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

back presently, cheerful and reassuring.

“Come along, Mr. Hetherwick!” he whispered. “There’s a man here⁠—lodging-house keeper⁠—who knows me. We can have his front parlour window to watch from. Far better that than patrolling the street. We shall be comfortable there.”

“You’re intent on watching, then?” said Hetherwick as they moved off.

“I’m not coming all that way for nothing,” replied Matherfield. “I’m going to follow her up till she settles for the night. That won’t be here; she’ll be off to some hotel or other before long.”

But Matherfield’s prediction proved to be faulty. Time dragged slowly by in the stuffy and shabby little room in which he and Hetherwick took up a position and from the window of which Matherfield kept a constant watch on the entrance of the flats, exactly opposite. Midnight came and went, but nothing happened. And at half-past twelve Hetherwick suggested that the game wasn’t worth the candle, and that he should prefer to depart.

“You do as you like, Mr. Hetherwick,” said Matherfield, stifling a suspicious yawn. “I’m sick enough of it, too. But here I stop till she comes out⁠—whether it’s this side of breakfast or the other side!”

“And what then?” asked Hetherwick, half derisively.

“Then we’ll see⁠—or I’ll see, if you’re going⁠—where she goes next! Don’t believe in half measures!” retorted Matherfield.

“Oh, I’ll see it out!” said Hetherwick. “After all, it’ll be daylight soon.”

Daylight came over the housetops at four o’clock. They had seen nothing up to then. But at twenty minutes to five Matherfield tugged his companion’s arm. Lady Riversreade, in a big ulster travelling-coat and carrying a small suitcase, was emerging alone from the opposite door.

XII Alias Madame Listorelle

The woman thus observed marched swiftly away down the deserted street in the direction of the Town Hall at the corner, and Matherfield, after one more searching look at her, dropped the slat of the Venetian blind through which he had been peeping, and turned on his companion. At the same instant he reached a hand for his overcoat and hat.

“Now, Mr. Hetherwick,” he said sharply, “this has got to be a one-man job! There’ll be nothing extraordinary in one man going along the streets to catch an early morning train, but it would look a bit suspicious if two men went together on the same errand and the same track! I’m off after her! I’ll run her down! I’m used to that sort of thing. You go to your chambers and get some sleep. I’ll look in later and tell you what news I have. Sharp’s the word, now!”

He was out of the room and the house within the next few seconds, and Hetherwick, half vexed with himself for having lingered there on a job which Matherfield thus unceremoniously took into his own hands, prepared to follow. Presently he went out into the shabby hall; the man of the house was just coming downstairs, stifling a big yawn. He smiled knowingly when he saw Hetherwick.

“Matherfield gone, sir?” he inquired. “I heard the door close.”

“He’s gone,” assented Hetherwick. “The person he wanted appeared suddenly, and he’s gone in pursuit.”

The man, a smug-faced, easygoing sort of person, smiled again.

“Rum doings these police have!” he remarked. “Queer job, watching all night through a window. I was just coming down to make you a cup of coffee,” he continued. “I’ll get you one in a few minutes, if you like. Or tea now? Perhaps you’d prefer tea?”

“It’s very good of you,” said Hetherwick. “But to tell you the truth I’d rather get home and to bed. Many thanks, all the same.”

Then, out of sheer good nature, he slipped a treasury note into the man’s hand, and, bidding him good morning, went away. He, too, walked down the street in the direction taken by Lady Riversreade and her pursuer. But when he came to the bottom and emerged into Harrow Road he saw nothing of them, either to left or right. The road, however, was not deserted; there were already workmen going to early morning tasks, and close by the corner of the Town Hall a roadman was busy with his broom. Hetherwick went up to him.

“Did you see a lady, and then a gentleman, come down here, from St. Mary’s Terrace, just now?” he asked. “Tall people, both of them.”

The man rested on his broom, half turned, and pointed towards Paddington Bridge.

“I see ’em, guv’nor,” he answered. “Tall lady, carrying a little portmantle. Gone along over the bridge yonder. Paddington station way. And, after her, Matherfield.”

“Oh, you know him, do you?” exclaimed Hetherwick, in surprise.

The man jerked a thumb in the direction of the adjacent police station.

“Used to be a sergeant here, did Matherfield,” he replied. “I knows him, right enough! Once run me in⁠—me an’ a mate o’ mine⁠—for bein’ a bit festive like. Five bob and costs that was. But I don’t bear him no grudge, not me! Thank ’ee, guv’nor.”

Hetherwick left another tip behind him and walked slowly off towards Edgware Road. The Tube trains were just beginning to run, and he caught a southbound one and went down to Charing Cross and thence to the Temple. And at six o’clock he tumbled into bed, and slept soundly until, four hours later, he heard Mapperley moving about in the adjoining room.

Mapperley, whose job at Hetherwick’s was a good deal of a sinecure, was leisurely reading the news when his master entered. He laid the paper aside, and gave Hetherwick a knowing glance.

“Got some more information last night,” he said. “About that chap I tracked the other day.”

“How did you get it?” asked Hetherwick.

“Put in a bit of time at Vivian’s,” answered Mapperley. “There’s a fellow there that I know. Clerk to the secretary chap, named Flowers. That man Baseverie has a share in the place⁠—sort of director, I think.”

“What time were you at Vivian’s?” inquired Hetherwick. “Late or early?”

“Early⁠—for them,” answered Mapperley.

“Did you see the man there?”

“I did. He was there all the time I was. In and about all the time. But at first he