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

was in what seemed to be serious conversation with a tall, handsome woman. They sat talking in an alcove in the lounge there some time. Then she went off⁠—alone.”

“Oh, you saw that, did you?” said Hetherwick. “Well, I may as well tell you, since you know what you do, that the woman was Lady Riversreade!”

“Oh, I guessed that!” remarked Mapperley. “I figured in that at once. But that wasn’t all. I found out more. That dead man, Hannaford⁠—from what I heard from Flowers⁠—I’ve no doubt whatever that Hannaford was at Vivian’s once, if not twice, during the two or three nights before his death. Anyway, Flowers recognised my description of him⁠—which I’d got, of course, from you and the papers.”

“Hannaford. There, eh?” exclaimed Hetherwick. “Alone?”

“No⁠—came in with this Baseverie. They don’t know him as Dr. Baseverie there, though. Plain Mister. I’m quite sure it was Hannaford who was with him.”

“Did you get the exact dates⁠—and times?” asked Hetherwick.

“I didn’t. Flowers couldn’t say that. But he remembered such a man.”

“Well, that’s something,” said Hetherwick. He turned into another room and sat down to his breakfast, thinking. “Mapperley, come here!” he called presently. “Look here,” he went on as the clerk came in. “Since you know this Vivian place, go there again tonight, and try to find out if that friend of yours knows anything of a tall man who corresponds to the description of the man whom Hannaford was seen to meet at Victoria. You read Ledbitter’s account of that, given at the inquest?”

“Yes,” replied Mapperley. “But of what value is it? None⁠—for practical purposes! He couldn’t even tell the shape of the man’s nose, nor the colour of his eyes! All he could tell was that he saw a man muffled in such a fashion that he saw next to nothing of his face, and that he was tall and smartly dressed. There are a few tens of thousands⁠—scores, perhaps⁠—of tall, smartly-dressed men in London!”

“Never mind⁠—inquire,” said Hetherwick, “and particularly if such a man has ever been seen in Baseverie’s company there.”

He finished his breakfast, and then, instead of going down to the Central Criminal Court, after his usual habit, he hung about in his chambers, expecting Matherfield. But Matherfield did not come, and at noon Hetherwick, impelled by a new idea, left a message for him in case he called, and went out. In pursuance of the idea, he journeyed once more to the regions of Paddington and knocked at the door of the house wherein he and Matherfield had kept watch on the flats opposite.

The lodging-house keeper opened the door himself and grinned on seeing Hetherwick. Hetherwick stepped inside and nodded at the door of the room which he had left only a few hours before.

“I want a word or two with you,” he said. “In private.”

“Nobody in here, sir,” replied the man. “Come in.”

He closed the door on himself and his visitor, and offered Hetherwick a chair.

“I expected you’d be back during the day,” he said, with a sly smile. “Either you or Matherfield, or both!”

“You haven’t seen him again?” asked Hetherwick.

“No; he’s not been here,” replied the man.

“Well, I wanted to ask you a question,” continued Hetherwick. “Perhaps two or three. To begin with, have you lived here long?”

“Been here since before these flats were built⁠—and that’s a good many years ago; I can’t say exactly how many,” said the other, glancing at the big block opposite his window. “Twenty-two or three, anyway.”

“Then I dare say you know most of the people hereabouts?” suggested Hetherwick. “By sight, at any rate.”

The lodging-house keeper smiled and shook his head.

“That would be a tall order, mister!” he answered. “There’s a few thousand of people packed into this bit of London. Of course, I do know a good many, close at hand. But if you’re a Londoner you’ll know that Londoners keep themselves to themselves. May seem queer, but it’s a fact that I don’t know the names of my next-door neighbours on either side⁠—though to be sure they’ve only been here a few years in either case.”

“What I was suggesting,” said Hetherwick, “was that you probably knew by sight many of the people who live in the flats opposite your house.”

“Oh, I know some of ’em by sight,” assented the man. “They’re a mixed lot over in those flats! A few old gentlemen⁠—retired⁠—two or three old ladies⁠—and a fair lot of actresses⁠—very popular with the stage is those flats. But, of course, it is only by sight⁠—I don’t know any of ’em by name. Just see them going in and coming out, you know.”

“Do you happen to know by sight a tall, handsome woman who has a flat there?” asked Hetherwick. “A woman who’s likely to be very well dressed?”

The lodging-house keeper, who was without his coat and had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, scratched his elbows and looked thoughtful.

“I think I do know the lady you mean,” he said at last. “Goes out with one o’ those pesky little poms⁠—a black ’un⁠—on a lead? That her?”

“I don’t know anything about a dog,” replied Hetherwick. “The woman I mean is, as I said, tall, handsome, distinguished-looking, fair hair and a fresh complexion, and about forty or so.”

“I dare say that’s the one I’m thinking of,” said the man. “I have seen such a lady now and then⁠—not of late, though.” Then he gave Hetherwick a shrewd, inquiring glance. “You and Matherfield after her?” he asked.

“Not exactly that,” answered Hetherwick. “What I want to find out⁠—now⁠—is her name. The name she’s known by here, anyway.”

“I can soon settle that for you,” said the lodging-house keeper with alacrity. “I know the caretaker of those flats well enough⁠—often have a talk with him. He’ll tell me anything⁠—between ourselves. Now then, let’s get it right⁠—a tall, handsome lady, about forty, fair hair, fresh complexion, well dressed. That it, mister?”

“You’ve got it,” said Hetherwick.

“Then you wait here a bit, and I’ll slip across,” said the man. “All on the strict between ourselves, you