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

For the second time in the course of his investigations, Hetherwick’s thoughts turned to Boxley. Boxley’s love of intimate acquaintance with all sides of London life had doubtless led him to look in at Vivian’s: he would ask Boxley for some further information. And he looked up Boxley at the club.

Boxley knew Vivian’s well enough⁠—innocent and innocuous now, said Boxley, what with all these new regulations and so on: degenerated, indeed⁠—or improved, just whichever way you regarded it⁠—into a supper club and that sort of thing. Dancing?⁠—oh yes, there was dancing, and so on⁠—but things had altered⁠—altered.

“Well, I don’t want to dance there, nor to go there at all, for that matter, unless I’m obliged to,” said Hetherwick. “What I want to know is something about a man who, I believe, frequents the place⁠—a somewhat notable man.”

“Describe him!” commanded Boxley.

Hetherwick retailed Rhona’s description of Baseverie: Boxley nodded.

“I know that man⁠—by sight,” he said. “Seen him there. I believe he’s something to do with the proprietorship: that place is owned by a small syndicate. But I don’t know his name. I’ve seen him outside too⁠—round about Leicester Square and its purlieus.”

Hetherwick went from Boxley to Matherfield and told him the result of Mapperley’s work.

“I know Vivian’s, of course,” said Matherfield. “Been in there two or three times lately in relation to this five-pound note. Don’t remember seeing this man, though. But in view of what your clerk says, I’d like to see him. Come with me. We’ll go tonight.”

“Make it Monday,” suggested Hetherwick. “Tomorrow, Sunday, I shall be meeting Miss Hannaford again, and before we go to Vivian’s I’d like to know if she has anything to tell about the last visit of Baseverie to Riversreade Court⁠—the visit that Mapperley watched yesterday. She may have.”

“Monday night then,” agreed Matherfield. “I don’t know what we can expect, but I’d certainly like to know who this man is and why he goes to Lady Riversreade.”

“No good, you may be sure!” said Hetherwick. “But we’ll ferret it out⁠—somehow.”

“Odd, that things seem to be centring round Vivian’s!” mused Matherfield. “The fiver⁠—and now this. Well⁠—Monday evening then?⁠—perhaps Miss Hannaford can supply a bit of extra news tomorrow.”

Hetherwick, meeting Rhona at Victoria next day, found his arm grasped in Rhona’s right hand and himself twisted round.

“If you want to see Lady Riversreade in the flesh, there she is!” whispered Rhona. “Came up by the same train⁠—there, going towards the bookstall; a tall man with her!”

At that moment Lady Riversreade turned to speak to a porter who was carrying some light luggage for her, and Hetherwick had a full and good view of her face and figure. A fine, handsome, capable-looking woman, he said to himself, and one that once seen would not easily be forgotten.

“Who’s the man?” he asked, looking from Lady Riversreade to her companion, a tall, bronzed man of military appearance, and apparently of about her own age.

“Major Penteney,” replied Rhona promptly. “He’s a friend of hers, who takes a tremendous interest in the Home⁠—in fact, he acts as a sort of representative of it here in town. He’s often down at the Court⁠—I believe he’s in love with her.”

“Well-matched couple,” observed Hetherwick, as the two people under notice moved away towards the exit. “And what’s Lady Riversreade come up for?”

“Oh, I don’t know that,” replied Rhona. “She never tells me anything about her private doings. I heard her say that she was going to Town this morning and shouldn’t be back until Tuesday, but that’s all I know.”

“That man, Baseverie, came again on Friday?” suggested Hetherwick. “But I know he did⁠—Mapperley watched him. Anything happen?”

“Nothing⁠—except that Lady Riversreade told me that if Dr. Baseverie called he was to be brought in to her at once,” answered Rhona. “He came at the same time as before, and was with her an hour.”

“Any signs on her part of being further upset?” asked Hetherwick.

“No⁠—on the contrary she seemed quite cool and collected after he’d gone,” said Rhona. “Of course she made no reference to his visit.”

“Has she never mentioned him to you?”

“Never! In spite of the fact that his professed object was to see the Home and the patients, he’s seen neither.”

“Which shows that that was all a mere excuse to get speech with her!” muttered Hetherwick. “Well⁠—we’re going to find out who this Dr. Baseverie is! Matherfield and I intend to get in touch with him tomorrow night.”

But when the next night came Hetherwick’s plans about the visit to Vivian’s were frustrated by an unexpected happening, and neither he nor Matherfield as much as crossed the threshold of the nightclub in Candlestick Passage. They went there at ten o’clock: that, said Matherfield, was a likely hour⁠—between then and eleven-thirty the place would be full of its habitual frequenters: the notion was to mingle unobtrusively with whatever crowd chanced to be there and to keep eyes and ears open for whatever happened to transpire.

Candlestick Passage, unfamiliar to Hetherwick until that evening, proved to be one of the many narrow alleys which open out of St. Martin’s Lane in the neighbourhood of the theatres. It wore a very commonplace, not to say shabby complexion, and there was nothing in its atmosphere to suggest adventure or romance. Not was there anything alluring about the entrance to Vivian’s, which was merely a wide, double doorway, ornamented by two evergreen shrubs set in tubs and revealing swing-doors within, and a carpeted staircase beyond. Hetherwick and Matherfield, however, never reached swing-doors or staircase: as they approached the outer entrance a tall woman emerged, and without so much as a look right or left turned down the passage towards the street. She paid no attention to the two men as she walked quickly past them⁠—but Hetherwick softly seized his companion’s arm.

“Lady Riversreade, by all that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed under his breath. “That woman!”

Matherfield turned sharply, gazing after the retreating figure.

“That,” he said incredulously, “coming out of here? Certain?”

“Dead sure!” affirmed Hetherwick. “I knew her at once⁠—I’d had a particularly good look at her,