She listened to his story about Sellithwaite and his discoveries of that morning with a slightly puzzled look.

“Why are you taking all this trouble?” she asked suddenly and abruptly. “You’re doing more, going into things more, than the police are. Matherfield was here this morning to tell me, he said, how they were getting on. They aren’t getting on at all!⁠—they haven’t made one single discovery; they’ve heard nothing, found out nothing, about the man in the train or the man at Victoria⁠—they’re just where they were. But you⁠—you’ve found out a lot! Why are you so energetic about it?”

“Put it down to professional inquisitiveness, if you like,” answered Hetherwick, smiling. “I’m⁠—interested. Tremendously! You see⁠—I, too, was there in the train, like the man they haven’t found. Well, now⁠—now that I’ve got to this point I’ve arrived at, I want you to take a hand.”

“I? In what way?” exclaimed Rhona.

Hetherwick pulled out The Times and pointed to the advertisement.

“I want you to go down to Dorking tomorrow morning and personally interview Lady Riversreade in response to that,” he said. “You’ve all the qualifications she specifies, so you’ve an excellent excuse for calling on her. Whether you’d care to take the post is another matter⁠—what I want is that you should see her under conditions that will enable you to observe her closely.”

“Why?” asked Rhona.

“I want you to see if she wears such a band as that which Hudson told Hollis and myself about,” replied Hetherwick. “Sharp eyes like yours will soon see that. And⁠—if she does, then she’s Mrs. Whittingham! In that case, I might ask you to do more⁠—still more.”

“What, for instance?” she inquired.

“Well, to do your best to get this post,” he answered. “I think that you, with your qualifications, could get it.”

“And⁠—your object in that?” she asked.

“To keep an eye on Lady Riversreade,” he replied promptly. “If the Mrs. Whittingham of ten years ago at Sellithwaite is the same woman as the Lady Riversreade of Riversreade Court of today, then, in view of your grandfather’s murder, I want to know a lot more about her! To have you⁠—there!⁠—would be an immense help.”

“I’m to be a sort of spy, eh?” asked Rhona.

“Detective, if you like,” assented Hetherwick. “Why not?”

“You forget this,” she remarked. “If this Lady Riversreade is identical with the Mrs. Whittingham of ten years ago, she’d remember my name⁠—Hannaford! She’s not likely to have forgotten Superintendent Hannaford of Sellithwaite!”

“Exactly⁠—but I’ve thought of that little matter,” replied Hetherwick. “Call yourself by some other name. Your mother’s, for instance.”

“That was Featherstone,” said Rhona.

“There you are! Go as Miss Featherstone. As for your address, give your aunt’s address at Tooting. Easy enough, you see,” laughed Hetherwick. “Once you begin it properly.”

“There’s another thing, though,” she objected. “References! She’ll want those.”

“Just as easy,” answered Hetherwick. “Give me as one and Kenthwaite as the other. I’ll speak to him about it. Two barristers of the Middle Temple!⁠—excellent! Come!⁠—all you’ve got to do is to work the scheme out fully and carry it out with assurance, and you don’t know what we might discover.”

Rhona considered matters awhile, watching him steadily.

“You think that⁠—somehow⁠—this woman may be at the back of the mystery surrounding my grandfather’s murder?” she suddenly asked.

“I think it’s quite within the bounds of probability,” he answered.

“All right,” she said abruptly. “I’ll go. Tomorrow morning, I suppose?”

“Sooner the better,” agreed Hetherwick. “And, look here, I’ll go down with you. We’ll go by the 10:10 from Victoria, drive to this place, and I’ll wait outside while you have your interview. After that we’ll get some lunch in Dorking⁠—and you can tell me your news.”

Next morning found Hetherwick pacing the platform at Victoria and on the lookout for his fellow-companion. She came to him a little before the train was due to leave, and he noticed at once that she had discarded the mourning garments in which he had found her the previous afternoon; she now appeared in a smart tailor-made coat and skirt, and looked the part he wanted her to assume⁠—that of a capable and self-reliant young business woman.

“Good!” he said approvingly, as they went to find their seats. “Nothing like dressing up to it. You’re all ready with your lines, eh?⁠—I mean, you’ve settled on all you’re going to say and do?”

“Leave that to me,” she answered with a laugh,