The Charing Cross Mystery by J. S. Fletcher (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

the drive, and presently Mitchell came into my room with a card bearing the name ‘Dr. Cyprian Baseverie.’ Instead of being an engraved card as, by all the recognised standards, it should have been, it was a printed card⁠—that was the first thing I noticed.”

“Your powers of observation,” remarked Hetherwick admiringly, “are excellent, and should prove most useful.”

“Thank you for the compliment!⁠—but that didn’t need much observation,” retorted Rhona with a laugh. “It was obvious. However, I asked Mitchell what Dr. Baseverie wanted; Mitchell replied that the gentleman desired an interview with Lady Riversreade. Now, as I said before, we never refuse doctors, so I told Mitchell to bring Dr. Baseverie to me. A moment later Dr. Baseverie entered. I want to describe him particularly, and you must listen most attentively. Figure, then, to yourself a man of medium height, neither stout nor slender, but comfortably plump, and apparently about forty-five years of age, dressed very correctly and fashionably in a black morning coat and vest, dark striped trousers, immaculate as to linen and neckwear, and furnished with a new silk hat, pearl-grey gloves and a tightly rolled gold-mounted umbrella. Incidentally, he wore a thin gold watch-chain, white spats and highly polished shoes. Got that?”

“I see him⁠—his clothes and things, I mean,” assented Hetherwick. “Fashionable medico sort, evidently! But⁠—himself?”

“Now his face,” continued Rhona. “Imagine a man with an almost absolutely bloodless countenance⁠—a face the colour of old ivory⁠—lighted by a pair of peculiarly piercing eyes, black as sloes, and the pallor of the face heightened by a rather heavy black moustache and equally black, slightly crinkled hair, thick enough above the ears but becoming sparse and thin on the crown. Imagine, too, a pair of full, red lips above a round but determined chin and a decidedly hooked nose, and you have⁠—the man I’m describing!”

“Um!” said Hetherwick reflectingly. “Hebraic, I think, from your description.”

“That’s just what I thought myself,” agreed Rhona. “I said to myself at once, ‘Whatever and whoever else you are, my friend, you’re a Jew!’ But the creature’s manner and speech were English enough⁠—very English. He had all the well-accustomed air of the medical practitioner who is also a bit of a man of the world, and I saw at once that anybody who tried to fence with him would usually come off second-best. His explanation of his presence was reasonable and commonplace enough: he was deeply interested in the sort of cases we had in the Home, and desired to acquaint himself with our methods and arrangements and so on. He made use of a few technical terms and phrases which were quite beyond my humble powers, and I carried in his card to Lady Riversreade. Lady Riversreade is always accessible when there’s a doctor in the case, and in two minutes Dr. Baseverie was closeted with her.”

“That ends the first chapter, I suppose?” said Hetherwick. “Interesting⁠—very! A good curtain! And the next?”

“The events of the second chapter,” replied Rhona, “took place in Lady Riversreade’s room, and I cannot even guess at their nature. I can only tell of things that I know. But there’s a good deal in that. To begin with, although Dr. Baseverie had said to me that he desired to see the Home⁠—which, of course, in the ordinary way meant his being either taken round by Lady Riversreade or by our resident house physician⁠—he was not taken round. He never left that room from the moment he entered it until the moment in which he left it. And he remained in it an entire hour!”

“With Lady Riversreade?”

“With Lady Riversreade! She never left it, either. Nor did I go into it; she hates me to go in if she has anybody with her at any time. No!⁠—there those two were together, from ten minutes to twelve until five minutes to one. Yet the man had said that he wanted to look round!”

“Is there any other way by which they could have left that room?” suggested Hetherwick. “Another door⁠—or a French window?”

“There is nothing of the sort. The door into my room is the only means of entrance or exit to or from Lady Riversreade’s. No⁠—they were there all the time.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Nothing! The house in which Lady Riversreade set up this Home is an old, solid, well-built one⁠—none of your modern gimcrack work in it!⁠—it’s a far better house than the Court, grand as that may be. All the doors and windows fit⁠—I never heard a sound from the room.”

“Well,” asked Hetherwick, after due meditation, “and at the end of the hour?”

“At the end of the hour the door suddenly opened and Dr. Baseverie appeared, hat, gloves and umbrella in hand. He half turned as he came out and said a few words to Lady Riversreade. I heard them. He said, ‘Well, then, next Friday morning at the same time?’ Then he nodded, stepped into my room, closed the door behind him, made me a very polite, smiling bow as he passed my desk, and went out. A moment later he drove off in the car⁠—it had been waiting at the entrance all that time.”

“I suppose that’s the end of chapter two,” suggested Hetherwick. “Is there more?”

“Some,” responded Rhona. “During the hour which Dr. Baseverie had spent with Lady Riversreade I had been very busy typing letters. When he had gone I took them into her room, so that she could sign them. I suppose I was a bit curious about what had just happened and may have been more than usually observant⁠—anyway, I felt certain that the visit of this man, whoever he is, had considerably upset Lady Riversreade. She looked it.”

“Precisely how?” inquired Hetherwick.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell you. Perhaps a man wouldn’t have noticed it. But being a woman, I did. She was perturbed⁠—she’d been annoyed, or distressed, or surprised, or⁠—something. I saw signs which, as a woman, were unmistakable⁠—to a woman. The man’s visit had been distasteful⁠—troubling. I’m as certain of that as I am that this is roast mutton.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Not one word. She